[EN] Longing and a touch of anguish

 1

These days, I’ve been feeling a bit strange.
I asked my mom to send me some plate and tea from Korea.  
Before seriously starting to prepare for pregnancy,
I thought I needed to drink two bottles of natural wine, so I ended up buying them.

(It felt a little weird. I’ve always liked plates and tea, but buying two bottles of natural wine at once felt really unusual. because these days, I hardly drink at all.) After buying them, I looked closely at myself, and realized that there was actually something else I deeply wanted.

It wasn’t the plates, the tea, or the wine themselves. What I deeply wanted was the kind of space, and the kind of people, that those things seemed to belong to.

A quiet restaurant in Yeonhui-dong or Seochon, where I could walk in alone, eat a clean and beautiful meal served in a rustic plate, and slowly drink natural wine.

A space filled with the soft murmur of voices, and a calmness where good taste existed naturally, without having to announce itself.

My friends’ dampened voices — but voices that, as we were slowly dried by one another’s light, became clear and lifted their heads upright.

In New York, the kinds of places I miss so much are often placed within an atmosphere that feels too flashy and consumer-oriented.

A fancy tea shop with an East Asian-inspired atmosphere. A flashy vegetarian restaurant where a middle-class couple might go for a romantic dinner. And the many languages I hear around me…

Even if the same plate and the same meal I wanted are placed in front of me, surrounded by people, I can only think, “This isn’t what I wanted.” The longer I live here, the more I feel the gap between Korea and the United States

2

A few days ago, I went to Brooklyn to see Ana Roxanne, an artist I’ve completely fallen in love with. The concert was so elegant and beautiful. But the moment I stepped outside, Brooklyn suddenly felt strange and overwhelming.

For the past year, I had thought of Brooklyn as a cool neighborhood full of artists and interesting things. But at some point, it stopped feeling like a city I was just visiting and started feeling like a reality I actually had to live in. I heard a different language on every block, and it felt as if people’s voices and movements were constantly pushing their way into my body.

Maybe because the concert had been so beautiful, the contrast felt even stronger. After it ended, I almost ran through the streets of New York, as if I were escaping.
On the way home, I found myself thinking only of home, almost strangely so.

home

home

 home

JB

Ddoodoo

home JB Ddoodoo  

For two hours, I walked quickly, thinking of nothing but those three words.

3

In the U.S., I always feel as if I’m explaining, guessing, or staying tense. When I first came here, I couldn’t say anything. But now that I can vaguely understand some words and sentences, it feels even more exhausting.

I get drained from just one conversation because I’m not only reading people’s faces, the atmosphere, and the meaning behind their voices, but also worrying about how they see me. I’ve always been the kind of person who reads too much into people, but here, I have to do all of that in English, too. Sometimes the whole city feels like too much.

Maybe that’s why,
these days, even when I’m outside, I keep thinking only of home.

Home…

It feels strange how that thought keeps repeating itself. My life is clearly more stable and happy now, and maybe because of that, I’m only now realizing how much tension I’ve been living with. Maybe because JB and Ddoodoo feel so warm, kind, and almost like a perfect little family to me, the unfamiliarity and exhaustion I feel outside become even clearer.

4
I want to accept this state I'm in 
Ah, this is where I am right now.

This is the state I’m in.

Even if what I’m feeling is longing, and sometimes a touch of anguish, I want to slowly come to know it, accept it, feel it fully, and pass through it.

Without trying so hard to get better…