Cleaning out one of my backpacks, I came across some of my writings that I'd brought here in case I ever needed some reassurance that coming here was a good idea. I hadn't felt the need to read them yet, but after doing so I'm confident that Korea has been the best decision I've ever made. I had to find change. And it's funny: it seems like most of the other teachers I meet here have come to escape something, even if they don't know exactly what. I'm right with them--I think I just needed to get away, to be on my own and not have the pressures I'd grown so accustomed to accepting as normal life. I'm so happy here; life is easy. I have great coworkers at a great job, I have minimal financial worries, I have an amazing girlfriend that I love and see in my long-term future, and I have lots of intelligent friends that I have so much in common with--even though we're all from different parts of the world. The food is great, the people are great, the scenery and weather are great, and my outlook on life is great. For the first time since--wow--maybe as long as I can remember, I don't feel a certain weight of depression or anxiety every day. I wake up, not dreading the day like I'd become so used to, but rather excited to discover what sorts of adventures and encounters I'll stumble across. My students bring me incredible delight--they're always so fascinating and happy--but even the simplest of things, like going to a new restaurant, provides a certain entertainment that I feel is filling a void left alone for far too long.
Anyways, here are the few writings. I think I need to start putting up more of what I've done over the years, because I guess my work doesn't do much good just sitting unread in a notebook.
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The air outside helps me stay chlorinated.
An ugly tactic, having to suck on chemical-laden air
as a last defense to the pollutants I'm obligated to call friends.
Jealousy, perversion, addiction: somehow
they add up to represent a supposed necessity
to a life I'm growing tired of calling mine.
So the sky keeps me standing,
the river keeps me running,
the grass keeps me growing--
all the company I need when the monotony
of the indoors threatens to collapse my lungs:
this place can be so suffocating.
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"Hospital Scene in Grey"
Hear the cry of this town tonight:
they're weeping and pleading for you.
Stay with us.
We're scared and the wait is too cold.
Nurse, I think I misheard;
the splash of eye's tear drowns you out,
echoes off these pained cement walls
as the unmistakable words drift from down the hall:
"I'm sorry, we did everything we could..."
A good fight on both sides to a checkmate
no one deserved, yet they found.
The remains: a body and battered heart,
unrecognizable to all but the boy,
the culprit.
The weapons, he hides behind his back.
The hands, thought harmless had taken
such great care 'til he broke.
Now one's left dead, with the other feeling worse,
and trust to blame for everything.
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That's it for now.
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I wouldn't expect pig intestine to be tasty. ick. I remember, as a little girl growing up in the South, smelling chitlins boiling sometimes when my mother would visit the "poor folks." Stinky!!! That was pig intestines--I think.
ReplyDeleteBut I liked your poetry!