03.2024 - For my nephew Luke, 4 years old. and for anyone in the room who needs to hear it.
On the sofa I squeeze you tight. I hug you with gentle, concentrated pressure, yet not enough to crush, or break you. Just enough to get a sense of your meager muscle, your precious bones. We squeeeeeze, rolling around. Head lopsided. Upside down. Your knobby knees in my face. Our bodies as just this.
Yet the joy. of holding you so close. Wrapping myself around you. As if to say… Perhaps this: Don't be afraid. Hold on. I'm holding on to you.
My mom joins in and tickles you, you immediately become weak, disarmed, red in the face, squealing. But that's not the point, to weaken you. I want you to feel how strong you are. How able we both are. The point isn't to end the game, it's to be. with you. This way. Holding on. Acknowledging each other's being.
Our is-ness. Much-ness. yes-ness. no-ness. love-ness. hurt-ness. wordless-ness. wordmuch-ness. all of you. All of me. Squeezing.
A love-filled airtight compress.
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Sitting on the floor, you draw my face, so seriously like a bonafide artist, your mouth open. The results? A stick figure with glasses and a sharp, triangle-toothed monster. We broke into laughter at how horrifying I turned out. Rendering reality was harder than you thought, So you tried again. The same results. “You're a monster?!” We laughed at my layers of shark teeth.
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Angeline (your older sister) and I start a card game. “do you want to play Luke?” "No. I don't want to play because I think I'll lose."
I was speechless. It broke my heart that you assumed loss before anything else.
"It's OK if someone loses, it's fun to play with each other," I tried to rewrite your defeated logic. "Want to help me pick the cards?" You sidled up next to me — a small, solid yes.
I wonder, what if you knew you were worth your own flavor of ability, power, strength? Would you say yes? I wonder what you don't say, moreover, what you taught yourself to say, in order to swallow up your thoughts and feelings deep inside.
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Sometimes, it's true, I have no idea what you're saying. But I love your heart, and want so much to open that book. The colors, the rivers, the flowers in you blooming. The questions, the fears, the horrors hidden.
I keep wanting to pet your head. I rub your back, your bony spine, feel your slender shoulder and arm. Touch as reassurance. To ground you. I wonder if anyone shows you affection like this besides your mom. I wish I could hug you every day. so you can know, you never need to be nervous. I love you as you are, always.
I think of little Erin, sidling up to older kids she silently admired. Not being able to say how much she wanted to be with them. All I wanted, all I want is to be next to you.
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During our goodbyes, in front of the elevator you laughed to me "Bye silly guy!" Samchoon / uncle smiles. (In Korean) "Mmm.. So you two got real close today huh?"
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"Can you press the down button for me Luke?" Angeline, always the first in line for action, already had her finger dangling in front of it. Your dad says "It's OK. You can press it together." But in my heart, I know it's not the same. I feel the small heartbreak.
In therapy I'm learning about "delayed emotional response." My feelings weren't validated as a kid; I'd put them off and feel them later, prolonging sadness, prolonging loneliness, confusion, anger. A delayed self sabotage. As I hold your hand waiting for the elevator, I linger silently in this delay with you.
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I love your big unadulterated smile. I love when you push my abs with all the might of your cookie-sized palms during our squeeze. I love your sweet and wild strength. Your rainbow power. I love you so. With my tired eyes, I want to look after you. and I will, through all these years. As I navigate my own histories, I think of you and the story writing you.
~ ㄱㅇㄹ
——
04.2021 – hibiscus
the patter of rain accompanied my sleep.
it stayed gray til the afternoon. then suddenly, the blue beyond the clouds so ripe. the air so clear. pubescent bulbs on the branches out my window turned fluffy, tufts of lime green leaves, shimmying like hair in the wind. tender as wings emerging from a shell.
something catalyzing, reinvigorating about the passage of seasons. every time the naked trees start to grow their hair, it makes me a little sad and happy again. each season passing, 4 times a year, saying hello, and goodbye. a cyclical birth and loss. we endure so much, don't we?
at the park. two teenage boys play catch with a football across the court. it amazes me, their bodies just know. chest caves, knees bend — an instant nest, a soft place to land for such a hard fall. how the ball crashes, shatters the sky, rattling into their arms, collapsing into their body. absorbing electricity.
then to throw. how big the stance, how wide the spread of one's chest, limbs to prepare for launch.
the great big give. the great big embrace. repeat. so much understood, with so little said.
another part of the court. a wobbly child incarnation of the pillsbury dough boy backs into a taller dude, blocking him from shooting a hoop. their sweaters brush up against each other. mutual touch, a language. i linger on this image, this word, before my mind erases it.
body. pieces. fast. slow. how do we move. how did we move. before this.
today i found out korea became a country in 2000 something B.C. how small are we. so young am i. i want to think bigger. farther. than just our life we think we know.
what can my body tell me. what can my spirit say.
yesterday on TVK. an older woman walks through the basic posture of a traditional korean folk dance (무용 example). i danced along, eager to learn these words. i bask in the slow movements, imbued with intention, discipline, care. i imagine generations of women moving in this way centuries ago.
i'm trying to expand my vocabulary of korean culture... can a tree's new leaves hear the wisdom in that wet, dark, quiet, slow earth? scrambling for the words.
watercolor. something challenging in not knowing how the pigment will interact with the water and paper. another new language.
chantal akerman's film, les rendez-vous d'anna. she experiments with such precision. entranced. i too want to break society apart and piece it together with the words within me. how to say without saying.
writing this, as if i'm on a run, going and going. or maybe, as if i'm catching that fast ball, feeling, touching, making a nest from my soul, to give it back to this ever generous life. give. embrace. again, and again.
~ㄱㅇㄹ
무궁화 (MuGungHwa) (Hibiscus syriacus); korea's national flower, a symbol of perseverance, for a nation that's endured ceaseless oppression, yet retains its spirit
