It was robbing season where I worked. Although I didn’t know why, it seemed to me an observable fact that the warmth of summer somehow thawed the laziness in low-level criminals. Cops patrolled more often, ramdom beatings became more frequent, and stick-up men looked for anything that shined with a focus that would be inspiring if it was directed at a book.
The newborn looked like a mutant raisin. That was all Kathy could think about as she stared her niece in the face. The pale thing lay on her sister-in-law’s chest and looked back at Kathy with black dots that couldn’t see more than a foot away. She was wrinkled, with facial features that Kathy couldn’t describe other than to say that they were there. Her nose was there; her ears were there; her mouth was there. They were all there, but they were as shapeless as a dream. The only thing Kathy could say for certain was that the wrinkles in the baby’s skin made her look like a raisin that had been exposed to some transfiguring chemical out of a comic book.
He never imagined that bare knuckles could do so much damage. Peter had watched enough TV shows and actions movies to have an idea of what a strong punch could do – while channel surfing he once ran into a mixed martial arts match and saw the busted lip and shut left eye of a man with a name he couldn’t pronounce. What he was looking at now though, was something else entirely. It was Karen who had been hit. It was him who hit her. There was no plastic screen or suited announcer to separate him from the blood and violence.
You wake up, but you’re still asleep.
Your dreams remain with you. Winning lottery tickets fly around in your head, alongside fantasies of childhood parental approval. Instead of saying “no” that time, you see the possibilities of a “yes.” You think of your ex-whoever and relive the moment when you realized it wouldn’t last. You feel the tear on your left check that you didn’t wipe away.
Helen wore a softer version of Isaac’s outfit – with light beige replacing the navy blue. A homely looking woman, Helen had broad shoulders that were accentuated by her many business jackets. Isaac glanced at her with dull eyes before returning his gaze to the trees, bushes and mountain scenery flying past the window. He was glad he married her. She was smarter than him, and he knew it. Helen was the strategist behind Isaac’s campaign who did everything from writing his speeches and policy initiatives, to setting up promotional events and contacting the media.
It was a totally new building with glass walls and a wonderful view of the woodsy campus behind the main school building. I sat inside this new cafeteria with six other teachers who, because of the new lunch schedule that accompanied the new building, weren’t used to eating with me – the foreigner. I ate kimchi and occasionally sniffed the queer smelling chemical scents given off by the building materials.
This is a collection of some of my twits (yeah, that’s what I call them) and Facebook statuses over the last few I-don’t-know-how-long. They’re short little bits of what I thought were insightful, and pretty sounding phrases placed in a non-chronological order. Follow me at @alexclermont because I’m cool, just like you.
If it wasn’t for your delicious Kimchi and easily accessible 노래방s, I’d hate you Korea.
Me and a co-worker of mine started taking Muay Thai classes in April. His name is Mr. 김 (Kim) and since I arrived last December for my second year in Korea he’s taken to the idea of being my older brother – my 형님.
He knows I didn’t work at a public school before, and he knows this is my first time living in Seoul, so he wants to give me advice and expose me to Korea. He reminds me that kimchi is a very popular is a traditional Korean food. “Oh okay” is all I say after living here for a year.