long division

we split the atom
and found only dust

---

Bear brushed away the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. Two dark, irregular plaques had already established themselves on the shirt's easy-iron cotton fabric at the boggy confluxes of his arms and torso. Although it wasn't strictly real cotton, or even cotton at all. At the shop, the matte black tag boasted fibres of a new semi-organic semi-synthetic hybrid polymer called POSC (short for polyvinyl-like organic silk cotton), spun from genetically engineered silkworms that produced an isomer of cellulose while possessing a molecular morphology nearly identical to polyvinyl chloride, intended to add to the lightness and breatheability of cotton the tensile strength and luster of silk. The modified silkworms possessed a truncated lifespan which meant that they never progressed to moths but simply died within their cocoons. This, while circumventing the need to boil the metamorphosing chrysalis, posed a problem in terms of sustainability as the immature silkworms could not be induced to mate. There were rumours of a method of interrupting the cycle at a stage of transformation which allowed for the genetic machinery to be dissected out and viably implanted into an artificial female moth replica for insemination by unmodified domesticated silkmoth. A study would be published the following year suggesting a correlation between the industry adoption of POSC and declining prevalence of wild type Bombyx mori, which would be buried under an avalanche of legal inquiry long enough for the contradictory study funded by Cora & Janssen, the beauty and pharmaceuticals subsidiary of Mortissen's lifestyle marketing arm, already in its final stages of conception, to be published.

The dark patches that began forming during dinner had by now become an integrated part of the shirt's expensive biochemistry. Bear had spent the past three nights pacing his apartment, deliberating over where to eat, eventually designing a spreadsheet which ranked 35 izakayas, trattorias, steakhouses, brasseries, curryhouses, hotel buffets, burger joints, health fusion delicatessens etc. on the basis of price, ease of accessibility, variety, novelty, Michelin brand recognition, cleanliness, local repute, queuing times, decor / ambiance, proximity in relation to nearby attractions, events and places of interest, waitstaff companionabililty, waitstaff diligence and in-house washroom amenities. After painstakingly eliminating 25 of them, he set about translating the remaining 10 into their respective radar charts, before receiving an email from April suggesting that they meet at a run-of-the-mill Japanese family restaurant outlet of decidedly below-average local standing.

Although his colleagues would never be mean enough to admit, Bear was regarded as something of an outsider. He had the cautious demeanour of a dog who had been hit too many times. On his own, as he frequently was, his default expression was that of a veteran athlete who had let down the team.

He also had a peculiar cough - one which seemed cut short and sort of swallowed instead of expelled, ending in a percussive and abrupt 'hup' as his lips came together to cut off the remaining sound. When he coughed in succession it sounded like a choking victim saying, 'help. help. help. help.'

It wasn't exactly that Bear's myriad idiosyncrasies were repulsive, or even off-putting. It was simply that the total sum of his traits and features yielded a net appeal of zero. For example, when he looked at you, his gaze betrayed no warmth or personal interest; no contempt or approval. You felt only observed - as if his eyes were camera lenses connected to some remote security monitor. There was an aberrant inertia that informed his interactions - a stark lack of agency or motive which perplexed people who, scanning for cues with which to establish some mutual interpersonal affinity, invariably drew a blank.

He never initiated conversation except to discuss work. If he was capable of any disposition besides polite acquiescence he was careful not to show it. He never made jokes, but always made an effort to smile or laugh appropriately at the jokes of others. His small talk always seemed scripted, inoffensive, perfunctory. His silences in contrast were dispassionate, pronounced and incumbent. It seemed as though his one overriding motivation in life was not to be noticed by anyone, and his colleagues and acquaintances, not wanting to impose, did everything within their power to facilitate this.

April, on the other hand, radiated an indomitable and expansive self love that seemed to extend outwards, forming a tight perimeter and imbuing the privileged few who were nearest to her with its irresistible glow. Her voice contained a gaiety and lightness that Bear could not help envy, but all the same longed to hear. Her actions betrayed an easy, innate consideration for others and in speaking revealed a candour and delicacy of thought that depending on the context sounded either comic or profound, but never banal.

She wore her obvious intelligence like a pair of earrings, on display but as small accessories to her beauty, fingering them unconsciously from time to time but never obtrusively, never deliberately to draw attention to them. She possessed a mischievous and playful manner that managed to never stray into obnoxiousness and kept her from seeming aloof. Perhaps her most attractive quality was this, however: the fact that although friends openly adored her and she was the object of many a hopeless crush, she seemed to lack in herself any capacity for conceitedness, ostensibly too busy being interested in and in love with others to bask in or it seems even consider her own blinding excellence.

April had not given much notice, indeed had not disclosed her reason for visiting. Nevertheless, Bear had agreed to meet and now found himself sat across from her, perspiring heavily as plates of conveyor belt sushi paraded past.

"So how's biochemical engineering treating you? Engineer any biochemicals lately?"

Bear laughed and swallowed nervously. "Yeah! It's really interesting actually... Yeah, I actually helped make this shirt," he said, pinching his collar with his thumb and forefinger, straining to match her effortless interestingness.

"Oh really?"

"Yeah! It's made out of POSC which is a new hybrid polymer. It's uh- made out of part silk and part cotton... but they're both one single fibre. Like, it's actually really really cool. Um, it comes from genetically modified moths... and there's a way to, uh, get the moths to die before they um... they hatch from the cocoon - which is... it makes it easy to harvest... the cocoon I mean.... Um..." Bear's eyes lost focus as his explanation stalled.

"Wow, that sounds really elaborate," said April politely. "All this for a shirt?"

"Yeah..." He grimaced apologetically. "Saying it out loud, it sounds kind of dumb I guess."

April raised her eyebrows and remained quiet for a moment. "I don't think it sounds dumb," she said finally.

Bear coughed weakly, trying to think of something appropriate to say.

"By the way, are you thinking of going home any time soon?" April asked.

"For good?"

"Mmhmm."

"Em..." His pupils darted back and forth as the muscles around his eyes constricted slightly, which then gave way to a pained expression. "I don't know really... I- I can't really see things getting better back home... I mean I'd love to someday. But not right now... You?"

April raised her eyebrows and stared up into the overhead lighting fixture for a few seconds, before saying, "Maybe."

Another pause.

"Can I ask you a strange question - do you feel like you belong here?"

"What, in this country?"

"Yeah."

"... Not really," Bear conceded.

"So you expect that to change? If you s-"

"Not really."

April tilted her head slightly.

"Hm. You've been here three years now, right?"

"Yeah..."

"But it's not 'home' for you?"

"No... I guess not."

"So why stay?"

"I guess I'm... used to it? It's just... easier than moving, I guess..."

April nodded and stared up at the lighting fixture for a long time, as if searching for some kind of answer.

"Do you feel-"

"Have you heard of Zeno's paradox?"

Bear, visibly puzzled, decided to answer at face value. "...Vaguely?"

April leaned forward. "It's the idea that if infinity is real then motion is impossible. As in to travel to point A, you first need to travel halfway to point B, but in order to travel to B you must first travel halfway there to point C, and so on ad infinitum. His argument was that since the journey can be divided infinitely, you have to perform an infinite number of actions to travel from A to B -- so it's actually impossible. You see?"

Bear made a show of scratching his head. "Sort of..."

Undeterred, April continued. "Or put another way, if you're travelling home from here, you can maybe make it 1/2 of the way, sure - and then you can go a bit further and travel 2/3rds of the way, and so on and so on till you get 99/100ths of the way there, but the thing is, you never actually reach your destination, because there will always just be that little bit further to go. You see? That's what Zeno was saying -- that if infinity exists then you can get as close to home as you like, but you can never actually get home."

She looked at Bear expectantly. Still nothing.

"But I was thinking..." She continued, "Maybe Zeno was right. Maybe infinity is made up after all. Maybe we're thinking about the problem the wrong way. Let me ask you this, do you believe in infinity?"

"... I guess I do." He conceded.

"How come?"

Bear's gaze reflexively sharpened. "Well... because you can theoretically count forever and never run out of numbers," he concluded.

At this, she appeared triumphant, pleased with his response. "Right? That's how most people see it. Because you can imagine doing something forever -- because it's possible for there to be a never ending sequence of numbers, infinity must exist, if only as a concept. Aristotle believed there were two kinds of infinities; potential infinities and actual infinities. He used this distinction to refute the existence of actual infinites. He was willing to allow that certain processes could potentially go on indefinitely, i.e. counting forever. Here's where I disagree."

"You disagree with Aristotle?"

"Yes, because it doesn't solve Zeno's paradox at all. Because that means in order to get home you still have to traverse an infinite number of half distances, albeit a potential infinite. Tell me, can you think of any other process other than counting that goes on indefinitely?"

"Well, dividing distances I suppose."

"Ah, but if you think about it, dividing infinitely is simply another kind of endless counting, but in the inverse direction. They're two sides of the same coin, as in, it's the same process; obtain a number, apply the function, calculate the result, rinse lather and repeat. Apart from performing some kind of manipulation of numbers, is there anything else you can think of that goes on forever? Something infinitely wide or infinitely tall?"

"No."

"Exactly, me neither. So I started thinking that maybe this idea of the infinite comes from how we think of numbers. Within the set of natural numbers, there is a corresponding even number to every odd number. 1 corresponds to 2, 3 to 4 , 5 to 6 and so on. In the same way, for every natural integer there is a multiple of 2018. 1 can correspond to 2018, 2 corresponds to 4036, 3 corresponds to 6054 etc. Do you follow me?"

"I think so."

"So do you see what is happening? We are counting again - using numbers to try and describe numbers. And once we start counting, there doesn't seem to be any end."

Bear shook his head. "So... counting just numbers themselves doesn't count. It's a made up exercise, therefore infinity is a made up concept... is that what you're saying?"

April smiled again. "Close. Numbers were initially invented as a way to think about and keep track of physical quantities. One apple, two apples. That's how we discovered plurality. And then eventually we discovered we could ask the question "how many?" without having to ask 'how many What?' We then began to uncouple or dissociate the numbers from the objects they were invented to describe. And that's where this confusion comes from. We started thinking that a number was an entity that existed independent of other objects - we started treating it as if it were an apple. And we started thinking there could be an infinite set of numbers, because you could subject a number to a function again and again to continuously create new numbers. But let me ask you this, are there an infinite number of human words?"

"Of any language?"

"Yes."

Bear thought about this. "No matter how you look at it, there has to be a limit to the number of words that exist."

"That's right. No doubt, you could potentially create new words forever and ever simply by continually adding a letter to the end of an existing word and calling it a new word: Axexxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx for example. But this doesn't happen. This is because for it to be a 'new word', not just a nonsense word, it has to hold a new meaning - and also conform to the rules of the language it belongs to. In the same way, you could potentially conceive of absurdly large numbers, but they wouldn't ever exist for the same reasons. Words exist because of a need to convey to others some quality about the real world. For words to exist they must hold meaning. They can't exist simply for the sake of existing. The same goes for numbers. They are used to denote plurality, to describe quantities. But when you try to use numbers to count the number of numbers there are - it's like trying to invent a language that only describes itself. It's not a paradox, it's simply a nonsensical request. The only way numbers have meaning is by describing a plurality that exists in the natural world. And the dimensions that contain these pluralities are..."

"Time and space."

"That's right. Note that I used the word 'contain' and not exhibit or possess. Plurality isn't an inherent property of these dimensions. One apple, two apples. They exist in space, but are separate from space itself. When we think about 'distance' we think about two points existing in space, and then how to connect them. By doing this, we create a language to describe objects which exist in space. The terms length, width, height etc. belong to this language, and use numbers as the fundamental units of meaning the way the English language uses nouns and verbs. But take away the object and you find that space itself has no length, no width. There is nothing discrete to count in space - there is nothing either to divide. When we try to define a meter or centimeter or a cubit or an inch for instance, what we're doing is simply taking a thing with real height and width and length - a finite thing - and using its physical singularity as a frame of reference. If you think about it, any act of measuring is only possible thanks to the apparent finitude of our surroundings and our immediate experience. When you measure a road, you're measuring asphalt as opposed to sidewalk or maybe soil, but with space there's no delineation, no boundary where it transitions into some alternative medium. Because the asphalt has no end, we're forced to use its pebbles to try and comprehend its size. But space isn't made up of pebbles. It isn't divisible into discrete units. To measure space itself, we end up having to invent the pebbles. The fact is that numbers rely on finite objects, like pebbles, like you and me, to give it sense and meaning. For keeping track of apples, its vocabulary and grammar is flawless, but when it comes to delineating time and space, it's inadequate. Mathematics, as a language, simply isn't designed for it. The task of trying to prove or disprove infinity is as unfeasible as asking a universe of deaf-mutes to write music."

"Oyako Don, large." A young waiter set Bear's dish down with a clatter then promptly disappeared, leaving Bear's punctured reverie in his wake.

"Which doesn't mean we'll stop trying," She added with a wink.

Bear looked up at April and blinked, having forgotten now to be nervous.

"Do you know where the word infinite comes from?"

"No."

"It comes from Latin. In- meaning not, and -finitus meaning finished, an inaccurate translation of the Greek word apeiros, meaning endless--"

As she was speaking her right hand yanked itself up an inch, fingers splayed and contorting as if possessed, only her wrist visible from across the table. It shuddered spasmodically for a microsecond before returning to her lap like a whip. April bit her lip and lowered her head, staring down at her hands.

"Did you want something?" Bear asked, motioning towards the endless procession of sushi bypassing them.

"No... yes, some edamame please." April said. "Sorry, I get a bit jumpy sometimes," she added.

Bear placed one of the itinerant plates carefully between them.

"Thanks," April said.

"No worries."

After dinner, Bear offered to take April to the Esplanade for a panoramic view of the bay, but she declined, saying she had to be at the airport early the next morning. Instead, she suggested a circuitous route which would bisect the financial district, allow them to traverse the mouth of the river and wind up at an MRT station a little further uptown. So they ambled down the manicured urban walkways, past the rumbustious crowds clustered tightly in bistros and cafes, past the towering, glittering skyscrapers the city had exchanged for stars, until they had reached the underground shopping mall adjacent to the predetermined MRT station.

The mall was vacant, save for the two of them. The place's moneyed sheen seemed to reflect and multiply its own emptiness, expanding it. They walked through its catacomb-like stillness and muted man-made glow. The lustrous hallways echoed like a forgotten cathedral.

"The really tragic thing is that after spending all that time competing with each other neither of them get to see the finish line."

Bear tilted his head. His shoulders were relaxed now as he sauntered alongside April. "I feel like the tortoise probably doesn't even know he's in a race."

April let out a delighted chuckle. "He's not even trying? While Achilles is like dying?" Here she did a little pantomime of a sprinter getting out of breath.

Bear smiled. "You could see it as kind of romantic though."

"Hmm?"

"A journey that lasts forever."

April Itsuka said nothing as they approached the bank of AFC gates, then suddenly clapped a hand onto Bear's shoulder with an excessive amount of force. Grasping his deltoid with an unbalanced, avuncular roughness, she turned him to face her.

"Well partner - it's been good to see you again," she said, then before Bear could react, she pulled him in for a hug. Bear felt a strange tightness in his chest and wondered if it had something to do with how she seemed suddenly small and not invincible in his arms, or the way the top of her head was nuzzled against his cheek, or the way her breasts were pressed up tightly against his chest, or the way her perfume smelled sweet and delicate and of somewhere else, of somewhere far away, and how quickly it would be gone once she left.

"See you again soon?" Bear said after he'd recovered his balance.

"Anything's possible," she replied, smiling.

Bear watched as April Itsuka disappeared past the gates and down the escalators, her head sinking below the steps' metal horizon. He had already forgotten the scent of her perfume. Wanting to prolong the memory, Bear stood by himself, in the shimmering quiet of an empty shopping mall and thought of April Itsuka. He tried to imagine her world. A world without infinity; a world where if you only traveled far enough and for long enough, you could end up coming home again.

Bear brushed away the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.

how to get home

come from Mont Kiara

passing the palace on your right

and take the exit that leads you

onto Jalan Semantan

or come from Damansara Heights

and head South

along the Damansara Link

towards SS2 and PJ

before you join the Sprint Highway

take the exit left onto

Jalan Maarof and drive up the hill

heading towards BSC

stopping at the four way intersection

if you need to

then keep going straight

past the expensive air

conditioned glass

and steel establishment

I don’t frequent anymore



on your left

continue along Jalan Maarof



following the slight bend in the road

and take the next left turning

and you'll come to a T junction

facing a sudden thicket of tropical undergrowth

and there used to be a rectangular sign with

horizontal arrows pointing in either direction

which isn't there now

(turn left and follow it down

back towards BSC for about two meters

and you'll soon reach a small bump

in the road where I fell off my bike

for the first time and scraped my knee

badly and had to go home and get it

cleaned and I cried all the way home

till I got the bandage on and mom

and dad said I was very brave

and the scar is now gone but I



still think of it fondly)

turn right onto Lorong Maarof



continue down the road

watching as the jungle on your

left grows more and more formidable

and on your right a parade of terrace

houses of all shapes and sizes, all looking

a little bit battered and a little bit old

on your left you will pass by

some private housing slash industrial estate

its wide and inviting boulevard

guarded by a barrier gate

and if you go in on foot or on bike

you'll find it leads up a single long

and winding path up the hill

with walls of lush leafy greenery

surrounding you left and right and at the



very top a dead end

keep going straight on Lorong Maarof



you will pass on your left

a street called Jalan Limau Purut

which makes two right 90 degree turns

to form a box by intersecting

again with Lorong Maarof

and circumscribes

the small suburban community

with rows of terrace houses

and nameless perpendicular alleys

cutting through and

connecting the parallel streets

to produce a kind of reticulum

liberally kinked, a grid designed

by an astigmatic

if you take the first turning left

into Jalan Limau Purut

and follow the bend right

you'll come to Emma Rozario's house

just immediately on the left

where Evan, Nirvan and I celebrated

New Year's Eve in 2011 (or was it

2012?) (incidentally, her road happens to run

parallel to a road just on the other side

of the undergrowth named

Jalan Negeri Sembilan

which is where my dad is from

(the state, that is



not the road))

(keep going straight along Lorong Maarof



and take the second turning right

past the petrol station and along Lorong Maarof 5

to trace our journey from Emma's house

to Telawi where we loitered in front of

a 7-11 for half an hour to watch the fireworks



at midnight)

don't take the first turning left


instead bypass the first turning into Jalan Limau Purut

and keep going

past Jalan Limau Besar

till you get to Jalan Limau Purut again

on your left

go up the steepish slope

where my dad taught me

how to ride a bike on my own

go slow so you don't miss it

on your left somewhere

between halfway and three quarters up

is my childhood home

a terrace house with a white gate

and next to us lived a boy whose hobby

was to climb the roof of his house everyday

when he invited me to join him

on his rooftop escapades

my mom and dad said 'no thanks'



I think I was about eight

keep going up the hill



and you'll see that the road ends in a

cute little cul-de-sac that juts out

of the corner intersection

like the neighbourhood's appendix

you'll see at the very tip

there's a clearing where the

asphalt stops and the concrete is covered

by clumps of rough and familiar cowgrass

and all around you'll see an array of

gaunt and cheerless trees towering

over you in a semicircle and if you stare

straight ahead

you see a forest

a deep and forbidding place

possibly no one has ever explored

before

and you are momentarily struck with the same fear

and wonder as you were standing in that place

over sixteen years ago

but what really bothers you is

how small and feeble

the reality is compared to that place in your mind

and you find yourself wondering if that was

really the spot

or if it might have been some other clearing

at the end of a street with the woods

tall and impenetrable as the ones

that swallow up young children in story books

and you stand there staring into the bark

scrutinising the vegetation

trying to see if the place has changed

or if it's exactly the same

was this fence always here?

and that sign there

isn't that new?

the scene before you looks

both increasingly familiar and

increasingly unrecognisable

as the landmarks of your youth

fail to correspond with what you see

image and experience dissolve

into anecdotes

and standing there alone

you begin to worry

because you can't tell anymore

where you've been

or where you are

or how to get home

doors

the old house, exactly the same
but somehow colder than before
the uncles and aunties had left late
and you spent the night in your old bed
but you didn't sleep, you just stared
wide awake
afternoon came, overcast
listless leaves rattled on by
never knew you'd be
the last one to lock the door

parents gone, moving on
you take ten steps and stop
to look back, gazing
down the empty alleyway
he thunders towards you
yelling at you to get back in the house 
but you just stare
until his image runs out of memory
and dissipates into air
a long, lingering glance
waiting for something or someone
for absolution or an apology
but it's no use knocking
there's no one home anymore

Telemachus

there are tiny spiders running up and down my spine
crawling into the dusty crevices of my unkept mind

---

Odysseus just wants to get home

---

I just got home from fencing. Usually, I enjoy the exercise, but today my heart just wasn't in it.

These days, I don't really feel like myself; it feels as if the real me is somewhere else - gone away on vacation or something, leaving behind nothing more than a fraudulent facsimile to fill in for him - a cheap knockoff or hollow imitation, painfully aware of its hollowness and terrified of being found out. He's not always absent though - occasionally he comes back to visit - just stopping by for a quick chat and cup of tea before he's off again to see more interesting places and meet more delightful people. When he's back though, everything is great; things just seem to fall into place, but it never feels like very long before he's gone again, and his absences tend to be dreadfully extended. Meanwhile, the bright echoes of laughter and joy that always seem to accompany him get drowned out and swallowed up by all sorts of deadlines and commitments, to the point that I sometimes question whether they ever really existed.

Sometimes, as I'm walking home late at night, my eyes will be inexplicably drawn to peer into the windows - illuminated portraits elaborating accounts of other worlds - decorating the gallery walls of dark brick and concrete that cordon off the lonely avenues on either side. Glancing into each room, certain details will capture my attention and appeal to my imagination - for instance, the sight of an oak chiffonier idling alone in the corner with white tubes of cosmetic cream laid out along the shelves, or perhaps the particular glow and tint that the light takes on from being filtered through a paper lamp-shade - and then, from these fragmented figments of vital information, I'd try to piece together, in my mind, a picture of what the actual interior looks like - but then I can't help but wonder about the sort of people that might inhabit such a space; I'd try to predict how their daily lives might play out; the sort of jobs they'd have; whether they get invited to many parties - in this way, I'd study these fictional neighbours, extrapolating their characters until I grew tired of them.

I'm not quite sure why I feel so compelled to sample and speculate upon these glimpses of other people's private lives; I suppose you could call it a mild form of inanimate voyeurism. But I think the real reason might be that I'm still looking for the real me - searching for him without meaning to - as if one day I might happen to peek through a crack in the curtains and catch him sitting there with a glass of drink in hand, laughing along with some stranger in a warmly furnished room, living some sort of comfortable and wonderful life without me.

Peter / Icarus

He looked at me with twinkling eyes

a gaze that said 'you'll be alright'

'I'm right behind you, don't worry', he said

to a ten year old, saddled and filled with dread

that's right, I was promised a pair of hands

to guide and protect, to help me land

so I looked straight ahead and gripped tight the bike handles

I started to peddle, testing the mettle of my sandals

faster and faster, my heart began to race

with a touch of wind and the sun in my face

I was cruising now, on my own momentum

safe from gravity and other such phantoms

I had earned my wings, a glorious pair

soaring at rapturous speed without care

the embrace of the air, a sensation to share

but when I turned to look, my dad wasn't there

the panic and pride, they did coincide

the wheels still spinning, trying not to collide

I toppled ungainly and fell on my side

never before had I ridden a wilder ride

in the distance I spotted a figure grinning wide

my dad unmistakable with his pair of twinkling eyes

I lay in the shade as he shielded me from the sun

his victorious silhouette, lean and burnt from races run

arm outstretched, covered in scrapes and bruises of his own

extended hand, by nature coarse but gentle toward flesh and bone

still the same old shorts, shirt and head of graying hair

that's when I finally knew, my dad had always been there

모르죠 (아직도)

a life that's been shaped by others' absences

---

분위기 이상한다는 것 - farewells where only one person knows they're leaving

Q&A

desperately trying to populate my world with real people (without making any effort to change)

---

I wonder how snakes developed their venom - whether it got more and more toxic over time. I suppose to make up for their lack of appendages they had to find a quick way of incapacitating their prey.

The less effective your physical attributes are at killing, the more your chemical attributes have to be; I suppose that makes sense - that something you lack is made up for in a different way; I mean, if snakes were so heavily disadvantaged, they would have gone extinct a long time ago.

But if that's the case, since our blood and saliva are harmless to most species, does that mean we have a greater physical potential to harm, or has that mechanism developed along a different avenue?

---

it's not always about the girl

---

Hee Jun. He says it calm and cool, like a salesman presenting a shiny new product.

Oh?   like the singer. 

He furrows his brow in a manner only rich people know how. Excuse me?

Undeterred, I continue to play the nice guy. Moon Hee Jun, from H.O.T? He's a celebrity.

Oh    ok. He makes no effort to hide his indifference. The bastard.  

   You've really never heard of him?

No.  And my surname is Ahn by the way

---

There's this really good Japanese movie, based on a manga, called Solanin that I saw a few years ago. In the movie, there's a scene where, right after Meiko quits her job, her boyfriend sees a red balloon wandering past as he's getting ready to go to work. Later, when Meiko wakes up and ventures out onto the balcony, she finds a red balloon hovering just beyond the terrace. (I know, so far it sounds sort of like an M Night Shamalayan movie, but just bear with me) As she reaches for the string, it floats up and slips out of her grasp, soaring away, up towards the vast blue sky. Meiko stares after it wistfully.

Ever since, I've been trying to figure out the significance of the elusive balloon. Perhaps it means letting go of your childhood and growing up. Or the futility of trying to hold on to something that is constantly being drawn away. Or something about freedom perhaps

---

Do you feel as though some traits are handed down through our DNA - things beyond temperament and IQ - like actual habits and patterns of thought? I do. Perhaps it's simply a matter of being around them for so long, but sometimes I feel that parts of me and the things I do are not only genetically predisposed but almost analogous to my relatives. When I give directions, I see my uncle in me. When I tell a joke, it's a little bit of my dad tempered with a little of my granddad on my mom's side. When I eat noodles and wear flip-flops, I see my dad's brother and his son, my cousin. Am I the only one who experiences this?

---

It might just be my ignorance speaking, but I feel like Korean's a little more malleable than Japanese - that the rules governing sentence structure and syntax aren't as rigid.

---

because you think that the darkness defines you, but you don't have to. Don't let that define you

peripheral spaces

---

I don't mind wearing glasses since I've always loved things to do with lenses. Binoculars, kaleidoscopes and most recently, telescopes. There's just something about staring at the sky. Things look pretty from far away, but up close there's always something else - some hidden shadow or aspect missed. Since stars are so far away, it takes sometimes up to 2 million years for the light to reach us. Some celestial bodies are so far away that by the time the light reaches us, the actual stars no longer exist. All we're seeing are the ancient memories of a mythical land - phantom projections of an abandoned message in a bottle. I don't know why but I feel sad when I think about it.

flower girl / mona

---

Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle

---

I couldn't help but notice - the moon seemed extra large today

---

Today, there was a girl on the bus. She was sitting in the first row of the upper deck and seemed to be engrossed in thought. Without paying her much attention, I settled myself into the seat behind her. And then she started sobbing softly. She was sitting with her feet up, arms crossed upon her knees with her face buried in the crook of her elbow. I wouldn't have noticed if not for the sound of her intermittent sniffing. When the sun and shade permitted, I caught glimpses of her reflection in the window. Every now and again she would wipe her tears with the cuff of her long sleeved jumper. Beside her lay a bouquet, arranged carefully and wrapped neatly in layers of plastic.

As I got off the bus, I couldn't help but think: should I have said something? If so, what should I have said? What would she have said? Would it have made a difference? I've never been good at expressing unsolicited concern. I always feel odd observing the daily drama of people around me - to be shown a total stranger's solitary struggles - I just don't know how to react. Most people are extremely selective when it comes to sharing their inner thoughts and troubles, but then - when you least expect it - they let their guard down. It's so rare to witness another person's private life - the part they normally keep tucked away beneath their public persona. But for a short while, two normally disconnected worlds intersected, and then went off along their respective orbits. Some may regard it as an unremarkable encounter, but it left a huge impression on me. Such closeness always makes me uncomfortable.

---

Mona the florist's assistant. Pretty sure there's a story in there somewhere. (one at a time)