Eye Contact

Another week. It seems like the days all blend into one massive stream, just like a river is made up of nothing more than little drips. Just little drips of almost nothing that somehow combine into this great big thing that is life. That takes life, if you're not careful. I don't know how I got here except that I was pushed by days upon days, all of them running after each other as those behind spill into their absence. That's how rivers are made, and that's what turns boys into old men. Will I be a wise old man?

God only knows.

I've come to this coffee shop in my neighborhood called "The Place to Feel Coffee." I was put off by the name at first, but in reality, the place is really about as cute and charming as the syntactic error that it is called by. The lady that owns it smiles at me every time and greets me in Korean. She doesn't try to speak English or ask me who I am or why I'm here. Most of the people here treat me like I'm some sort of celebrity, always pointing, gasping, or trying to ask me a million questions. I love that I'm just another customer to her. It seems like she lives a life of very simple ambition. I think that's where peace comes from. I wish I was a person of peace, but I've never been able to simplify my ambitions. She has a sort of plump face (rare in Korea. Everyone is apallingly thin) a bright smile offset by the plae colors she wears under her apron. If I was 10-15 years older, I'd be crushing hard.

The young lady at the table opposite says something about 왜국이 (forigner) and sneaks a picture of me with her camera phone. I am avoiding eye contact.

Recently I told a complete stranger that the curse of being human is to be continually stuck in the present, with no indication of how our story would end. All we have are questions and trust.

I am not very good at trust.

Am I moving, or are these tiny drips pushing me? If I try to stop, will they find their way over my head, and pull me down with them?