The Easy Hurt

I'm having one of those "not tonight Korea, I have a headache" moments. Everything is a fight.

The students don't listen.

I can't concentrate.

The teachers can't communicate.

The food smells like death.

To be honest, most days, I like the fight. It keeps me awake. In America, life was too easy. I was fat (in more ways than one). Convenience is a slow and happy killer. All we need to do is relax for long enough to mix with the dirt.

Put down roots.

Soak up the sun.

Never move again.

Today I wish I lived close to my sister. The sound of her voice would be like therapy. She understands me without hearing me speak. Don't know if there are other people like that in the world. I moved a world away from it. I don't even think I was happy when I lived near.

It's not you, it's me.

It's easier to be unknown most days. I'm a little bit famous in my city (my face is strange), but that's not what I mean by being known.

Everyone stares.

No one speaks.

It's easy without people. It's easy, but it hurts. It's when you're alone that you notice all the things that you could care about but shouldn't. Things like crowded buses, cranky coworkers, long work hours, persistent coughs, your Facebook account, and the time difference between Seoul and Los Angeles. Not to mention unapetizing elementary school cafeteria food.

Smells like death.

One of my favorite movies is about an Irish man who becomes a butler for an eccentric millionaire who keeps alligators in the house. I'll never forget one particular part of the movie. After his first day, the butler turns to the cook and asks "is it forever like this?"

"Like what?," she says, confused.

"Like this" is something I want to remember. I want to carry it with me until my dying day. Fight to stay alive. Remember what love is. It is, in fact, love that I want, and not the easy unknown. It is not envious or proud. It is not forever like this.