7: Paint

Forget the several thousands of miles my feet had trekked on my journey here (most of which were in the sky—and were equally taxing on my restless lower limbs as were stretches of airport and bus station terminals). Forget my two hella-broken suitcases (one bore only three wheels by now; one sucked at offering its handle without a fight; both weighed precisely forty-nine-point-seven pounds). Forget my time travel and consequent jet lag.

My entire life caused me this one, crisp KHHERRP.

*

Everyone I’ve known joined me, too.

Memories lived in the body, the micro planet. They made villages in the hollows of my joints; they settled on subcutaneous islands, toe-to-chin, chin-to-archipelago-crown.

*

KHHERRP. The heel of my right foot settled unknowingly on a fresh bar of white.

“Hey! What are you doing?!” some Korean construction workers probably shouted at me, standing a meter away. (Or, that’s how I translated their shouting.)

“Oh, oh!” I tried to apologize, half-bowing, moving my luggage and self away from the mini-disaster. (Oops, I couldn’t remember how to say sorry in Korean.)

In the chaotic exchange of bus to taxi, I embarrassingly interrupted a construction project. My sandal print (Chaco’s brand) was my first record of life in Busan. (My second? The bruises from all the punches…kidding!)

Catching my breath, I looked around for Mr. Park, my concierge. Almost instantly (and mysteriously) he appeared, an older man with a friendly face smiling at me below sleek, combed, grey-white strands of hair.

“Samyoo-el?”

“Ah, yeh, yeh.”

(But, where was the ceremonious paper with my name inscribed with a Sharpie? I guess it wasn’t necessary, considering I was the only white male at the bus stop. *Sigh*…)

My first impressions of Busan were that it was one) oppressively humid (and everyone I would later meet told me this was one of the most brutal summers ever, thank you climate change); two) undoubtedly a big city, the kind that’s scenery keeps going and going and…three) kimchi-a-steamin in the atmosphere.

Hello, Busan, I’m Samyoo-el (*bow*).

*

So I painted everyone I had known, everything I had become, into the now.

It couldn’t’ be helped. We were destined so.

Memories lived in the body.

We all stepped in white.

(KHHERRP.)

August 14, 2016