Eun Kim > Recent Status Updates

“As she thinks how she can’t go back to who she was yesterday, or who she was that morning, her body finally begins to feel like it belongs to her.”

“The flowers she had planted one by one have been turned over in a single moment and are gone. Ahh – ak – Her screams echo against the pikes of earth and the walls of the art museum, resounding through the trees along the street; but no one hears. Only San herself, as it bounces against the museum and comes back to her in the dark.”

“…San’s attraction did not originate this summer, but rather, it has lain in wait for millennia before bursting forth all at once. Holding that desire to her breast, her earlobes red with heat, she cries long and hard inside the flower shop.”

“But now crying engulfs her. This desire grew slowly, stronger and stronger, but it never had any place to escape except for into sorrow. It has caused her to choose neglect. It has refused to be sublimated, but instead reappeared as a fresh green sadness.”

“When I called her name, she fled. Then she turned back, ran up to me, and punched the side of my face with all her might. At the end of that soft joy, this pain…”

“Ever since her unrelenting desire for the man began, the observing San that had considered every move of the corporal San had disappeared. The San who was sorrowful and yet would occasionally burst into laughter is also no more. And her will to communicate with the man by any means necessary has dissipated.”

“… The landlady had lived thinking, I want my children to turn out right so I’m going to hold off on divorce. I’ll leave when the kids grow up – but not she kept thinking, I’ve wounded my daughter in a way she’ll never recover from, and this made her cry constant, silent tears.”

“More than her husband destroying the piano, what really tortured her was the fact that her own daughter had called the police on her father.”

“…The words make not San but the people sitting on nearby benches react with surprise. They watch, waiting for her to reply.
The man lets go of her hand and stands up.
‘Let’s go to the ocean sometime.’
He bends over and kisses her on the cheek, and walks away past the fountain. It all happens in a moment.”

“How much time has passed?
‘I have to go,’ says San as she rises, and he grabs her hand.
‘May I love you?’
The sudden question drowns out the swish of the fountain’s water, only to be replaced by the claxon of traffic. Not everyone can say such things so baldly. Such words can only be said by someone who has never known pain.”

“‘You must be cold.’
He sweeps over the goosebumps on her arm.
In that brief moment, she almost bursts into tears. She doesn’t understand, right away, what this feeling means. On that hot, loud summer night awash in neon lights, Su-ae glances knowingly at the man sweeping his hand down San’s arm.”

“‘Purple violets are the color of congealed blood. Believers make garlands of violets to lay on the alter of the Virgin Mary. Because when Christ was crucified, a violet shadow fell over the cross. The purple robes of Christian funerals, the amethysts worn by widows — that’s all from violets.”

“The farm owner writes that he has grafted different flowers onto the plant. In the light of the setting sun, the bougainvillea glows. Look, writes the farm owner, the yellow buds turn into yellow flowers, and the white buds turn into white ones. The two women stand before the bougainvillea. It’s like seeing someone who had left to go far away but has finally returned.”

“‘…’
‘When I was away, this smell would call for me like mothers calling for their kids at sunset. I’d be fine one moment but just a whiff would make me long to come back here. Breaking my heart.’”

“‘Smells terrible, right?’ Su-ae wrinkles her nose, but she is smiling at the same time. ‘I didn’t notice it when I lived here, but after I left, I missed the smell so much.’
San walks with Su-ae.
‘You know, when I was little, I’d play with the other kids outside until the sun set. All the moms calling in their children. Kids can play all day, but that one sound will bring them home.’”

“Su-ae explains that, due to zoning ordinances, no permanent buildings are allowed within Seoul’s designated Green Belt. Whenever a new building is erected, the city sends a helicopter to photograph it. Her uncle lives in a greenhouse as well. Despite being covered in plastic, Su-ae says that it’s still as sturdy and cozy as any house made of brick.”

“After they have gone, San looks for a long time at the lilies they fondled. She stares until the white of the petals pierces back into her eyes, losing all sense of distance, leaving her feeling empty inside. Whenever this happened, she would close her eyes. Trying to overcome the lethargy that felt like she was falling into a hollow of white.”

“Once the storms pass, the tree on the avenue and inside the flower shop take on a deeper shade of emerald. More people came in to buy plants when it rained. They were mostly men. Men buying red roses on rainy days. Some men bought a single rose, others thirty-two blossoms.”

“The shop’s lights have bled onto the street and their section of the block is as bright as day. In that brightness, as dawn begins to break, San and Su-ae sit smiling among the layers and layers of plants and flowers. San’s gaze, which had been so empty as she wandered, has settled into a look of contentment.”

“Just like her childhood memories of tops spun on icy ponds, white kites flown on hills, the numerous big and little nickel-silver bowls they used back then – her vision of her mother has scattered. Her forehead, a cheek, the scent of her hair, her fingers, the scar underneath her knee, the little mole on her scalp near the whorl of her roots, these were all memories San would lose one day as well.”

“Even after she’s extracted all the soil from underneath her fingernails and her fatigue is so profound her back might snap in two, she’s haunted by visions of the flower shop. As she lies there tossing and turning, she’s surrounded by the panting of the roots she’s planted, hu hu – , as they grow into their new home.”

“San always knew it was her birthday by this smell – the seaweed soup and croaker. She thinks she was happy, lying in bed, smelling that aroma. Later on, it turned into something else. Her mother made those dishes on a day that wasn’t her birthday. Sitting San down at the carefully set table, her mother told her she was leaving. That she was sorry, but she had no other choice.”

“Sometimes, San picks out wilting nasturtium flowers and puts them on the tongue. With the paper-thin petals sitting in her mouth, she admires the dark pink gloxinias gleaming like velvet.
San’s still gaze is serene.”

“Ever since San and Su-ae began living together, their breakfasts have been mint chocolate chip ice cream. They eat lunch at the Sapporo Udon House, or order delivery sashimi-topped rice, or kimbap, or spicy noodles. They take turns going home earlier to cook each other dinner in the small kitchen. After, they soak their swollen feet and watch the television Su-ae brought with her…”

“Within a week, they were roommates. In their first night living together, they bought a tiny cake from Paris Baguette, lit it with candles, and congratulated each other. It was Su-ae’s suggestion, and San acquiesced. They even bought a bottle of Majuang Mosel for a toast.”

“Su-ae has a slightly long face and mischievous dimples. Short bangs tremble on her forehead. When she walks, she shimmies her small behind. San hasn’t even mentioned it but Su-ae says, loud and clear, Look, I know I have a duck butt, it’s not like I’m trying to walk this way, and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

“…That is the person I am, someone who hurts the one who hurt me until they too hear a pop in their hearts. This realization fills me, every time, with sorrow.”

“A bad person is someone who makes it possible to long for them. Their heads feel like bursting, their shoulders ache, and their legs are drained of strength. They’ll spent a day prostrate, maybe even a week. Until they hear a pop in their heart. Until they think there is nothing more to lose. Until they walk back the long way they came in solitude.”

“When I had to pick a side, or found myself suffering the urge to destroy something, I would twist the ring on my finger. That fidgeting allowed me not to make a fuss. It allowed me not to express violence.”

“The flower shop in the early summer is verdant and radiant. […] When annoyed pedestrians walk by, their frowns melt into contented sighs at the sight of lush green plants, purple balloon flowers, and buckets filled with China pinks and irises.”