52. crabmeat carbonara, something other than homecoming
in korea, it's safe to walk furiously and pompously. walk on a treadmill, walk between bus stops, walk through the subway station. you walk faster than you realize. it's safe to pump to your arms up and down, your hands clenched mightily in fists, as you walk along the river. and it's also safe to walk through winding street with your eyes glued down to your screen while playing clash royale.
walk.
but my ankle is still healing. it doesn't hurt when i walk, but it makes it hard to run for long stretches. so i'd rather not. not to mention, i feel heavy with all this weight i've gained over the past month and a half. i feel heavy.
walk.
i sat next to someone new today and we (well mostly i) ate funghi pizza with pickles and crabmeat roe carbonara. i dreamed about coming back here and eating these two dishes for so long, over and over. i imagined the bite of cheese and marinara and mushroom and the fork full of creamy pasta would be a pouring of glory, warmth and return. coming home.
walk.
i sat next to someone familiar today, a friend, at a cafe to write the secondary part of my med school applications. we drank the cafe's original latte, iced and mugged, topped with three full lumps of cream. i'm not particularly fond of cream. but i liked the coldness of the latte. i felt uncomfortable in the low wooden seat, my butt cheeks feeling flattened and pressed onto a slab of hard stone. i don't want to do anymore of this today. it stresses me out. because i feel like i'm lacking, lacking the answers to these questions.
walk.
i took the bus back home across the bridge. mom and i prepared dinner. i opened the sauce. she cut the eggplant. i stirred. she sliced.
it was an ending to the day, perhaps it was also the beginning of the next. not necessarily to the next day, but to the next thought, the next feeling, the next sound that we sense if we're blessed to wake up again.