P. 1
1.
On Sunday, I saw national flags hung on the street. Oh, yes, I realized, today was that day – March first, the Korea Independence Day.
2.
The day before Sunday, the US launched missiles on Iran.
3.
As I walked past the national flags, I thought of the ruined back of the labor party building I once saw in Cheorwon, Gangwondo. While the front of the building stood intact, the back, which was bombed by UN and US forces, was half gone.
4.
On Monday morning, a news report said that the strikes accidentally landed on a local girls’ elementary school. The death toll kept rising: from 55 to 86, now up to 165. In one article, there was a photo of oversized black sacks lined up on the school playground. I shut my eyes to understand what it meant: dead children waiting for their funeral.
5.
On Sunday morning, I called my nephew to say hi. He was growing fast with each passing day. I felt safe when I held him in my arms, or when he suddenly came at me, smiling, and kissing on my back. When I put him to bed, he smelled like cotton candy, which also put me to sleep.
6.
On Monday morning, news poured in: Iran retaliated. Air travel got suspended in the Middle East. And fire, fire everywhere.
7.
Back in Cheorwon, when my group entered the building, it was nothing but hollow ground. According to my guide, the building was a notorious site for killing and questioning anti-communist people. Even to this day, he said, tools of torture are being excavated.
8.
During a brief restroom break, I reentered the building. It was cold inside. The sound of wind blowing sounded like the crying of many nameless people. I imagined my grandmother, who had lost her father due to a false accusation that he had ties with the communist party. How did he die, no one knows. He was taken away by the government one day, and never came home again.
9.
When there is lack of information and urgency for a conclusion, the mind often fills up the void with horrible stories. I did that in Cheorwon: as I stood on the old historical site where the bombs had landed, and where people were violently tortured, I imagined my great grandfather being roped, kicked, electrocuted, until death. He must have screamed, begged, and bled. Until death.
10.
My grandmother grew up without her parents. Although she kept it a secret for her entire life, it never went away. Instead, it leaked: in the form of obsession for a fine education, financial security, fluency in foreign languages, hundreds souvenir magnets that filled in her refrigerator door, a proof of her freedom of movement, wealth, and knowledge. The desire was endless, because the pain was endless.
11.
On Tuesday morning, the US president announced he had no wish to back down his plan. As a result: the Middle East was on a bigger fire. I spent all night watching the BBC live broadcast.
12.
On Wednesday morning, I continued my life: I went to a language institution where I learn Spanish these days. I learned new words: fuego, bombero, casa, niña. Meaning: fire, firemen, house, girl. And I thought: agua. Water. The world is on fire. Where is the agua? ¿Dónde está el agua?
13.
On Tuesday morning, I called the Unicef and Doctors without Borders to ask about emergency funding for the current fuego going on in the world. They said yes. Bien, I said, as I pulled out my credit card.
14.
On Wednesday morning, my nephew visited me. We played, ate, and walked to the police station to see police cars parked outside. At night: yoga.
15.
Thursday was another quiet, peaceful day for me in my country. But from time to time, I was interrupted by the images of fuego, edificio, avión, personas. I kept thinking of oversized black sacks piled on the ground. A large excavator standing on an empty ground, ready to dig fresh graves.
16.
Agua is the first thing I seek when I wake up every morning. Agua. Un vaso de agua. Pero, ¿dónde está el agua?
