Angela E J Koh » Lag Time

If Dad Could Speak

angelaejkoh — Wed, 27 Jan 2010 21:10:50 +0000

Two days ago, I finished my first novel. It took seven months to write, two years to draft. I’ll soon be launched into a bout of editors continuing the story of a mother-daughter relationship. But I remember the last page was the hardest. At the end, there was nothing I thought of more than my father. I missed thinking about him.

In one business meeting, he filled his notebook with Batman drawings. He inserted that Robin is for girls, not for men. When he dropped me off at the airport, he pointed towards the Incheon bridge, said it’s the top five longest in the world and if I could believe Koreans built that. I left him and every day that passes here, he gets older in his Pundang corner couch. His peaking temper lows into a subdued guilt. Now, he’d rather smile into the phone than yell. Like the story’s over. He’s already proud and has done what he’s supposed to, thinking he knows this life fits. I want to cover his gum and hide his teeth. There’s no proof that veins sparked with his blood could lift insignificance off his own time line. I remember why I couldn’t think of him. Someone hasten his speech, open his eyes. Keep him frenzied, alive.

Knew This Would Happen

angelaejkoh — Sun, 03 Jan 2010 15:28:00 +0000

Just got back from visiting Mom and Dad in Korea. We drove to Busan where an octopus fell onto the snowy gravel in the fish market. Even stopped by Dae-jeon’s pig-blood restaurants with stew on sale for two. I was ready to come home. But my mom does this thing. On the flight back, I found napkins and breath mints in both of my jacket pockets. When I unpacked, there were vitamin bottles tucked between socks. I unwrapped my boots and they were stuffed with ginseng drinks. Like I need to be reminded of our distance as it grows.

In the empty apartment, everything I touch aches with me. The shivering cup or the cold counter. I wake when it’s dark outside–my clock still 15-hours fast from jet lag. It reminds me of the winter night in Seoul. Dad peaks in the snack cabinet and Mom closes it after him. Their life continues. But mine seems at a stand-still (least for the next few days). I can’t seem to get going. I keep waking up when the day’s over. Keep waking up in Korea.

Avoiding the Machine

angelaejkoh — Thu, 03 Dec 2009 01:05:00 +0000

If I had to be honest, I have frequent dreams of dying. Beyond the humorous morning angst-face while brushing my teeth, these curses have contributed to the work ethic I’ve gained over the year. The most vivid deaths have been in cars, others in not so conventional ways. I have to grow from such events. I’m convinced that I’ve been given more time to digest this (as an act of mercy). Maybe it’s enough to refine a sensitive soul into tranquility–to bring the mind the closest it can to nature (or the end).

But it hurts my time. I’m 2 minutes late or 30 minutes slow. My cell phone dies from checking the digital clock, not from calls. Last night I thought if I’d started 1 year ago, I might have a successful platform today. I almost lose the bigger dream. Though setting short term goals like walking the dog is more simple, it’s been difficult to want to do what I need the most. When dying seems so close I work harder, harder. And what forces my mind into wisdom, makes it slow. I made myself a commodity somewhere between submission and publication (death). Even I believe my only value comes from what I can produce quickly. Meanwhile, the hope to maintain quality has consumed me with burden. I’ve thrown my person into a one-man assembly line. My worth contained in the next completed piece, I wonder if it will float. If I’ll find my value is 0.