A pink box bouncing from edge to edge inside a television. A live-streamed funeral on an iPhone, soft-singing voices on low volume. Onion sizzling in a brand-new pan, the flourishing of steak in a bloom of hot oil. Cooked flesh. Kitchen noises, kitchen smells. A beeping microwave fighting the funeral rhythms leaking through iPhone speakers. Onion tears. A sleeping dog curled up in a too-small … Continue reading a kitchen-esque evening.
My mother was a pianist, once. She lived alone, on the second floor of a grey apartment building perched on the edge of Seoul. It was just out of the city, because it was all she could afford, and a 40 minute car ride to her job selling sushi and tea to tourists and suit-clad workers at an art gallery that overlooked the skyline. She … Continue reading the pianist
The cup was yours this morning. It’s funny how it’s yours one day and mine the next. Coffee and tea, tea and coffee. A small clay creation – a model of those little white porcelain ones you get with your jasmine tea at a yum cha. But this one is different. Misshaped and glazed with an array of colours that don’t go well together. The … Continue reading where’s the coffee?
When I was little, I had this houseplant that sat on a shelf in my house above the mantlepiece. It was dark green with these huge elephant-ears that spread across the marble, like legs. I was right near obsessed with that Ficus. I’d sit there just about any time I got looking at it – the waxy fiddle leaves and little veiny webs that weaved … Continue reading ficus
She felt him next to her – his warmth radiating, his heartbeat pulsing steadily for the both of them. She heard his peaceful sigh as they gazed out into the sea of trees. An open plain of rolling green hills, with green and blue and pink pressed into the sky above them and leaking onto the halos of their peaks. And the green was wild. … Continue reading at last, alive
The girl’s hair fell about her shoulders, blurring the edges of her face in a way that brought a hidden vulnerability, a veiled fear – perhaps, the truth. At the thought of what she had just seen, at what she had just done, she curled her shoulders into herself, her shallow and invisible breaths carrying with them a sense of urgency she could not bring … Continue reading you did this