I’m watching them, Sus and Choi- with something that resembles familiarity and also, as an outsider might. This is an active endeavor as knowledge of Sus is built into my DNA.
Sus is funny. I know this with certainty, but I’m not sure whether she’s actively trying to amuse our tour guide or if this is some byproduct of her mildly sarcastic but unquestionably charming demeanor.
Is it flat? She asks, tilting her head slightly to the right, as an inquisitive school child might. Snacks? I imagine her asking.
Yes, Choi says, nodding his head and laughing. His laugh suit him- delicate and high pitched. Choi is handsome in an unconventional way. An hour or so ago, I pointed to the Google results on my phone screen and whispered to Sus, Choi is the Korean Joseph Gordon-Levitt. She pulled her round, tortoiseshell sunglasses up to her white eyebrows, squinted at my screen, and giggled. Yes, she loud whispered back, spot on.
Flat, Choi repeats, not laughing now, but a broad smile still filling his face. His left front tooth has a small chip, reminiscent of a precious but delicately marred china tea cup. Sus tilts her head in the other direction upon receipt of this information, seemingly questioning the veracity of Choi’s response.
This exchange is just one of many they’ve had today and each has tickled me. Sus seems to think Choi is teasing her and Choi find Sus hilarious, and it’s abundantly clear to me that they aren’t really understanding each other at all, except that they are.
I watch them walk, side-by-side, Choi a lithe, black haired Jejuan in slim black pants, bright white Nike sneakers, a light gray track jacket, and large black framed plastic sunglasses. Sus, with her silvery pixie cut, bright yellow hoodie, medium wash baggy jeans, and navy slip-on Sketchers that she’s vowed to discard when she steps foot on American soil.
I’d throw them out right now, she proclaimed in our Seoul hotel room, but then I wouldn’t have any shoes to wear. She looked at me after making this statement and her face was something of a challenge. Dare me, it read. You could always get a pair of those jazzy, sparkly, platform sneakers we are seeing everywhere, I said, only half-kidding. Ha, responded Sus, I could, but I won’t.
Choi and Sus walk in lock step and I fall directly behind them on the path, hearing their laughter carried on the sharp wind every so often. They both bounce a little as they walk and each has a distinctive way of gesturing while speaking. Sus tends to use her hands as if conveying her thoughts via sign language and Choi looks like he’s about to conduct a symphony.
I looked at her in the car this morning, her eyes closed, head gently resting on the seat behind us. It was my intention to share that Choi was dancing in his seat to the K Pop piping through the speakers (nearly imperceptible but observable if one cared to), but when I saw her eyes closed, I swallowed my words, allowing my own amusement to swirl and fade.
She looked like such a staggering combination of her mother and father in that moment. Her features strongly reminiscent of Papa Fred- broad nose, rosy cheeks and wide, flat lips. But her facial expression was decidedly Harriet. Not fretful but not quite still. Thoughtful. I imagined her engaged in some meaningful inner exploration at that moment. Some circular but still important dialogue.
I fought the desire to slide my hand over hers, fearful I’d disturb her. As if to compromise, I placed my hand next to hers, almost touching-my tattooed fingers, ill-maintained nails, and ragged cuticles a staggering contrast to her clean, manicured hand.
I thought then, as I do now, about moments of impatience. Tugging Sus out of a passerby’s way, or repeating a sentiment, obvious crankiness sharpening the edges of my words. I feel saddened by these choices, this predicament, when I consider that the origin is not a lack of understanding or judgment, but rather, fear.
We age and roles shift. There is something of an ebb and flow that is talked about, but also, not. Children take on roles of authority without being asked and rarely contemplate the implications of infantilization. They rarely give credence to the knowing that this human did things and lived life and did not cease being an authority of sorts because of time and weathering.
Fear drives us to want to make right, to fix, to reverse. I hear myself asking why a choice is made and then regretting that decision. How condescending. How unfair. How absurd.
It becomes difficult, though, in some ways that you wish it wouldn’t- communicating. Skin grows thinner over time in all the ways. Questions feel like accusations and advice feels like doctrine and love feels like suffocating over-protection.
And I look at Sus and Choi now, laughing, and think how they are communicating in the best way that humans know how. We don’t really know. We don’t really understand. We can’t. We try, endlessly, or at least some of us do, but we fail, again and again.
I just want you to get it, I’ve pleaded.
It’s just that I want you to see my point of view, I’ve explained.
I wish you could understand, I’ve cried.
And yet, this is it.
The thing where it doesn’t matter. She knows what she means and he knows what he means, and they share this space where that’s enough. Better than enough. It’s funny. Silly. Comforting.
And I think how I can do better. Better at leaving well enough alone. Better at accepting. Better at leaving space. Better at calm.
It’s hard though, because that means accepting a thing that is mostly beyond our control and vastly unknown and also, heartbreaking, in the end.
That’s the thing we don’t say enough. We don’t say that our fear starts at the point in which our heartbreak begins. We don’t say that emotional spikes are a manifestation of a desire to hold close, to hold old, to stop time. We don’t let things be, because we spend too much time living in the ‘will be’ or ‘might be’ or ‘could be’, and rarely sit in the ‘as-is.’ We live a life of missing the things that we currently have.
Imagine that.
Hey, I say, watching as Choi and Sus stop and turn to face me, wait for me.
x
L.
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