The First Line
Someone once drew a line on a wall. No one knew why. It wasn’t a picture. It wasn’t even a beginning— just a line, left behind. The next day, someone stopped. Looked at it. Added another line. Not out of certainty, but out of recognition— as if the first line had asked a question. Days passed. More lines appeared. Curves, interruptions, echoes of what came before. And then,
Until the jar ran dry
What are these— puppies, it turns out All this time while the music washed over me my hand wandered unthinking into a jar of sweetness I ate and ate until absence spoke louder than presence only then realizing each one was formed like a plump little puppy Meanwhile Nuna—my cat— lingered in discomfort one eye dimmed by conjunctivitis just back from the clinic A breath returned to the body coffee cooling beside me smoke rising without urgency Puppies Puppies I tell myself now It
A Single Point
I look at a single, small point. She is, to the point of sorrow, too complete. Perched upon the wall, I saw her eyes searching every furrow of the field where the man once came. No trace, no scent of living flesh returns. As she stands on the verge of becoming an unmoving statue guarding a temple, she finally draws in the indifferent air and enters the room. When I put out my
Hygge
A Korean guest, invited into a Danish home, listens as the host takes some time to explain why all the indoor lighting in the house is placed below eye level. Hygge. With this unfamiliar word, my gently drifting thoughts begin to stir— and yet, like being singed by a quiet flame, the feeling slowly spreads and begins to take hold of my whole
Her name is Today
Her name is Today— no, this moment. Breakfast barely tasted, what they wait for is the world outside. For Latte perhaps the spirited girl he once chased and quarreled with in the heat of play. For Nuna perhaps the handsome wanderer who once called her name from the shadow beneath a car. Latte leaves without promise, as if tomorrow were guaranteed. But Nuna stays by the door. She waits as though the iron
The most dignified person
The most dignified person is the one who truly feels happy.And if that happiness has grown from the soil of justice,it stands unshaken.
Monologue
Have you ever seen a dagger of cold betrayal hidden inside a soft cotton quilt? The lion’s coat glows with beauty. Yet has the deer’s tooth ever carried the cruelty of a serpent? Why do we turn away— saying we did not see what we have seen, nor hear what we have heard? Blackie, you who wandered far roads until your tired body collapsed against my wall— with what face do I
HotCat – A small door for two cats may open a much larger dilemma
To give Nuna and Latte—who are already used to the outside world—a way to move freely between indoors and outdoors, I am planning to replace my current steel entrance door with a wooden one and add a small door just for them. For the two of them, it will surely be a joy. For me, however,
That Which Is Called an Idol — and the Supreme Idol
Episode One Long ago, I once watched a documentary about the animal world — an episode about three cheetah brothers. I was so deeply moved that even now, the scenes remain vivid before my eyes. Time has blurred some details, so I can only recount the essence. The three young cheetahs, still unskilled at hunting, were sitting in the