I was born in a small country, smaller still<\/p>\n
since we\u2019d been halved. A peninsula<\/p>\n
attached at the eastern edge of China,<\/p>\n
a few islands<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
away from Japan: a nation destined<\/p>\n
to be webbed into a whirlwind of geo-<\/p>\n
politics, malicious and opportune.<\/p>\n
A country in the shape of a leaping tiger<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
they said, in school, on TV. Surely the image<\/p>\n
was a laughable stretch of imagination\u2014<\/p>\n
it looked much closer<\/p>\n
to a spilled water, because on the map<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
all countries were in fact water,<\/p>\n
spilling still, becoming oceans, inch by inch.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Here, the West Side was the bad side because<\/p>\n
it was ugly. The tidal beaches were fertile<\/p>\n
but muddy. Rank. Its people fast, mercurial.<\/p>\n
The West Coast stank of the sea, its gift, life.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The East Side was the good side because<\/p>\n
it was beautiful. The Coast lined by veins<\/p>\n
of tall mountains, sinuous like history.<\/p>\n
Not volcanic, seismic only with<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
beauty. There, winter was long, patient.<\/p>\n
Spring trembled with Jindallae<\/em> and Chulzuk<\/em>,<\/p>\n summer screamed only in high green.<\/p>\n Autumn was reckless,<\/p>\n <\/p>\n the maples bleeding crimson, the ginkgos<\/p>\n losing golden leaves like drunken gamblers.<\/p>\n I was a child of both coasts<\/p>\n <\/p>\n in equal measure, like how I looked<\/p>\n like my father, but thought<\/p>\n like my mother. My father, the handsome<\/p>\n <\/p>\n fool. My mother, with her bright skin immune<\/p>\n to change, her floating hours lying<\/p>\n on her bed mat not doing nor thinking, just listening<\/p>\n to stories that came from elsewhere. I feared<\/p>\n <\/p>\n the sea in me that I knew couldn\u2019t be drained & ached<\/p>\n to become the mountain, but not the altitude.<\/p>\n Sometimes I would look up to the sky and see that<\/p>\n <\/p>\n to the east there was no good,<\/p>\n to the west there was no bad. But to become air<\/p>\n you need to be spilled, reach<\/p>\n the ocean.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" I was born in a small country, smaller still since we\u2019d been halved. A peninsula attached at the eastern edge of China, a few islands away from Japan: a nation destined to be webbed into a whirlwind of geo- politics, malicious and opportune. A country in the shape of a leaping tiger they […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"featured_media":10423,"template":"","categories":[19,11],"class_list":["post-10608","stsp_text","type-stsp_text","status-publish","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-issue-11","category-lyrik"],"yoast_head":"\n