Koh family, I believe you belong to me, or I to you. I exist. And your hope for my life has not been made manifest but within me, has been completely contrary to what you voiced before you fled and left me in the hands of perfect strangers. A country still at war--as Asians do--in relative silence. Shining Kingdom, you are halved and scattered. I am your Fighter. I have heard it said, on the wind, amongst those who still get to be owned by you, that I have ancestors in the Temples. How would they know? Am I the one who answered when they wondered who I was, & they could simply Read?
What does your face look like? Why did you let him? Did you tell him? Is it because you felt fear? He must not--because I have never felt it. I have never felt fear, though I am like a drop of Asian blood in the middle of a clear, white field...of flowers or of flames. Always bleeding. Cannot stop bleeding. They cannot even correctly say my name.
You are not Pure. You are fraudulent. Friends up the coast. Family over the line. Regal bloodlines scattered, like fools or vagrants, or both--putting on fraudulent, happy faces, like clowns. Clowns painted with "Murder," I'd imagine. Doing it the "right" way after the sacrilege is gone. Lying, like a nut job, about the life you've lived, as some of the most beautiful babies on the planet were shipped off, like Duracell batteries, by the 100's, by the 1000's...for a world of users and predators who can't stand Asians to fondle and play with, like the sad, mad, bad scoundrels they are...to kill us, comprehensively...for their pleasure...and for their entertainment...to feed their sickening, and dead, similarly disconnected souls.
You hate the Japanese. Perhaps rightly so. And the Chinese. And the North. And your bastard children, though the problem isn't them--It was you, namely your lack of self-mastery. So blame the outcome. How Western of you. How telltale of leaving the Temples behind. To sing to a White master that abhors the idea of a Magical Land with Spirits on Whispering Winds, touching earth after coming down from the mountains. I have made a name for myself withOUT bowing my head in service to that false master--for any purpose--but rather, by standing so very, very tall. How 'bout you, Beautiful Nation? Exquisite lotus flowers...eyes like petals. Put them back in place. Leave your scalpels and sharp edges for the enemies that tempt you to lower yourself to levels not made for colorful, spinning joy and bliss whose smiles outshine the sunshine. I bow to you with my eyes, filled with entire galaxies and eons of time, with ancient weaponry as built-in design.
To be limited by knowing my place would be a gift. To be given so much, in a world that could provide it all, is no freedom. Our limitations help us to wield Honor--of the soul and our person. To make your foods and fall in love...with someone who makes sense, for once, because we are cut out of cloth that's supposed to be made into the same, celebratory cloak...would be too easy? And everything about this life has had to be hard. All this power, this Energy, this wisdom, forced thru one skinny channel, rather than spread thin like the butter AND the jam through everyone else's helping themselves but never being able to provide what's needed the most...One climax alone.......would likely push out, expand the lines of our territory. I promise you that. Asian nations would be begging us to own part of where they are. That would be health for the nation. Your immediately gratifying ecstasy has provided nothing but nightmares and pain. Our potent men, weak, drunk, and undesirable. Our otherworldly females, trivialized rape victims or whores for the pigs at the trough, depending on the fight within them. Running from each other. Running from themselves. Leaving The United States of America, on almost every front, saying, "Asian-America?" Always with a question mark.
You have never given me that option. To not be the consummate, bull-headed American--to play subservient, intoxicating Geisha whose life means nothing except for the little mammals of joy she pops out to a man who simply deserves it. I have gawked, in this life, at the swans that were Korean people, as if I had no understanding that I was one of them.
You have given me nothing. Just a sea of funny a** people who play Amy Jin Hot Potato, even when I'm far beyond motion sick from moving.
Not even a role model. You have left me to serve as that for every form of Man but yourselves. With all the "no one"'s I have to thank cancelling out the "everyone"'s. And so, as usual, the only one left to sit with is God. Amazing Nation, what. Say. You. To this. http://english.chosun.com/site/data/html_dir/2008/03/27/2008032761009.html?related_all
