Silent Crying on the First Day of the Year
I have a staring problem. It's gotten me into multiple binds. I'm curious about humans, about the things we do, the way we look, the words we choose, or the way we lean into people when we're talking or avoid eye contact with strangers. So, I stare. It feels fitting here, where I am stared at a hundred times a day. Stared at, pointed at, laughed at. "Mommy, look, there's a white person," the children say pointing at me and their mothers smile and stare at me. But staring didn't just start in Korea. I've been doing it for most of my life. In high school and even college, other girls used to threaten me with bodily harm because they wanted to know, "What are you staring at?" Maybe it's because for most of my life I've felt abnormal, so I studied people, trying to grasp what it was I supposed to be doing or saying or wearing. I developed an affection for strangers, and a hatred too. But mostly, I just look.
Sitting across from people on the subway, I try to stare at the shoes, an array of shapes and colors. But this gets old after a while, so I dart my eyes across their faces, some slumped over and sleeping like rag dolls, but mostly, people have developed the blank stare. Staring just above peoples heads. Across from me was a woman, wearing jeans and brightly colored sneakers, an anomaly in high-heeled clad Korea. She was talking on the phone, I could see her lips moving but it's as if her words were making no sound. She began to rummage through her purse and pulled out a tissue. And as I watched her, I could see tears forming in the corners of her eyes. She dabbed at them with the tissue and continued move her lips in silent conversation. Then she hung up the phone, dabbed her eyes one more time, stood up and got off the subway.
Later, on my way home, as I was sitting on the subway, I looked up and noticed a young girl standing just to my left. Her head was bowed, her hair covering her face from the sides, but I was looking up at her. Her body heaved and I could see tears dripping off her chin. But she was completely silent. Sobbing silently on the subway.
A few weeks ago, after work, instead of walking the mile home, I stood waiting for the bus. Behind me, a wild cat crouched in the grass, stalking an invisible prey. I watched it for some time, slinking through the brown grass, until my bus came. The next morning, on my walk to work, I passed the alley where I'd watched the cat and there, on the side of the road was the tabby cat from the night before. It's head smashed in by a car tire, and pools of blood spilled out around it. I couldn't take it. I began sobbing, uncontrollable heaves and giant tears streamed down my face. I kept walking and people stared at me. I paused outside the acorn jelly restaurant in an attempt to regain control. I was sobbing for so many reasons, for things out of my control, but it was not silent sobbing. It was messy and loud and full of snot and pools of black mascara. And when it was over, I felt relief.
Staring up at the young girl, I wondered if she would feel relief. It was as if she were only letting her sadness seep out in tiny little drips, instead of letting it spill over. It seems like it would take a long time for sadness to drip, drop by drop, out of people. That at some point, we have to admit we can't control it and let it take us over, no matter if we're on a crowded subway or not. And after it's gushed out, we don't feel so sad, so out of control.
But this crying and sadness is not what I wanted to write about. And through the process of writing about the sadness, I have forgotten what I wanted to say. I'll leave it here and hope that you will find some relief on this first day of the new year.
Sitting across from people on the subway, I try to stare at the shoes, an array of shapes and colors. But this gets old after a while, so I dart my eyes across their faces, some slumped over and sleeping like rag dolls, but mostly, people have developed the blank stare. Staring just above peoples heads. Across from me was a woman, wearing jeans and brightly colored sneakers, an anomaly in high-heeled clad Korea. She was talking on the phone, I could see her lips moving but it's as if her words were making no sound. She began to rummage through her purse and pulled out a tissue. And as I watched her, I could see tears forming in the corners of her eyes. She dabbed at them with the tissue and continued move her lips in silent conversation. Then she hung up the phone, dabbed her eyes one more time, stood up and got off the subway.
Later, on my way home, as I was sitting on the subway, I looked up and noticed a young girl standing just to my left. Her head was bowed, her hair covering her face from the sides, but I was looking up at her. Her body heaved and I could see tears dripping off her chin. But she was completely silent. Sobbing silently on the subway.
A few weeks ago, after work, instead of walking the mile home, I stood waiting for the bus. Behind me, a wild cat crouched in the grass, stalking an invisible prey. I watched it for some time, slinking through the brown grass, until my bus came. The next morning, on my walk to work, I passed the alley where I'd watched the cat and there, on the side of the road was the tabby cat from the night before. It's head smashed in by a car tire, and pools of blood spilled out around it. I couldn't take it. I began sobbing, uncontrollable heaves and giant tears streamed down my face. I kept walking and people stared at me. I paused outside the acorn jelly restaurant in an attempt to regain control. I was sobbing for so many reasons, for things out of my control, but it was not silent sobbing. It was messy and loud and full of snot and pools of black mascara. And when it was over, I felt relief.
Staring up at the young girl, I wondered if she would feel relief. It was as if she were only letting her sadness seep out in tiny little drips, instead of letting it spill over. It seems like it would take a long time for sadness to drip, drop by drop, out of people. That at some point, we have to admit we can't control it and let it take us over, no matter if we're on a crowded subway or not. And after it's gushed out, we don't feel so sad, so out of control.
But this crying and sadness is not what I wanted to write about. And through the process of writing about the sadness, I have forgotten what I wanted to say. I'll leave it here and hope that you will find some relief on this first day of the new year.
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