the long way home.

my perception of fatherhood and motherhood...

mother hens taking care of their chicks...

she is neither my namesake or my hometown...

my father is known for his absence.

what does it mean to be home?

what does it mean to have a home?

is this just a bitter shelter?

i.

ii.

iii.

i. long long distances

i am forever yearning for a sense of "home" or
at least a "house". from infancy i was ripped from
what i would consider my hometown and placed into an
unforgiving "shelter" of a town, not home.

you and him have ruined my concept of fatherhood &
motherhood. you made me uninterested in playing house
as the father. only i could play the son, or i'd be raising
a tantrum. you both ruined my sense of self.

i am never the one raising the child, only ever being raised.
yet i still ask why you left us. mothers are cruel, i've learned.
at least, the ones in fables and such.

but also, mother hens are supposed to take care of their chicks.
so why did you leave me? why did you send me down the
stream? unforgivable in my eyes. but maybe you had necessity--
the need to give your chick a chance you never had. let me hatch
and become a beautiful rooster.

nevertheless, there is still a long way to get home.

ii. 우리 엄마 이름은 [redacted]예요

우리 엄마가 내 이름 만들어줬어. she is my origin.
she is the reason i live. according to her,
i am supposed to be someone who grows to
be someone as virtuous as the sun.

she lies. at least, my heart only says that i should be
ungrateful to her for leaving me. my mind says that
i am supposed to love her unconditionally.

my sister must know our mother is a liar. at least, she might be.
we are separated only by long distance towns. she is my
family tree. but never the one i talk about.

i am nothing like my mother made me to be. 나는 나의 과거이다.
and i fear that she only can look at me with disdain.

she is neither my namesake nor my hometown.

Spoiler

ii. my mother's name is [redacted]

my mother made my name.

i am my past.

iii. my father is known for his absence

long have i told the story of my birth & life.
hometown roots & things i wish would be instead
of what is and what isn't.

i always say the same 3 things; in korea, men
have to enroll in the military, my father was in the
military, he ghosted my mother.

i often forget how he probably yearned to be my/a
father. in a way, he is and he isn't. he's described as
being a kind man from divorced parents but leaving me
to leave him was cruel.

i think in a way i idealize him as some valiant man but
it's likely he is some average joe who doesn't know
i exist. i always yearned for someone i never met.

he is not the man i had in my head.

iv. still trying to re-learn my mother tongue

in my mind, i'm constantly retaking pre-k.
집 means house. or does it mean home?
is that the devoid space leftover? when
home is a "house" or a "residence".

없어요 - there is not. there's nothing left for
me now. just empty homes as i try to trace
back the intracacies of my ancestory.

나 집애 없어요. i have no house (home). only
a thick black photo book and a certificate
with my named plastered on it.

korean is my second language but my first identity.

v. looking glass skin
i always imagine a visage of you in the mirror,
because i am meant to be a mix of you both-
but i never put faces to your names.

my mother's name is [///////]. she was a uni
student who took a break to give birth to me.
my father's name is [\\\\\\]. he wanted to be
a dance instructor, or a dancer? i forget.

i imagine my mother's muddled face to be
in every reflection; everything that shows me
what i could've been.

i imagine my father's eyes gazing through each
puddle, each mirror, each window pane.

i try to look through myself in hopes of becoming
a fully sentient, better version of myself. one that
knows the line between ancestory & heritage.
one that knows its mother tongue is far from
being on its lips.

i try to scrounge for details about myself- but every
loose thread is my last starting point.

vi. momotarou/rapunzel never knew his/her purpose, neither do i

your voice rings out and into my ears,
a tangible yet out of reach warmth that
i am still looking for. it is as if you never
let go of me, never sent me down the
river, never to come back.

now if this was a fairytale, i'd never had lost you,
you'd be be unlike all those "evil" mothers,
not like mother gothel, but moreso
the queen. this makes me rapunzel, yet i do not
feel like i am being saved by a prince. maybe
just saved by you. you came for me instead.

alas, life falters in comparison to these delusions
of what it feels like to be held. i am still in my
tower, waiting for you. maybe i am like momotarou,
except i never got taken out of the peach.
you let me float by and drift into the ocean.

that sounds like a cruel fate.

would that make you a cruel person?