It was as i was sitting at the bar that she first brushed passed me. There was a pint in my hand, cold, fresh poured, and I was drunk. Yeah, for sure I was drunk because this whole memory feels a little hazy, as if I just thought about doing it rather than actually doing it.
She ordered a beer, turned to me and said "Hi", something like that. Maybe it was a casual observation about something funny. I can remember her being beautiful before she even spoke, though. And she was wearing black, a black sweater, one of those sweater coats that flow down to the knees, a single button done up in the middle. Yeah, she was definitely beautiful.
Regardless, the conversation just fell outta my head. We talked and feel into something that was supposed to be beyond mundane small talk. We were going deeper, or I'm sure I was at least trying to because that's what I have a tendancy to do. I was on to something, relating some useless detail designed to make me look smart, a quote, something like "we spend our time living edited versions of our past or uncertain versions of our future" when I also asked her what she was about. There was something about being a writer, but then she said it. It landed somewhere and just gained momentum till I wound up smiling and talking about Raymond Carver. But it was there: "I want to make movies about life's awkward moments." The smile was uncontrolable, the laugh was genuine and at that moment i loved her. Or loved that she existed, no matter, I loved that she inhabited that space at that time saying what she had just said.
Life's awkward moments. The moment where conversation drops into nothing and the silence stares back like a pair of eyes. I couldn't tell you the colour of her eyes but they must have been beautiful. If she's beautiful by basic extension isn't everything about her?
"I want to make movies about life's awkward moments." She defined me in one sentence, turned me into a slogan, imprinted herself forever in my mind. A bizarre thing, that I will forget many amazing moments of my life, that feelings will dull and fade but that I will always remember meeting a girl in a bar who wants to make movies about life's awkward moments.
Where does she exist? Did I imagine her too as I imagine myself great or famous or rich? Something to ease my passage, to pacify the poignancy of living? But isn't that why I love awkward moments? Because they are human and vulnerable and beautiful. I exist the same in that moment. I feel it, palpable, vibrant, alive. I shy away and it becomes awkward because at that moment I am left without distraction and forced to observe, to own up to all of my senses and it's intimate and scary.
I think now that I should have asked her why she loved awkward moments, if she felt them too, if it made her smile because it was imperfect and endearing and too painful a reminder that she was just as human as everybody else. I did ask her that, in a round-about sorta way. She deflected the question, I believe. An answer and a shrug because maybe it's too deep to get into with a stranger at a bar holding a cold pint.
And maybe I should too have asked her what qualifies something as an awkward moment. It can't just be those seconds of silence, those words that came out wrong, the stumble or the misstep. It must be deeper, or i hope that she sees it deeper because i want her to see what i see too. And awkard moments are so close to that, they are so very near my core that they make me cry.
I sit back and see these awkward moments, this pain, all the time. I want to tell everybody that it's ok, that vulnerability binds us. It's universal. We will all die. Only that is certain. Everything else makes us confident or vulnerable and none of it is certain, not even what we see with our eyes. Seeing is by association, by habit...and don't we all have bad habits?
dave
She ordered a beer, turned to me and said "Hi", something like that. Maybe it was a casual observation about something funny. I can remember her being beautiful before she even spoke, though. And she was wearing black, a black sweater, one of those sweater coats that flow down to the knees, a single button done up in the middle. Yeah, she was definitely beautiful.
Regardless, the conversation just fell outta my head. We talked and feel into something that was supposed to be beyond mundane small talk. We were going deeper, or I'm sure I was at least trying to because that's what I have a tendancy to do. I was on to something, relating some useless detail designed to make me look smart, a quote, something like "we spend our time living edited versions of our past or uncertain versions of our future" when I also asked her what she was about. There was something about being a writer, but then she said it. It landed somewhere and just gained momentum till I wound up smiling and talking about Raymond Carver. But it was there: "I want to make movies about life's awkward moments." The smile was uncontrolable, the laugh was genuine and at that moment i loved her. Or loved that she existed, no matter, I loved that she inhabited that space at that time saying what she had just said.
Life's awkward moments. The moment where conversation drops into nothing and the silence stares back like a pair of eyes. I couldn't tell you the colour of her eyes but they must have been beautiful. If she's beautiful by basic extension isn't everything about her?
"I want to make movies about life's awkward moments." She defined me in one sentence, turned me into a slogan, imprinted herself forever in my mind. A bizarre thing, that I will forget many amazing moments of my life, that feelings will dull and fade but that I will always remember meeting a girl in a bar who wants to make movies about life's awkward moments.
Where does she exist? Did I imagine her too as I imagine myself great or famous or rich? Something to ease my passage, to pacify the poignancy of living? But isn't that why I love awkward moments? Because they are human and vulnerable and beautiful. I exist the same in that moment. I feel it, palpable, vibrant, alive. I shy away and it becomes awkward because at that moment I am left without distraction and forced to observe, to own up to all of my senses and it's intimate and scary.
I think now that I should have asked her why she loved awkward moments, if she felt them too, if it made her smile because it was imperfect and endearing and too painful a reminder that she was just as human as everybody else. I did ask her that, in a round-about sorta way. She deflected the question, I believe. An answer and a shrug because maybe it's too deep to get into with a stranger at a bar holding a cold pint.
And maybe I should too have asked her what qualifies something as an awkward moment. It can't just be those seconds of silence, those words that came out wrong, the stumble or the misstep. It must be deeper, or i hope that she sees it deeper because i want her to see what i see too. And awkard moments are so close to that, they are so very near my core that they make me cry.
I sit back and see these awkward moments, this pain, all the time. I want to tell everybody that it's ok, that vulnerability binds us. It's universal. We will all die. Only that is certain. Everything else makes us confident or vulnerable and none of it is certain, not even what we see with our eyes. Seeing is by association, by habit...and don't we all have bad habits?
dave
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Oh yeah, Korea. My friend I had an epiphany today. I think it's quite ironic that you wrote that message when you did because, during my little writing process (which I started today) I discovered that one of my missions in life has to be (now it's not the only mission here) is to figure these people out.
Yesterday I had a little rant with my co-worker John, whose daughter in law is Korean. I have seen her but now met her. I told him that Koreans are . . . blah blah blah I don't to offend anyone on this public chat board, but they drove me crazy.
Considering that my mom is Korean, I have lived in Korea (briefly), and I have had Korean friends must say something about my destiny to figure them out. Because I have had some weird experiences, some of which have mad me weep and curse. Other experiences were of indifference, snobbiness, and complete ostracism.
Last night I met a really nice neighbor in the laundrymat. I asked her where she lived because I didn't want to ask her where she was from (I hate that question- I'm an American, you know). I asked her if she was Korean because I had seen her with her children speaking Korean. She was so articulate, friendly, and seemed open-minded. Like she didn't seem critical about my hair looking crazy at midnight, or my cleavage baring all, or that I live with my boyfriend. Perhaps I have misjudged and misunderstood Koreans to have a superiority complex, to be superficial, snobby, and materialistic (qualities I don't find appealing in a friend).
I did have a good friend in London named Subok. She was Buddhist and she was wonderful. She was like a real older sister to me. I really do miss people like her. She was critical, judgemental, and she had a good friend who lived down the hall from us who was a Buddhist nun.
Why aren't I in Asia? Our friend Afa is returning to Taiwan and he has invited us to move there and to teach English. I also unfortunately turned down an interview with Nova to teach in Japan, and of course I haved family members I can stay with in Seoul until I find a place of my own.
What's holding me back heysus? I don't know. Fear? What if it's scary? Funds maybe. But today, I realized that I have generalized the Koreans and I should try to be less critical of people who see the world differently from myself. Afterall, I'm not completely non-judgement or non-critical.
How do I find out your e-mail dave? Mine (or one of my addresses) is
poppys26@aol.com