I was an artsy kid growing up. With clay, scissors, or glue I could have busied myself until judgment day. The walls of my bedroom were covered with sketches and paper masks. Clay dragons and warlocks stood at attention atop my desk and dresser. Mobiles with gods and ghouls hung […]
Returning from the vending machine, I would often linger outside of my grandmother’s hospital room and watch my family before joining them. Dad usually stood by the window silently looking out past the treeline. My younger brother, Son-Ook would read a weathered comic book in a chair by the partition
Kway Mool: The Monster Read More »
Looking back, I remember how all of my family’s summer barbecues went the same way. There’d be the initial bustle of uncles and aunts arriving with kids, clinking paper bags full of liquor, and lopsided foil trays of macaroni and lasagna. First drinks were poured, meat was thrown on the
The Reappearance of Carrie Mae Read More »
People sometimes ask me what my first memory is. Invariably I lie, because I’m prone to avoid the explanation that comes with the truth. Maybe, from now on, if someone casually asks me “What is your first memory?” I will reach into my bag where there will be copies of
