What shall we eat at this penis restaurant?
There are some things that I've known for so long, that i can't remember when i first learned it. or how it felt to hear it for the first time. Or how to unlearn it.
In my family, we're not allowed to split pears. In my entire life, i have never shared a single pear with another person, because that would mean that we won't be separated.
splitting pears: 分利 sounds like 分离 : which would mean that you and the person with whom you share this pear with, will have to somehow leave each other. it's just the way it is.
My mother and i have sat at the kitchen table, contemplating who should have the last pear in the house. after it was decided, watched her eat the pear in five bites, almost fearfully, like she's scared i might lunge forward and leave her.
Once I tried to wield it as a weapon while breaking up with a boyfriend. I cut the pair in two and gave him half without telling the story. He ate it while we took turns blaming one another for this and that. But just as I was about to finish my half, I wrapped it in a napkin and put it in the fridge.
This was a few months after Dad and I came to California to reunite with Mom. I hadn't seen my Mom in two years and she would have literally done anything to make me laugh. She was always wearing that purple foam handband in those days.
We went to San Diego to see the Chinese Naval ships docked there. A sailor asked us if we could take his camera and take photos of America for him, since he couldn't get off the boat. We said no. We had to drive home to LA that night. My parents immediately regretted it and talked about it for years.
A couple of weeks ago they tried to drain fluid from my grandpas head. He had had trouble walking and balancing so the doctors wanted to relieve some of the pressure from his brain. Before that they thought he had parkinsons but now they don't think so anymore and really, he's 87, what does it matter.
The fluid in his brain was impacting everything. Large parts of his brain had died, and he was in danger of having a stroke at any minute. The fluid would come out of his spine, and then if that worked, they would probably drill a hole into his head and let out more of it.
Just this exploratory surgery understandably scared the shit out of him him. He didn't want to do it. He didn't want it to hurt.
And it did hurt, really bad. The doctor was young and his face was red while he tried again and again to get the needle up in this old spine.
"Stop it!" my grandpa yelled, "This could kill a person!"
So we stopped it.
Right after he told my mom, 'You know i'm eighty-seven, i've lived a long life but my son and daughter are so good to me. When I think about dying, I just think I'll miss you so much.'
Anyway the surgery didn't work. They came home and grandpa now shuffles around the house with a walker, just as off balance as over. Each time he spots me, he stops walking and tells me how much he likes him.
"Why do I like you so much?" he asks me all the time.
And I tell him, that frankly, I'm pretty adorable so it's really not his fault and he shouldn't feel too weird about it.
At the Atlas Review's monthly reading! With Taeyoon's artwork! It was great. I am obviously still getting used to this blogging thing ...
I can't believe come September all those amazing people won't be gathering in 315 Hudson anymore. Just ghosts of cheeseplates. That's Krystal's poetry nook. That's my ballon novel.
That's Amanda in the background! That's Taeyoon's painting for my short story. That's my balloon tail.