Han is…

한이란…. 슬픔과 분노. In the past, I was born into bondage. Shackled to the helpless history of my country. Unable to do what I wish. Except to keep on walking. Never giving up. Just one more hill. Just one more step. Until there is nothing left of me. There is nowhere left to go. And so, I keep being reborn and living the life of Han, feeling the volcano inside, not knowing why I burn so hot. The temper of a tyrant. I wasn’t sure why I have always been in a hurry. Is it because there was no time for me? Living on borrowed time. Living as if possessed, moving like a marionette. Tethered to the master, at his whims and pleasure. No life of my own. No fertile soil to plant myself and grow. Not grounded. Always in motion, with outstretched hands and feet with only eyes wide open, roaming and dreaming of a different life. How many lives have I lived like this? I can count two so far. 

For my dreams and desires were in bondage. This  is why I didn’t know who I was, what I wanted, and why I exist. Living blindly, going everywhere while nowhere with no one of importance. Han is living the life of 억울함. Han is a mountain of rage and sadness. Built with sediments on top of one another, fossils buried between layers, the anger and rage embedding in tightly packed surface, shaking to be released. Yet unable to release, with the gravity and pressure bearing down on their angry faces. 

They cry and shake, because their rage demands to be felt, heard and seen. So they create a pocket of air that floats all the way to the top, in the shape of tear drops, with the reservoir, filled with what appears to be an unlimited supply of tears. 

Tears, tears, and tears. 

So that I can tear my former selves lose, to let the tears flow all the way to the top, to melt. To break open the surface inside, to melt and introduce cracks for a clean and clear break of the past sediments. To crack open the fossils to come to life, to release themselves, before the soft core is released. 

No more tears. The reservoir is draining still, after 7 continuous days. I am not sure how long this will take. How will this change my life? How long does it take to release the past traumas of unimaginable destruction of one’s body? The injustice on one’s many lives? The violation of one’s free will?

Eventually, when I am not sure. I will be free of tears, sediments, anger, sadness and sorrow. Until everything dissipates. Into little and tiny particles, into the air, ocean, earth, fire and into you. Into all of us. So that you can feel my freedom. Breathe in my independence. So that we can be free to leg go and be let go. I wonder if this is enlightenment.

My purpose in life

My job is to write. Write my experiences and who I am. What I feel. Because I am an embodiment of the past and future. The east and the west. The frail and strong. Because I have the gift of words. Because I have been given the love of writing. To spread the message. To share my story. Because this is why my fingers move the way they do. Why I can type without looking at my hands. So that I can look deep inside of me and you and everyone. To explain and describe the experiences, to guide and motivate you to give it a try. To start again. Start again. Start again. Start again. Start again. 

To persevere. Because I have persevered. Because I have never given up. Because I will never give up. Because there is nothing to do but try again. 

To start again. There is nothing else. Everyday is another opportunity to try again. Start again. 

I can show you how. 

By sharing my stories. 

My defeats. My triumphs. My optimisms. 

My ability to paint the worlds in words so that you can see and experience. 

My fingers were born to dance. 

My body was born to move. I was born to share my life with you. All of you. Without hesitation. Without fear. Without delay. Persistently. Willingly. Without being afraid. Without holding back. Without being someone who I am not. Without you. Without expectations. Without reservations. Without Without. Just let the words pour out of me. Freely. Flow. Let them flow.