What it means to write poetry

*Translation below

시를 쓴다는 것은 자신의 머릿속에, 마음속에, 심장 박자 안에서 존제하는 그 느낌을, 혹은 그 이미지를, 그 기분을 자아낼 수 있는 그 하나의 단어를 찾아가는 것이다. 그 허우적거림 속에서는 수십개의 표현이 손가락 끝을 스치고 지나가는데, 그중 자신이 찾는 그 하나의 단어를 위해 끝없이 손을 뻗어나가는 그 동작이 마치 시인의 춤 같다.

Writing poetry is like searching for that one word that exists in that feeling, image or mood inside your head, mind or heart. This frantic movement towards that one expression that eludes you as dozens of words slip by your fingertips – this neverending stretch of arms is like the poet’s dance.

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돌아왔습니다 (I’m home)

Spread, spread your wings
Dancing along the wind
Sailing through the currents

Close, close your eyes
Listen to your heart’s string vibrate
A clear mirror of lake of pulse beats 

Pour, pour your life’s blood
With fervor and ice-cold determination
Into the flash point – your passion lights the flame of soul – intersects with life – a moment of pure beauty

Yes I’m home
And I’ll leave
And I’ll return
This is the only way I know how
Through the hearts

帰りたい

How convenient
it would be
if I could name my emotions
if there was one logical explanation for my actions

How easy
it could be
if I only needed to learn more, learn the correct things
for my life to make sense

하고 싶었지만 다 못한 말을
솔직하게 정직하게 진심으로
말할 수 있다면
고함칠 수 있다면
속삭여도 좋으니까

帰りたい

I was built to endure
but so fragile
oh my heart
encased in glass
in the name of: Education. Flexibility. Better chances. Better human.
When you get lost
listen to music
My heart shuddered
and the glass cracked

Tränen
Heiße Quellen des Lebens
Eine Reihe leerer Flaschen
Kein einziger Tropfen bleibt
für mein Herz

Dead petals gathering dust
That’s my heart
A useless thing
yielding to Reason, to Logic, to Ideal
Do my captors realize
a dead heart is soaked in poison
oozing toxic blood
in the name of love?

부러진 날개
아무리 날갯짓을 해도
돌아갈수 없어

帰れない

When we carry our wounds
do we become stronger?

thoughts on queer visibility from intersectional point of view

Hi. I am an Asian-looking woman in her 20s who’s been living in Germany for the past 11 years. And I’m also queer.

I wasn’t born knowing I was gay. In fact, being anything other than heterosexual simply wasn’t a concept in the country I grew up in. I started questioning my (hetero)sexuality when I had already been living in Germany for six years, and it took me another five or six years to the point I am at today.

But by the time I first started noticing my attraction to girls, I was already familiar with racism and the feeling of being the “other”. It’s a disconcerting feeling, like a bucket of ice-cold water being thrown over your head every day when you least expect it. It’s also a constant companion, because you can never escape it as long as you are among white people. It’s the feeling of alienation and isolation and paranoia. It’s Du Bois’ double-consciousness and estrangement from yourself.

This feeling of otherness has accompanied me every single day for the past 11 years. One of the reasons why it’s inescapable and such a huge part of my identity is because of my appearance. A race visibility, if you will. I recently learned that an adult needs only 120 milliseconds to register another person’s skin color. Only after that you notice the gender, age, etc. I can’t change the way I look, even though during my teenage years, I would have scraped my skin off if that meant that I’d turn into a white-looking girl. I don’t know how to explain the crushing – and this feels literal – sense of alienation, of isolation. The desire to jump out of my skin, only literally.

So when it comes to being an Asian, a foreigner, I was thrust into the battlefield way before I was ready, and it’s a battle I take up every day. Because being a person of color is a visible thing, sometimes painfully so. But how about being queer?

Admittedly, the majority of the years I spent in confusion about my sexuality (which will come and go, I am sure), I did so in my head. It was an internal battle, and even when I did first come out as bisexual (because that’s how I identified myself as for that period of my life), it was only to a handful of closest friends, plus my mom and my sister. Most of them were like, oh okay, and the topic never came up again. Because how do you portray your sexuality?

In our heteronormative culture, most of us are assumed as being straight unless told or shown otherwise. I am dead sure that I pass as straight for 99% of the time, benefiting from straight privileges. This experience of passing – it’s so different from my experience as being an Asian that I am flabbergasted. On the one hand, it’s so nice not to have to spend the time and energy on trying to diffuse the feelings of otherness. On the other hand, though, the otherness doesn’t disappear just because they are not visible. What’s more, this invisibility might even have a further consequence, and that’s questioning the legitimacy of my identity.

Being queer is something I had to establish first. Because it isn’t tangible, I tried to ignore it, run away from it, trivialize it. And most of the time I did so by keeping quiet about it. Even now, heteronormativity is so pervasive that I catch myself thinking that I am not really gay, of course I am straight, I’m doing all this just to get attention! (And then I imagine myself in a heterosexual relationship and hit myself on the head. Of course I love women. Duh.) You know what helps against this constant questioning of yourself? Talking about it. Talking with others about your experiences, their experiences, your feelings, their feelings. Connecting with other people and sharing stories help me realize that confusion is normal. Feeling conflicted is normal. Best of all, all forms of loving is normal: same-sex, different-sex, non-binary, pansexual, asexual…

In order to have these conversations, though, you have to find other queer people, and “out” yourself in the process. (The only way I can think of is to go about wrapped up in a giant rainbow flag, so if you have any ideas about how to display queerness, please let me know in the comments.) I realize that being out is not something that every queer person can safely choose. We all have to decide for ourselves when and how to come out. To be very honest, I myself am not sure whether I am prepared to be confronted with the subtle (and not-so-subtle) homophobia every day.

But here’s the thing: I won’t have to confront homophobia every day, because, compared to being a person of color, being gay is less visible, especially if you are not in a relationship. At the end of the day, I am torn between wanting to be visible – to own that part of my identity – and my desire for a less exhausting life. Because it does drain you of energy, this constant awareness of being the “other”. There’s no easy solution for this, only personal choices.

Stay safe. Be brave.