[[[Mai & John]]]__________tea break

I remember my Mai and John. They mirror each other, and no wonder, they are all from me, little pieces of myself.
These were stories I have written a long time ago. I used to tell my English friends about my Mai and my John, but that was as far as it went. Mai and John spoke in Korean then.



Conversation between Mai and John, 

(Tea Break)



written on 02.20.2010

translated on 04.20.2013

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"Do you like rooibos tea?"




It's the voice that I like. Nicely kneaded into a warm rounded thing. At times it is light and crafty like a head of dandelion seeds. For such a person who keeps such a stubborn pair of eyes, you have a voice that's
-so warm, so genteel.

But you know, sometimes, when you like something so so much, you end up not saying anything at all. That sort of feeling makes me feel quite afraid, you see. That's why when I spoke, it came out with a flat thud-sort of noise.




"I don't think it's for me. I've tried it before."




I look at you, standing with your back to me.
Disregarding my words, you follow a trajectory of movements. In one, long throw of gestures, you end up with: your hand: pouring a cup of tea.
That same cup of tea is soon carried by your left hand, to me.

It lands right in front of me.




"Often even your dislikes start to grow on ya. It's all-a matter of timing."




I was thinking that your smiling face was drawing nearer and nearer-and as usual, your action precedes my thinking self. You are already here, your hands pressing down my shoulders. Made me jump a little. Hurt a little. And you tell me this:


"You like rooibos tea, I know it."


Your eyes, hands, and voice all on me. They demanded me to say something, so I sort of nodded.
I smelt that tea. A little like half-ripe apple, a little like the artificial flavor of certain flu-drops. I take a sip anyhow.

I see your lips, now twisting into a smile, almost a grimace, but a satisfied one. Your lips compressed into a thin line, like that of a young boy, malicious. Filled with jokes and puns. You almost want to ask me, I know it. You want to ask me : how was it? didya like it? And what if I didn't like it?




"What if I didn't like it?"

"Well then you shall drink cups after cups until you start to like it."

"What? But why? This is your kind of drink. Why should I try to like what you like? I have my coffee, you know."

"Of course you have to try to like it, I like you, you know."




Before I had sufficient amount of time to say or think my thoughts-why? what? What is that suppose to mean?- you just threw that statement of yours and also threw yourself upon me, sitting on a sofa.
I had no time to roll over or duck. I had no way to turn to, my right hand still holding the hot cup of tea. You boldly drop your head upon my shy knees. And I let you.

For it is a cold day today. Warmth of another body is welcome on a day like this, for it is almost as sweet as a small broken bits of chocolate, melting in your mouth.





"What else is there, the things I like, but that you dislike?"





You ask me, poking my knees with your fingers as if playing piano. I recite a mantra to myself: I won't let you know that I am ticklish. I won't letchoo know that I am ticklishea...

I say:




"Dogs, strawberry flavored gum, gin tonic, eating English breakfast for lunch..."

"Oh well well. You've got a lot to discover eh?"




I can feel your eyes looking up. Expectant pair of gaze, waiting for me to make some noise. That made it impossible for me to look down.
You didn't like that. Your long fingers take hold of strands of my hair to pull.
It actually hurts a lot, you know.




"You know, I think..you just need time to get used to me. Then you would realize that you somehow got into the habit of liking all of it. Just like, how, for me, loving you became a habit that I could not undo. Like I have waited for you to like me too. See here, now you are simply drowning in me." 





You just don't shut your mouth, do you.

After saying your say, you bark out sharply punctuated sounds of laughter. There's no ways of teaching you, reminding you that what you are fumbling in your hands is fragile, something that tend to break easily.
I would be there with my hands stretched out in front of me, I would say: hey, hey put it down, it can break. Your laughing eyes would respond with a question: but why? This is what you want.

For someone to come over and break everything into pieces, I know what you want. I know it better than you do, you would say, and before I have time to shout in alarm ohforthefucksakedon'tplease, you would do what you want to do.

And everything will break, everything flying around me in pieces.

That is you. That is how you are, you take everything away from me, completely. You plant a void in me and then without hesitation, or a glimpse of guilt, move into it, filling up that space in me. There, comfortably placing yourself in that space you would offer me your warmth, all of it.
You would say, take this, keep it. Mend yourself with this.
Your demands, which are also your comforting hands, which are also your warnings.
That horrifies me. Your presence horrifies me.

I think about all this, while I let my hands caress your hair mindlessly.
I think about all this, thinking which is a lot like sighing. What should I do. With you.

I contemplate this problem trying not to show that I'm contemplating. Then I hear you saying:




"I am going to become a part of you, you know. You can kill me, and I won't get killed. I'm going to become, something of a habit, a habit that has stuck to you since your childhood. I am going to stay here, for a long time."

"What made you think that?"





An angry flinch sparked for a moment in your eyes. That made me stay still, bearing that clinched fist you thrust toward me. A tightened fist, that just lightly brushed against my chin, before falling under.



"Because you kept running away.
One day I will be the one who would be running away from you. By then you would find my absence so unbearable, so terrible that you will have to run after me. Look for me. And find me again."

" What if you ran away from me not to return?"

"No. That's not possible. I have already took a piece of me and gave it to you. What should I do with that empty space then? Of course I will return to you. But before I do that, you will have to come and find me. You will have to give me a hand and put me back on my feet."





I follow your eyebrows with my fingers. It's somewhat unsteady and messed up pathway. Like an uncanny alleyway. My fingers get lost around the contour of your nose, before they finally stop.

A moment has passed, and it feels unnecessarily long, for you spoke of nothing.

Sometimes, you say things to me, which you wished I would say to you. Words you hoped for.
Then you would sulk and sulk and sulk.

I know now, I know. All those words and moves you make, are all you, arrogantly pleading. For me to understand you. To understand you. Such naked honesty makes me solemnly stay put. Rooted to the spot. You don't hesitate. Your eyes never dwindle away.
You surprise me at moments like that. You come to me as a kind of meaning, a shape a little too sharp, it pierces me in the core of me. Like a little knife, sharpened up with care.

That makes my heart ache.
What made you sharpen yourself so? what is it, what?

Sometimes you care too much about your love for me you don't see my love for you.
Like you have waited for me, now I wait for you.
I wait for the time to come, when, you would love me and understand that I love you too.

I contemplate all this, but not a word comes out of my mouth. Not yet.


I say, simply, that I actually don't dislike rooibos tea that much.


Oh such small cowardly words.