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Last Memoir

Name: Tina Kim
Email: tinakim@hotmail.com
Date: 01 May 2003
Time: 19:01:20
Remote Name: 131.107.3.79

Story

Memoir One:

The humid air, the smells gave me comfort- a comfort that was different from the one I have ever felt before. A place I had left many years ago as a little girl was waiting for my embrace once again.

People’s stares made me become fascinated with my own identity. Who was I and what was I doing there? What is my ultimate motive, my ultimate journey?

I felt like a girl that was in transition to adulthood. Complete control and dependency only onto myself – how empowering, how frightening, how fabulous!

Memoir Two:

First few weeks of teaching familiarizing myself with the immediate people I would have to encounter on a daily basis- the owner of the grocery store, the guard at the apartment, the teachers, the students… all so beloved… all with their each individual grumpiness and smiles gave me the stimulation and fuel I needed.

Memoir Three:

Being set up on a blind date (the first one in my life)… The guy although tall, did nothing for me. No attraction on my end. Probably no attraction on his end either. Being out and abut with a guy the first time in this place was eventful, but not a memory that makes a mark…

Memoir Four:

I had met Sarah one month after my arrival. She has become the sister I always wanted but never had… she introduces me to an in-law. In the entrance of the Samsung Plaza I had met him… first impression- he is classy, distinguished. Kind of older… He was carrying a garment bag… dark eye brows, penetrating, deep eyes. A powerful presence. Lunch and a drink. I knew I caught his interest. His curiosities of a girl that was “different” from the cookie cutter mold he was used to. He wanted to see what I was about. Basically my story, where I had been all these years what I was doing a world apart away…

Memoir Five:

I got the call from him. The phone voice- calm, gentle, powerful… he wanted that first date. Caught me off guard but a pleasant surprise. A ray that made an ordinary day extraordinary. It was a Wednesday.

Memoir Six:

Lots of smiles lots of talk and more talk. Comfort. Two people that had lots to share about their inner and outer struggles. What it means to be a man and a woman. What the search was for. Where this search will lead us… What the puzzle is all about. What it feels like being lost- within our families, within our profession, within the duties of being a man in Korea, an eldest son in that family. Being lost as a Korean American, being lost as a Korean American female in Korea, being lost as a Korean-korean male. Just being lost… but feeling good we had found at least each other.

Memoir Seven:

A black pin striped mini skit and a crisp white shirt and sandals on a warm summer evening date. No where special. The place doesn’t matter anymore. The company was always good, anytime, any place. Long legs for everyone to see, an insecure confidence. Tan skin, long glossy highlights. Many strangers pausing their hurried walks just to stare with wonder, with curiosity. He liked that people would turn to look at two people walking hand in hand. Two tall people. Two amazingly happy people. Two attractive people. A match made in heaven.

Waiting with him to go back home. I walk up the steps of the bus a man behind me sits next to me in an empty bus. It takes him half an hour to get the courage to ask me about me… saying “you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen…” Flattering and the first time a stranger has ever said that to me before. He asks for my number and instead I ask him for his number not giving him mine. Tall, cute but young, not distinguished. A mere University student. A boy- yet not a man…

Memoir Eight:

Dates continue as more intensity and wonderment of the definition of our relationship lingers in the air. He asks me to a reunion with his college friends. Wearing a long black coat, black sweater, black pants and long boots. I look tall, I look good. His friends stare and ask but I dare not to answer. I have become close to his people in just a couple of hours. They like me, they are wondering about me. Lots of beer, a little tipsy. An unnie makes the effort to tell me “he is in love with you… he never brings anyone to these meets…” I just shrug and smile… I don’t want to make it seem like a big deal. We get in the cab and realize how I have managed to keep my cool for all those hours being so drunk. The movement of the car- I throw up outside… He walks me into my apartment. I escort him out. My head is pounding.

Memoir Nine:

As the night comes to and end, we are in my elevator making our way to the 12th floor. As we hit the 9th floor, he gives me a wet kiss… making me feel like a woman and him a man. I am happy, embarrassed. In the house, he comes in and I change into jeans and a red t-shirt. He lies on the sofa and I am on top of him. I allow him to feel me- and I him. So intimate, so soft, so intense. We feel each other’s heartbeat and warmth for a while. But we don’t take it too far. Just enough to feel the rush.

Memoir Ten:

A weeknight around 1 in the morning I get a drunken call. I go to meet him in the city. I was wearing a cream sweater and ragged jeans, hair up. No time to do hair, no time to do makeup. He took me to a hotel after the nightclub where we connected for the first time. Time did stand still for a moment.

Memoir Eleven:

Talks and more talks leading to me meeting his mother. What can I say? What can I do? We both knew ultimately all of these moments of memories would merely only become memories. We just wanted to hold on even by a thread. The constraints of religion, family background, me a Korean American. The invisible wall was too high.

Memoir Twelve:

The final talk of tears, pain and sadness. Deciding to let each other loose in the world cutting the thread. I saw him, his vulnerability to life, to risks he couldn’t take. I am happy regardless because this was a good decision on both ends. He is looking at me from the other side of the subway station. He waves goodbye as I enter the subway going home.

Memoir Thirteen:

We still meet and talk as if we didn’t end. Sex, talk, laugh all of that until the night I left that place. I give him this: “Women want to be a man’s first love. Men want to be a woman’s last romance.” He was my last romance. I was his first love. That is why it was so imperfect and perfect at the same time.

Last changed: June 25, 2008

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Date: 25 Jun 2008
Time: 14:49:01
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