with your fingers.
Stranger to my eyes and killing me softly with such a song.
Kimchi is fermenting in my fridge, but I can’t quite decide if a ziplock bag with as little air as possible, or some is better.
Since we expect the baicai to ferment and carbon dioxide gas to be produced, would the build-up of gas in the unfilled vacuum bag or the partially inflated one be more explosive?
If the volume of gas produced is going to be the same, the pressure is determined by the volume it occupies.
I can’t explain why with physics since something is not quite computing, but the vacuum-packed one has less volume, and less space for the gas to fill?
Why would the gas not inflate the package without exploding? Perhaps it will.
Either way, there is only one ziplock bag of kimchi since it’s just an experiment, I put it on some paper towels in case.
Doubt a fridge smelling of kimchi is the idea.
We play a little bit of chess casually, and it reminds of people whom we haven’t spoken to in a long while. A month feels long in the sudden eternity.
Even if you would trash me, I kinda wish I took you up on the offer you extended to me a long time ago to play against me and teach me.
As time and skill tend towards infinity, there are only so many possible combinations of moves in chess.
So what determines the winner will be a question of who can stay focused, and then catching the slip up of an opponent.
I’m not sure who we are talking to, which is odd since we’ve never felt quite so lost as we have now.
Suddenly at this crossroads with no signboards.
If I just close my eyes for a moment I will forget where we have come from and where we are going towards.
If you looked right through me, as if I were not here, you could fool me into thinking that I was gone.
Part of me is lost, certainly. Where should I go to find back the pieces of my heart?
Is it in you all who make me happy? Or is it somewhere in one of those back-alley roads I travelled?
Or now, is it somewhere in the sea?
Is it at home or at school?
Where do I go from here now that my shoulders have sunk into my frame like a nail sinks into a wooden board?
It feels like eating kimchi; surprised that we are eating an (admittedly) out of the ordinary amount of vegetable.
A slight sourness and tingling on our tongue from the spiciness. The same kind when we taste fork-tip-fulls of curry.
The kind of a twisting feeling in our gut that is both literal and literary, something that disagrees and cannot sit right, but still.
The reusable clip that snaps shut around the plastic lip of the cookie bag, that takes a bite at our fingers.
The sweetness of baicai hiding under the layers above it; the spring onion sprouting on my windowsill.
The stinging on my lips, and the feeling of curling in tightly.