Terminal Living: A War Story_The Unexpected Knock_My Journey_First Day of University
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Terminal Living: A War Story
Like an Orwellian novel, I had been sent to Korea in 1984 to help defend democracy, crossing the International Date Line on Valentine’s Day where the clocks were all striking thirteen o’clock. After six months in Korea, I had decided to catch a flight home to get married in Marquette, Michigan. One of the perks about being in the service is that you can fly free, but as you may have guessed there is a catch. And the catch is what this near nonfiction tale is about. Catching a free flight from Osan Air Base to Yokota, Japan was easy. The flight took only about an hour, but once there, time...
The Unexpected Knock
The knock was unexpected. After all it was only Tuesday and movies nights weren’t till Thursday so no one should be knocking on the window. Maybe I had imagined it. It was probably just my mind’s desperate attempt at escaping the tedium of learning when famous weapons were forged. Some days I really hated homework. I rubbed one of my delicate horns, trying to encourage myself to focus. Another knock. Not my imagination then. I glanced at the purple drapes that hid the secret window. A third knock- this one sounded a bit desperate. I tossed my pencil down and got up to pull the velvety drapes ...
My Journey
The warm, sandy wind is hurling around me, blowing my hair in my face and plucking my clothes. There’s no way of telling where the ground ends and the sky begins. The rock is supporting me, holding me up, the sky embracing me. The enormousness of the distance around me makes me feel like a speck of dust in the vaswww.onedoor.cct universe, small, insignificant and yet, bigger and taller than I have ever been before.We’re here in America for our honeymoon, Fred and I, but it hasn’t been a walk in the park, so to say. He managed to ruin every moment that should have made it wonderful. The first few months with...
First Day of University
Here it is. Room 204、Just breathe.As I step through the corridor and into my future, I clutch the straps of my backpack for dear life. This knapsack has piggybacked since, high school. Sophomore year to be exact. My grasp on it, a hiraeth. It seems to return my embrace. Its tattered arms have been stitched to its body, after detaching, more than once. More than twice. Yet, it hangs on to me. Steady. Its hug, intense. I can't tell whether its nostalgia is comforting or hindering. Is this what love feels like?-It brings my mind to wander, if this is how our parents felt whenever they were forced...