A Dream with My Korean Mother

We began walking to church to together.

People were walking around us and at first, I was holding things.

We were passing around a puddle of water with stuff in it, walking on the edge as people talked.

There was something about my really nice shoes getting wet, as she and I parted to go around the dirty, cluttered puddle.

That’s when I stopped walking and I began to hover over my mother.

The walk seemed long, and as the dream lingered on it was as if I had done this before, and everyone either knew it or couldn’t see me.

Maybe I heard someone or two say something, but it seemed so natural to me, almost like I’d done it before, or in a dream.

The longer the walk, the more hills there are.

We passed military troops wearing blue jumpsuits with a dog doing drills.

It also got hotter, and once, I lost track of my mother, because she jumped into a pool to cool herself.

I was still hovering and finding it odd, but nice, defying gravity. My mother reappeared, but more slender and years younger . . . . more like me.

She looked like the beautiful young, smiling Korean woman, who I’ve seen in photographs and like me, but with wet black hair and touches of gray.

I wasn’t the only one happy to see her, but since I was hovering very closely, I only witnessed the happiness she brought to other people.

And then I woke up.

The photos with me I squeezed in, actually had family around us. Only my mother and I would ever cling to each other and laugh.

The photo on the right says a lot about my Korean mother and me. It was a “serious” photo for another family member and I wasn’t cooperating, but the other one didn’t know.

My mother would not get angry, she’d laugh at and with me, like I do with her mentioned elsewhere. (I think if you click on the photo you can see she’s smiling bigger.)

We have something else in common. We are naturally feminine and very “tomboy” at the same time, I’m just taller and now hover over my Korean mother.

One day I’ll share my first piece of jewelry with you, but to understand anything “here” . . . . it requires reading, and preferring love over hate.

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