6459 / 10539.59 - a poem

— This was pulled from my journal on a day where I sat on line 4 for a full hour. I can’t place exactly what was going through my mind, besides all the ways I was drawing lines between my average day in Chicago (spending eons on the bus/train, fighting for my life dipping a diving between crowds of people), and my average day in Seoul (which was pretty… identical!)

I wonder how much divides us beyond distance,

as Seoul is the same and is so different.

The lights are always on and the TVs never turn off,

and the buses are always running and the noise never stops,

and Seongsu’s smell of sewage often serenades my senses

like the Jackson tunnel on a day the city worked itself too hot.

Young boys zip through the sidewalks like they’ve never been outside before,

and it’s a chore to get people to walk in straight lines.

When the sun shines too bright all our faces drop to mean mugs,

yet we still have the energy to take a trip to the store.

And the trains take just as long to move just as many bodies,

so you’re rolling dice for a sorry if someone clips your shoulder,

because we’re all a bit checked out or checking in with our mothers,

so everyone minds their business while we fall into each other.

I’ve never been a person to get homesick,

but I get sick when my welcome feels a second overstayed.

For every moment I find I could kill to go home,

I find a bit of it here, miles / kilometers away.