Snow

Snow died early this afternoon. He was suffering from pneumonia, rare for rabbits, with his little body already succumbing to a walnut-sized tumor. His weakened muscles made him incontinent, and he was gasping for air.

Rabbits let out a death cry the moment they die. It is the only sound they would make in their short lives. Snow wasn't given the chance for that one and only cry of his life. I can't determine if that's a blessing or a misfortune.

071207

I wake up this morning in between the rain. The glimpse of sunlight peeks in through the clerestory window in my bedroom, dissipating my dream. The moment I open my eyes, I have one thought only in my head--that I am not ready to face this day.

My French lop named Snow is ill. He hasn't eaten since Sunday and he is malodorous. I must make another century mile round trip to take him to the doctor. At eight years old, however, he has lived three years past the average life expectancy for lops. My hunch is that this may be his time.

Too many deaths happened in the last few weeks. I am not ready to face another, especially when it is a physical death of a living being.

071206

A lunch turned into a seven-hour outing.

The drive to Culver City was just over an hour. After a leisurely lunch and a brief stop at my former workplace to say my goodbye to the office poodles, I took a gelato break at the corner cafe. I was still too full from lunch for dessert. But it was the hesitation that held me there, that strange sense of "home not being home any more" feeling that I never got used to despite bakers' dozen moves in three decades. I sat there wondering if telepathy really works. It didn't. At 3 o'clock, I got up to head back home.
I figured it would take me an hour and a half to an hour forty-five minutes to get home. My estimate was off--way off. The drive along the 405 freeway took 3 full hours. I regretted not accepting G's invitation to stop at the art gallery for a jewelry show with her and her friends that evening. But it worked out fine--I took advantage of the hideously long drive home to finally let myself...grieve.

Once home, I started to organize a whole plastic container full of my old school papers that have been accumulating since high school, from course syllabuses to term papers. And among them were ten notebooks in varying sizes plus a packed 1-1/2" binder, all containing the handwritten records of my thoughts, my activities, and my obsessions--my diaries since twenty years ago.

Evidently, my journal keeping was most active during my college years. In my freshman year, I wrote almost a full page of college rule paper every other day or so, filling up the whole binder. I wrote little in my second year, but I filled two medium size sketchbooks' worth during my junior and senior years. Back then, I wrote mostly in Korean, and because I wrote so frequently, my penmanship was tidy and almost pleasant to just look at. How I've changed over the years. Now my writing is predominantly in English which, if handwritten, is hardly legible even to myself.

But no matter how I have changed, one thing is for certain--that throughout it all, it was me all along.

The Awakening

I dreamt I was in Michigan again.

I was swimming from Lake Michigan towards Lake Portage along the channel. The sapphire blue water, glistening beautifully in the warm sunlight, felt pleasantly cold against my body. Midway through the channel, a wave of current rushed toward me, pushing me back toward Lake Michigan. I kept swimming on, but another wave pushed me back. Every attempt I made only pushed me out further into the middle of unfathomably vast body of water, until I lost my way back.

But dear Kate, I will not have Edna Pontellier's fate.

071201

7:30 AM.

Being lost in a deep sleep, it takes a few moments for me to realize that the sound from my cell phone is a phone call, not the morning alarm. It is my mom.

"Are you done with your shower yet?" she asks.

I answer with an utterly incomprehensive response.

"Huh?"

"You're not up yet? Do you know what time it is?"

Only then do I look at my clock and realize that I overslept by an hour and a half.

The movers are to show up in an hour. I decide I have no choice but to forego the shower. But because of that, my now short and always stubborn hair must be slicked back. And in my moving day outfit of black yoga pants, a white long sleeve T-shirt and a black short sleeve T-shirt overlayer, I look like a boy.

A short time later, my mother and my sister show up, breakfast in hand. Mom makes this day an exception and lets me drink coffee. As we sit down to eat, she spots a plastic bottle containing small blue and white pills on the table. She reads the label. Having worked at a pharmacy before, she's familiar with many prescription drugs, but this one stumps her.

"What is this for?"

"It's an anti-depressant, mom."

"Why do you have such a thing?"

"My doctor thinks I need it. I've been staring at it, but I'm not taking it."

Really, I should be more careful with the things I leave out.

With their help, the last minute wrap ups come about more easily. The time is now 8:50 AM, though, and the movers are not here. I call the moving company to ask about their whereabouts, and thus begins the moving day fiasco.

When I made a call to make an appointment last Tuesday, initially they said they charge four hour minimum to Orange County. I went ahead and booked them for Saturday. Few minutes later, they called me back to say that they have to charge five hour minimum to Mission Viejo because of the distance. I said that's fine. However, the lady with the moving company thought "that's fine" meant "fine, I don't need your service" even though I meant "fine, I'll pay for five hours." I guess she did not hear me say "see you Saturday" before hanging up the phone.

After clarifying the miscommunication, she apologizes profusely (as she should) and reroutes one of the afternoon appointments for me. She cannot guarantee the exact time, though. So my sister takes off to go to her office, as my friend, M, arrives. M is not an early bird, and I feel bad that she got up this early on a Saturday morning to help me.

To make the long story short, the three of us sit and wait for the movers, like Vladimir and Estragon waiting for Godot, for six hours. M does not speak Korean. Mom does not speak English. I have to either channel the conversation both ways, or have two separate conversations simultaneously. For six very long hours.

By the time the movers finally arrive, the wind picks up significantly. The palm trees lining the sidewalk of my street are swaying back and forth with an incessant sound of rustling leaves. Cold, windy yet sunny day...I am overcome with the desire to drive to the dessert, but I cannot. The guys empty my apartment in about half an hour. The speed and the efficiency with which they move is truly admirable, especially when one guy single-handedly lifts and carries my Stones coffee table made of cast concrete.

I barely make it in time before the Leasing Office closes. I complete my paperwork and receive my keys. The truck shows up only a few minutes after I locate my apartment. Unloading is more difficult than the loading, though, because the apartment is on the second floor. The guys are tired, too, I'm sure. The move is complete, including the dismantling and re-assembly of my bed, in four hours flat. I send the guys along with the five hours' rate plus tip and some soft drinks for the road.

My sister shows up again, this time with her coworker, R. She brings a housewarming gift--a vacuum cleaner, which had not been a necessity for the hardwood floor that I so loved for the last five years. R assembles the vacuum, wires my VCR, DVD and television, and finds a wireless signal to "borrow" for internet access. I'm glad to have this contact with the outside world.

Later, all five of us go out for dinner. I quickly learn that closest non-fast food restaurants are at least five miles away. After a bit of driving around, we end up at Lucille's BBQ. It is one of those loud chain restaurants with almost inhumane portions of food. Five starving people order three dishes, eat to their heart's desire and still go home with enough food boxed up to feed three others easily. I'm afraid such chain restaurants are all I will find in this area.

After dinner, others take off but M sticks around for a while. I want very much to be alone, but I figure her visits will not be as frequent as before. I offer to put her up for the night, but she insists on going home. I walk her to her car. The air is incredibly chilly. But being away from the pollution of light that floods the city, the stars shine brilliantly, especially Mars, the Red Planet, in its peak.

Midnight.

I find myself alone in a new apartment in a new neighborhood. The move is complete. I wonder what my dream will be tonight.