Wednesday, September 1, 2010


I can hear the policeman's whistle. Shouting - I understand the words "go" and "where". I'm not sure what is being said. There is a woman's voice - frightened and excited. The rumble of the many hanging signs sounds like thunder. Maybe it is thunder. The wind blows pressure in the ears, that moment of no sound then boom! Sound everywhere.

I look out the window. Trash, papers, wrappers, swirling up, defying gravity to rise and then fall as the rain pelts it. The policeman's whistle. Shrill. Rain staccato in its force. Whoosh drop drop. Whoosh drop drop. The street littered with broken bottles and yesterday's news. Today's terror painted with yesterday's foibles.

The center of the typhoon is an hour north. When did space and time collide to become measuring points for one another?

I wonder if classes are cancelled today. They probably are not. Koreans are tenacious people. Perhaps there is an advisory. I can't read Korean. I do not know.

All the weather stations in English say is "wind, rain". They forgot to mention that it's a typhoon.

Tornado drills in high school. I open the door of my room, allow the wind to blow threw. It will end soon. A typhoon is just a hurricane, a tornado. They are all the same. It's just a matter of waiting. Waiting. Listening to the whistle of the wind, the whistle of the policeman.

Funny, the song "Whistle While You Work" runs through my head. It is 7 a.m. now. It's light out. The storm is moving on. And yet it remains, shaking things up, waking people. Is this what life is? Do we need a storm to shake things up, clean out the garbagtge in our souls, let us feel passionately and then clean up the muck?

Hmm. I don't know. What do you think?

*map is from

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