#amieko

[amieyhko]

Escapril 2019

escaprilday 2019 // 1: a fresh start

two Costco bags full of

umma-certified clean clothes,

“unpacking cannot begin with wet clothes”

Taipei humidity is unkind.

coins clink,

white noise revs

drowning out the drizzle

as heart somersaults

to the rhythm of the cycles:

what — tum — am I — ble

doing — tumble — here?

the darks tumble its final spin

as the lights

click —

into a stop.

a whiff into a warm towel

warns me the comforts of home,

promising

of munchies, blankies, and speedy wifi

of cushy floor space where crafting

and writing past midnight can be done in secret

but —

fold — maybe — toss — I changed —

yellow blouse — or gave up too easily —

fold — or could it be —

toss — I’m listening to all the wrong voices? —

red turtleneck — no — flick —

wait, this is so soft now, I guess the washing machine in that guest house in Seoul was indeed really terrible —

fold — yes, this is how it should feel on my skin —

toss – my heart knows, though —

fuzzy sock — maybe home is where I need to be right now —

into basket — there’s nothing wrong with —

grab — starting over again.

escaprilday 2019 // 2: april showers

you said all memorable moments

include an unexpected deluge

I nod and laugh

as the metro ac pierces through

my drenched jacket

I shiver as I feel my clammy socks

cling onto my not-rainproof Docs

("they're not?" you ask in shock)

ears ringing still

from speakers booming

throat scratchy from scream-singing

at the top of our lungs.

still, you smile, shiver, and say,

with half-dazed eyes,

all good memories

end in rain.

escaprilday 2019 // 3: incorporate music

“Hope I’m not tired of rebuilding”

at this in-between

this time of heating up lukewarm lattes

and microwaving soggy french fries,

a surrendering of old and new

kindles a familiar tune:

“not what’s easy, what do you want?”

at this in-between,

the seconds between a squat and a jump

or the hours during an endless free fall,

a whisper sings an awakening:

“even a phoenix dies”

so at this in-between

muster up the strength to

inhale blue

and exhale gold.

escaprilday 2019 // 4: anxiety

lacuna

¡amiga!” he chimes like clockwork

with a sonrisa that has probably charmed plenty of hearts.

my fist bumps his and I walk toward the dark halls

where they tilt their heads forward and say

“안녕하세요” they grin,

some fake, others genuine,

mostly muscle memory.

“哈咯“ she greets as I turn the corner—

a sound of familiarity.

the velcros on my lips finally relax

till we part ways to our stations

“how are you?” their words flow dry

they probably don’t want to find out

my tongue lands on one syllable:

“good”.

escapril 2019 // 5: back to nature

I’ve a secret spot for seeing stars in Taipei City.

after a day downtown,

blasting my headphones at damaging decibels,

fixing makeup with samples at drugstores,

and chasing after buses,

I skip down the announced “platform two for Taipei Zoo”

and gaze down at the light show stage named Zhongxiao Fuxing.

as the red greens, a rush of headlights streams at me—my eyes

lose focus, my heart

leaps back into my chest just as

the home-bound metro approaches.

//

I’ll always remember the yard at Tiszavasvári

where we lay to see a starry night drawn by the Creator

after a day of listening to screaming children,

braiding their hairs,

and chasing after the impossible ones,

we stood in awe, jaws dropped, then soon learned

our necks weren’t strong enough

so we lay down, evening breeze

accompanied by the crickets sang a lullaby—

my eyes played a senseless game

of connect-the-dots, my heart skipped several beats

as I let go of the memories of beds and blankets.

escapril 2019 // 6: nostalgia

missing you is easy.

remembering you creeps

up in little mundanities

like a cup of fruit tea

a bottle of Clorox

or an inappropriately loud laughter--

to my consolation, yours is unmatchable.

although,

the sound of your laughter rings

quieter

till I can whisper:

escapril 2019 // 7: start with a time of day

3 a.m.

why wait

for dawn when

we can set yesterday

up

in flames

over this river?

escapril 2019 // 8: love poem

I cannot recall the exact words uttered

but something in my heart fluttered:

our eyes met for a millisecond

we cracked, till our breaths weakened.

our words, lost in the waves

transformed into safes

I open in my heart of hearts

to feel at home within the laughs of your loves.

escapril 2019 // 9: focus on the color

chorok hadn't found its form in

korean of old. fields of

grass and evergreens,

little plates of herbal banchan,

lush of summers,

and squirming caterpillars

all existed as paran-- that same

color ascribed to vast oceans,

and sunny skies

then one lively spring, chorok

creeped its way into our tongues,

demanding to be seen on

street signs,

the mountain tops, and

cross walk lights

though some still speak "the light

turned paran",

and the incorrigible children's tune

singing of spring

blossoming into paran,

chorok sprouts an entrance

undeniable to out naked eyes.

escapril 2019 // 10: femininity

the bus,

back slides down on the uncomfortable bus seat,

fingers stroke through my freshly buzzed head,

while many eyes fixate above my eyes,

asking:

"is she a boy or a girl?"

"is she a lesbian?"

"what happened to her… hair?"

eyes read their faces,

mouth struts a big yawn with no reflex system telling me to conceal it.

imagination floats to a stadium,

feet stands on the podium,

voice declares:

I'm still so-very-much a lady--

just not fair like Audrey,

nor dainty like a stereotype,

or as brave as Joan,

and definitely not as attractive than most

but maybe more like

the ones writing history

now.

escapril 2019 // 11: not from your perspective

most of the time I sit beside the maroon sofa

where you watch tv and transform into a potato

I wait and wait for that sweet moment

you grab my handle

travel me to a flat desk

wind me up with thread

hook me up to a pedal

switch my light on

smooth out a piece of fabric

pinned up in zig zag

then

zoom, crackle, buzz,

your hands sync to my rhythm

you pray I don’t jam

or break your thread

then you announce with pride

“et voila!”

escapril 2019 // 12: spring cleaning

it takes two countries

few cities

thirteen houses

fifteen boxes

thirty trash bags

and an infinite repetition of

"do we need this?"

for a soul to grasp the spider web line

between a desire and a necessity.

then a decade teaches the

same soul

sometimes,

spectrums soften

escapril 2019 // 13: celestial bodies

if only

seeing you was as easy as

some nightly glow at your half

reflecting off

a big blazing ball of light on my half

escapril 2019 // 14: make it rhyme

a sonnet-full of embellishments, fake

notions of how lovely you are like some

weather in summer or spring, homemade cake

that tastes like cheap flour and rotten eggs, numb

from clichés, the love songs that never shut

up, posed photos of arms around my waist,

a let-me-take-that gentleness, so what

are you doing? leaving sour aftetaste

in our hearts. no, this sonnet is not for

us. we don’t need guidelines to fall in love,

nor the recipes known to prevent war

(it cannot be all fair in war and love),

so stop. steep in this silence as your hand

finds mine in this complicated quicksand.

escapril 2019 // 15: describe a smell

a dash of prickliness:

prickly, like appa’s beard attacking my forehead as he plants a kiss.

then an overwhelming sense of saltiness:

salty, like that time I accidentally used the spoon side of the seasoning bottle

or tasting my own sweat or tears.

something rotting at slow decay.

fruit flies feast.

my nose shoots me back to

halmoni yelling something in dialect, umma replying.

I stand in the middle of the market square, I’m ten.

they promised me jjajangmyeon,

my nostrils can hold out just a minute more.

escapril 2019 // 16: any dreams?

five—

I was to be a Pokemon trainer by day

and Sailor Moon by night

but adults hung my creativity dry

seven—

a singer-songwriter

but music chose me not

ten—

fashion designer,

draw designs, sew coutures, walk the runway myself

but whispers yelled discouragements

fifteen—

couldn’t care: I was a realistic teen

now—

I tip-toe about my heart

trying my best not to pick on scabs,

unable to answer any questions

albeit an I-don’t-know

has never sounded more

comforting and clear.

hear the wounds heal

to the beat of the unicorn hooves.

escapril 2019 // 17: body as friend or foe

I was born in Guatemala,

but my father’s from Georgia

he’s a musician, he produces

K-pop albums and we travel the world

searching for the next big deal,

my mother paints apples, she’s from Zimbabwe

she also writes Chinese poems.

It’s all true—

my body deceives every bit of reality within me.

escapril 2019 // 18: a happy place

hear nose tickle

with the sound of lavender feathers

fluttering by

eyes will open up to inhale

the golden hours spent

under Your glorious dance

escapril 2019 // 19: without your name, who are you?

if an utterance of a name

can form a heart,

her name has been called by many

if each spoken word forms

a vibration into what we are,

she's a someone

whispered into a myriad of paradoxes:

she's an asteroid, crashing fast,

uncontrollable, unexpected.

she's a cup of tea, calm,

idle, ready for nothing.

escapril 2019 // 20: a liminal space

this amorphous ground feels comfortable,

excuses acceptable:

the excruciating humidity,

drowsy rain, busy friends,

false pride, miscalculating time.

they say:

Prufrock measures his life in coffee spoons,

but Zeno says nothing ever reaches its destinations.

the Knight holds his tongue

yet his heart flutters a violent beat.

I’m just another contra, letting my feet skip away

as each step echoes heart beating somewhere

back.

escapril 2019 // 21: it’s the end of the world

no zombie apocalypse,

the sun still functions,

stars are still, hearts

unbroken, no one

escaping to Mars,

no fatal goodbyes.

one silent pink noise

a purple glow,

“welcome back home”

it said.

escapril 2019 // 22: nourishment

last month, I met a little

potted plant.

I took it back to my little

suffocating room

and named it little

foggy star.

I loved it little

by little

I gave it little

droplets of water,

spoke little

words of compliment,

took it to my little

window sill

the sun peeped through

a little.

it grew a little,

I did too.

escapril 2019 // 23: when the party’s over

recollect spilled laughters —

this, for unworthy jokes,

that, for suave comments,

maybe one for someone dreamy —

bottle them up,

keep them fresh

for the next sea of

stragglers,

mutual someone,

you-look-quite-nice,

wow-so-interesting.

escapril 2019 // 24: liar, liar

how to be a compulsive liar

one: disregard empathy, embrace despondency, think selfish,

my life doesn’t have to tell truth tales, no one needs to know.

two: rehearse recollections, think practicality, use names they’d never check,

let myself believe in each detail, each sight, smell the scenario

three: speak the perfectly fabricated phrases into existence,

no need to bat an eye, stutter a detail, overthink a loophole.

for example: “yeah, the party was fun. we walked around the park afterwards.

who? oh no, he wasn’t there. he had an important family dinner.”

four: remember the lie, inform reliable partners in crime if necessary,

never bring it back, stick to your guns.

promise yourself: they can’t hurt, they’ll never know.

remember: truths hurt, they’re inconvenient, it’s none of their business.

dig: until your shovel breaks.

drown out: every kindness the world has to offer.

die: in the said dug hole, climb out just to

repeat: until trust is a pair of cracked glasses, refuse to see a redemption until

die again: learn that these walls must go —

invite: the uncomfortableness that is vulnerability

repeat: until system reboots.

escapril 2019 // 25: pick an animal

my giraffe friend

shades me when the sun’s high

and warms me when the wind’s rough,

meeting her eyes pains me with

an aching neck,

she will always stand tall in a room,

there’s no shelf too high for me,

when she’s close by.

escapril 2019 // 26: girlhood, boyhood, childhood

when I was older, I had a pair of

very pink sneakers

they'd glitter in the sun,

glamoured in gemstones for dignity

velcros loud enough to turn heads

when it was time to take them off

I glanced over my neighbors' shelves:

ugly. blue. brown. ugly. mine trampled over all.

then my eyes stood silent

as I zone in

on her pair of Gundam sneakers

secretly jealous, mostly confused,

extremely frustrated of rule-breaking

girls, defying pink, watching animation

for boys only

now, I wear boring black or white shoes

so do most humans with feet.

escapril 2019 // 27: the state of it all

“you're it!”

a harmless push from their arms

my chest thrusts back

limbs under a spell

all bones removed

“catch me if you can”

why don't you save me

'cause you can?

escapril 2019 // 28: reflection

memories retraces a blur

crooked smile

red dye fading

cigarette between your fingers

standing mostly on your right leg--

you let out a puff as i tell you “i’m imaginary.”

you say you couldn't have

so i tease you more with a kiss

“that wasn't real

that was you imagining it all

new school

a manic pixie

the loneliness got to your brains

that's all”

you flick away the cigarette

eyes reflecting my face

you kiss me back and say

“please don't do this to my brain

you're real

far too real for me i'm not smart like that”

i snicker

the buzzing bus terminal is real

you and i are real

but i'm not

you're no more

escapril 2019 // 29: may flowers

she died a few days ago—

flew off the rooftop

fallen against teeming

reborn lives

the most beautiful of flowers

only last a day or two

you said we are beautiful

because we’re ephemeral

but what happens when

fleeting moments like

a crash kilometers away

pain for someone I never knew?

escapril 2019 // 30: catharsis

yesterday, I cleaned out my room

bugs infested each and every corner

I tried to catch them but they

hid away between the nooks and crannies

whispering schemes to each other

learning the dustiest corners I’ve ignored

waiting for a perfect time to kill

so I dusted out the corners

rearranged the furnitures

repainted the scratches

thinking cover-ups should make anew

yesterday, I cleaned out my room

praying for the bug spray to kill,

I felt seventeen, rearranging photographs,

filling up a space with desired personalities,

she would have been proud

there’s nothing I’d tell her, but to say

yesterday, I cleaned my room, for another hundredth time

they say an odyssey is a cycle

ending with a catharsis

where you come clean

but yesterday, I cleaned my room

again

[inappropriate-aunt]

Advice to new DMs/GMs: You do not need to plan nearly as much as you think you do.

One time my party debated for a FULL HOUR at the start of a session about how we were going to enter the tunnel, and whether or not it would be better to just blow up the entrance so it would cave in and all the baddies would just be trapped underground and would no longer be able to terrorize the town.

[what-the-fuck-khr]

Homaiii posts on KHR !!! Thank youuuuu !!! *hyper mode: ON*

ah…?

if you’re thanking me for posting khr, then you’re welcome!! I love khr with my heart, so having this blog is the least I can do to spread it!!

[falafelwaffel]

TO ALL OF THE AUTHORS CHELZIE BETAS FOR

No, the author who constantly has inanimate objects making noise is not you...

IT'S ME!

This little reification error stems from a long history of me talking to inanimate objects. My latest was with my bookshelf which my mother decided needed organizing and she SEPARATED SERIES AND MOVED AUTHORS OUT OF ALPHABETICAL ORDER SO NOW MY BOOKSHELF IS A DIRTY DIRTY DISORGANIZED SLUT!

Clam your tits! You all are wonderful I'm the one that makes doors knock and any other noisy quality I can bestow on any object.

[amieyhko]

Privilege

jan 2020

Hello my dearests,

I don't know what your sky looks like on your little area of the globe but mine has been gorgeously cerulean over an amber sun in the morning and mysteriously dark at night with starlight gleaming down (stars in Taipei City?!). Let's just say my 2020 has been off to a refreshing start — weather, heart, body, and soul. A couple of years back, I started to give names to each new year: 2018 aka pioneer, 2019 aka mearcstapa, and this year God's reminding me of the definition of the word privilege. 

This word entered my lexicon at the end of my junior year in high school. Backstory: I attended an international boarding school and the dorms are set up on the foundations of family, connection, and honor — a big part of me was shaped during these years within the bonds of this community. Being in dorms meant there were rules, seemingly unfair at the time but looking back were clear boundaries for being a person of integrity. Light outs, breakfast check-ins, and permission to "go to the village" were rules that could be waived once you became a senior: they were called "senior privileges". One spring afternoon Aunt Sharon sat us three rising seniors in the dorm for tea and munchies to explain what it really meant. She first asked us what we thought was a good leader, then what we thought the correlation was between responsibility and privilege. I don't recall the exact words spoken but looking back, this system of privilege was setting us up for the years following graduation. She reminded us with her steady eye contact and a sip of tea that privileges can be taken away when we're not living them out responsibly. We still had to clean our rooms, do our homework, take part in chores, attend extra curriculums, have a life, build relationships, apply for colleges, and on top of that we were challenged to be leaders to the younger dorm brothers and sisters for the coming year. I definitely did not get enough sleep senior year but I remember it being memorable among other adjectives. As I reflect on the ways Aunt Sharon lived, I see that her definition of leadership meant setting up the atmosphere. She was a mother who appreciated ambiance, seasonal decorations, good food, and contagious laughters. At the beginning of senior year, she met with us to discuss how we were to lead. My roomie and I planned on cooking breakfasts for the whole dorm, leading evening devotions once or twice during the semester, and hosting a kidnap party for the newbies. 

These were all examples and legacies she has been building with the previous generations of seniors. Eighteen-year-old Amie didn't have the words for this, but now I see that privilege creates an atmosphere of honor when done with a heart of service and love. I get to do this. I'm not entitled to any of this.

So 2020, my year of privilege looks like a few plane rides, an abundance of ask-and-you-shall-be-given, and a stunned repetition of "wow, I get to do this?!" After the long anecdote down my memory lane, here's finally a segue into a more detailed plan of what my time at Kenya actually entails. All words have a purpose.

KENYA SUPER TEAM 2020

This team really is quite super. Annual Super Teams in our church network exists for a very specific and crazy purpose that is wildly different from intimate small teams which I much prefer. But when it comes to missions like these, it's not about me — it's about the God we serve and the people we go to bless. This is the second time our church is going to Comido School in the slums of Nairobi, Kenya. Last year (I didn't go but the stories are crazy), the team set out to build a playground, decorate the school walls, and install a computer lab with the most modern system. The weather forecast warned of heavy rainfall the entire time the team was there but not a single drop fell until it was time to leave the school in all its glorious upgrades. This time, we're planning to bring 4000+ books, 1200+ pieces of stationery, tools, treats, toys, and goodies to build a new library, teach the children about finance, install a hydroponics system, build a second playground, and visit people in the settlement. I am in children's ministry once again, privileged to be working with my veteran beloveds Esther, Ina, and Tiffany but also absolutely thrilled to see so many first-timers and new faces. I've been putting on a lot of hats lately, one of them is to affirm Esther, our team leader, when she is being crazy and to keep her decisions at peace — we're inevitably very close after 2+ trips, being roomies for a week, and just being around each other. Ina has asked me if I could be the contact person for our team members who will be joining us from Hungary, Guatemala, and Costa Rica. I felt like I was perfect for the job because I know most of the people on that list. Then I decided to give myself more mischief to manage by making myself the organizer for the productions team that will support whatever is going on stage during our big team meetings. Preparation is not my strong suit. I love spontaneity and being highly adaptable. I'm learning to be a part of the team — to obey my leaders and trust that every detail we map out will come to pass during the trip. But I also know that we'll be improvising almost every moment of the trip; I somehow look forward to that more than this process. I'm using up a hundred percent brain power here then saving up another hundred of all other energies to spend over there. I just need to accept that all processes are beautiful and they matter more than the results.

wrapping up yet another long update

I believe that I have overwhelmed you enough for this month's worth of updates. Hungary informations will come at its own time, hopefully in the next update. I'm just grateful that you are connected to my journey through these words.

If you enjoy the way I create through words and other mediums, please do consider becoming my patron on Patreon. You will be receiving content from me on a more consistent basis & also get to fund me on my many projects (I plan to self-publish a book!). Pledges come in tiers and the lowest is just 1USD a month. Please do go check it out at http://patreon.com/amieko

As always, I'm open to to receiving questions, comments, or feedback. I'm privileged to know each and every one of you. Before the next update rolls around, you can pray for me in these areas:

Mental health, oh-so-many things are happening all at once

Financial needs, not just for my trips but in every aspect

Creativity and wisdom in navigating through this process

Divine connections, daring to dream bigger, finishing well

Love, Amie Ko

[amieyhko]

winter 2018

november

Another four pages of my calendar book has passed. As I flip through it, I see many names of people I love. On one hand, I'm confused as to how I managed to not exhaust myself but on the other, I can feel that my heart tank is extremely full.

November was spent mostly on preparing—preparing for IELTS (for the working holiday visa application), preparing decorations for Danny and Mandy's wedding, preparing to fly out, preparing accommodations in Korea, preparing my heart.

The most exhausting part of it all was the process of making myself obsolete. As a leader of lights team at our church (we rent out a night club every Sunday morning), and as the only person who had official education in lights, I micromanaged a lot of things. But I really didn't want it to be this way. I knew what empowerment looks like and it took a lot of conscious planning and training courses for my team to run totally independently. I’m just happy to say that the special Christmas service ran super smoothly and I was a proud retired mum.

November was also a month of endless films. Golden Horse Film Festival got me waking up really early or stay up unreasonably late. I only bought three tickets but Fanny got like… 7? I also know someone who bought 10+. I reasoned with myself that I am in no situation to be spending that much money.

Then November closed with an exam. Everyone said I’d do fine on the IELTS but I honestly wasn’t too sure. Everything about the exam was intimidating—it was early in the morning, one of the test takers didn’t make it on time and got disqualified immediately, they make you do finger scans, take an ugly picture of you, and the room was extremely cold. I never was good at exam taking and this one took a lot of concentration I was lacking maybe because I’ve been out of school for a while. Oops, oops, oops. But I came out in one piece and my scores were satisfactory.

Another unexpected occurence was a thanksgiving party hosted at church. The decor was on point, and I helped set the mood with lights covered with lots of amber gels. When I set down to eat, it took me straight back to McGill dorm thanksgiving meals where Aunt Sharon would decorate the tables with all her favorite autumn things and we were required to talk about three specific things we were thankful for. As I love to say, home is plural. I'm excited and terrified at the increasing number of homes I have yet to still accumulate.

december

It ends with a plane ride. The buzzing sound of construction and the loud commands of walkie talkies are somehow comforting. Airports are homes. Wizard of Oz never made sense to me, Dorothy is just a whiny, spoiled little girl. Announcements ring. I never line up until the last minute—who wants to be inside a plane early when you're going to be in it anyways? As the engines roar a bass line of white noise and umma falling asleep next to me, I pray with a silent hope. You're at the beginning.

Honestly I don't remember what happened in December other than the rush of adrenaline preparing for Danny's wedding, actually decorating Danny's wedding, and the aftermath of it all. The toughest part of this wedding was the flowers—three gargantuan boxes of fresh baby's breaths. Everything had to be done the day before and I had a troop of Kate, umma Kang, and anyone at the church office who had free time. Chaos ensued as we tried to call two Uber XLs then arriving at the venue to find that it was still confetti-ed and trashed from the event that just took place. The table arrangement communications were all wrong, little things here and there seemed missing, and I missed my bed terribly. But thanks to little wedding elves who love Danny and Mandy so much to the point of staying to finish up decors until 11pm then coming back the next day around 8am, this was probably the most enchanting looking wedding that I have ever decorated (no offense to my other ones, they all have their own adjectives). Let's just say I slept 20 hours per night for the three following days after the wedding.

The map says we're currently hovering over the southern tip of Korea. Turbulence shakes. My fingers are dry. Whispers are heard. I always emphasize that I'm not "going back" to Korea. I can never go back to where I only belonged in my vaguest memories.

Forty minutes till I land. It was just Christmas a few days ago. I'm still trying to wrap my head around the fact that I won't be seeing Taipei 101 explode when the new year rolls around. Frustration and bitterness aren't the words I'm looking for. It's not even excitement nor happiness. Right now, I'm grateful with what it is right now—high above the ground, thankful that airplanes work and that I'm privileged to be even in one.

Peace and serenity. There's a storm and I'm in the eye.

Thirty-five minutes. Captain just announced that it is -9C in Seoul. I hope it snows. I think I'll be warm enough. I'll just have to step out. Step out and dance in the snow.

PATREON

I always joked around saying that I need someone ridiculously rich to support me in all my endeavors (kinda like the Medici family in the Renaissance). Then I realized that this is still possible through the internet, though it's not just one filthy rich person but a community of supporters backing me up. So yes, I am now on PATREON. You have probably heard of this platform if you follow Youtubers or indie artists of any kind. This amazing portal allows anyone to support me on a monthly basis which is basically a steady income for someone who is going through so many instabilities but still loves to create (like moi).

If what I do is pleasing to your eyes, ears, nose, senses, anything, please consider becoming one of my unicorns. I will appreciate you so very much.

www.patreon.com/amieko