#xdowonx

[yiseuuls]

@xdowonx

halloween was fast approaching and of course, yiseul’s editor had called her up late last night for a last minute article. the older woman’s email was almost incomprehensible, all the journalist had got was home candy, popular with trick or treats? in between a long monolouge about her her cat had disappeared and having to find a costume for her pet bird. needless to say — the woman is currently on her third attempt of making a twix bar, her lips pursed as she stared at the currently baking shortbeard  dough, something went wrong with the last batch, and she really didn’t want to have to remake it one more time.

and as her eyes dart down to the carmel she had made hours before hand, she worried that it would be too firm. a huff escapes from her, even the smell of chocolate, sugar and carmel was starting to be sicking.

maybe she needed some fresh air, she quickly walks towards her door, hoping by opening her apartment door just a crack would have her not feel like she was going to throw up because of the smell of sweets.

as she pushes open the door, she’s surprised to see a lanky man and a child at her doorframe. animal ears ontop of both their heads — for a moment, yiseul is wondering if her eyes were playing tricks on her.

wait wasn’t that the clerk from the convenience store?

“oh..uh hello?”

[ltuscter]

                                                                        ☾

there’s something to be said about mothers. how overbearing they tend be, how attentive, how sweet and how stubborn. yisol herself hasn’t spoken to her own in over a week—she knows, that’s on her—she’s the ungrateful child who left her mother alone in a barren house filled with unsavory memories. she’s the bad daughter who hadn’t been able to call her back nor make plans to visit for the holidays in the year and chump change she’s been in ville city. but residency is difficult for a reason and sufficed as a suitable excuse not to just as much.

what can i say? just like how mom’s folded into herself since the divorce, yisol has long outgrown the need for mother’s loving touch.

and it didn’t help that she’s welcomed dad back into her life (though, really, when did he leave? when had there ever been a day in which decisions  made aren’t influenced by him in either a glaringly obvious way or another?)—him and the chunk of money he put into her tuition. 

but, we’re not here to touch base on dad’s and the mess they’ve made out of their daughters. we’re here to talk about mothers. more specifically, we’re here to talk about @xdowonx’s mother. how she, bright eyed and brilliant and unstoppable force to her immovable object, had dragged yisol from the hospital straight to her apartment. 

words exchanged: ‘you’re so thin, yisol-ah.’ ‘ah, really?’ ‘do you even eat?’ ‘when i have time i-’ ‘come over tonight, you must let me feed you.’ ‘but-’ ‘no buts.��

so, here they are. here she is, sat at a table stacked too generously for two. unable to contain the growing unease tickling the back of her throat with every piece of jeon and meat that the older piles onto her bowl, quadrupling with every mention of her son that slips out of her lips.

ah, yes. min dowon. min dowon, whom she hasn’t spoke to since high school. min dowon, who either ducks from her line of sight or bores holes into the back of her head from a safe distance at the hospital. min dowon, who she had an interest in knowing. but does that even make sense? for her to be in his mother’s place despite all that.

                                                                                                     again, unstoppable force.

but at least. at. the. least, yisol thinks, lips forming a tight smile while the woman prattles off about their grade school days, it’s just us. 

ah. her chopsticks still, unconsciously straightening up in her seat with the creak of the front door. the deep timbre that follows has the hairs on the back of her neck bristling, smile thinning out in the face of ajumeoni’s obvious elation. fuck me.

“ah, dowon-ah! you’re just in time to join us for dinner.” 

fuck, goddammit. fuck! she bites the inside of her cheek, head turning slow to set her gaze on her long-time-no-longer-friendly friend and for the sake of both of them (but especially his mother), yisol manages a smile in greeting.

“hey, dowon. s’been a minute.” her right brow twitches, the more pressing question on her tongue left unasked. why didn’t you tell your mom we’re not friends anymore? 

[yiseuuls]

— (  it's apparent I can't bear it and I swear it / @xdowonx

two steps forward — a right at the second aisle. the cloth of a pale green skirt barely avoid the towering display of cans, eyes that linger at the latest display of instant ramen before ultimately realizing she could probably make a better bowl of ramen with the ingredients she had at home then quickly take three more steps forward to the freezer section.

her eyes scan the array of brightly colored packaging — cheerful cartoons littering the plastic, ridiculous names and flavors calling out to be consumed. but yiseul’s fingers do not brush against those pints, instead, she’s quickly coming to the conclusion that the flavor she had been craving is nowhere to be seen. the writer’s lips drop into a stiff frown, that was not in her cards for today.

she supposes — as she recalls her friends’ teasing at her insistent craving for red bean ice cream, that it is not a flavor that most companies care for. the flavor of tired grannies, stubborn old men, and the pretentious. why not mango? chocolate? or rocky road. regardless, whatever red bean ice cream sells well to the masses is not important to yiseul, what more important is the convenience store’s constant supply seems to run dry.

who else could be buying it? yiseul’s inner lip finds company with her teeth. any reasonable person with a craving so strong would approach the store staff in hopes they had some in the back. but the crawl of nerves climbing her spine is one that is something she rarely ignores.  a step back, from this angle she can see the ever-familiar cashier, intimidating piercings and all.  

the anxiety in her chest screams but the craving on the tip of her tongue dreams of the sweet taste of her childhood at the beachside. 

five steps forward and a mantra repeating in yiseul’s head.

“hello, sorry to bother you,” the mantra escapes her lips, “i have a question..do you still carry red bean ice cream?”