Little Snippet of My Book
The prologue for Every Word Ever Spoken
September 30th, 2018. Psychological Evaluation of Chae-Min.
"State your name for the camera."
He pulled up a camera that looked like one my brother owned. The sides were roughed up and scratched. He pressed a button on it, facing me. I tried to fit in the frame in a way that didn't make me look too feminine. I pushed my bangs to the side, and the psychiatrist gave me a side-eye. He was an old man, his hair barely there and white. The lighting was painfully grey, making my warm undertone stick out against the pale tile and the metal furnishings.
"Chae-Min Lee," I sniffled.
The air was cold. It would’ve been warm back in California right now. I don’t even understand why I have to do this just to maintain my Korean citizenship. I look laughable here. I got catcalled halfway here by some homeless guy. It’s not like I look like I belong other than my very asian features that made my childhood like walking through a minefield back in America.
Now I have to sit here, shave my head, and do this. I play with my hair, waiting for the old man to find his file and rummage through my information. I’ve always treasured my hair; I don't want to have to cut my hair again. Not after the third grade, it was so choppy and weird after, the breeze hit my neck.
My long hair, pink clothing, feminine features—my whole life, I’ve been treated as less than a man. Now I’m supposed to become one, and I’m not sure I want to. Now I was one of the significant ones, the people trusted to fix our country. The bulky soldiers who do nothing but cause devastation. I remember how the recruiter didn't even stop by me. I begged him to consider, but he just said I wasn’t military material. Now I was here, not 6'5 Mal, not 5'11 Isabella. Me, Chae. Crazy how life fucks you up right when you started doing good.
I spent my whole life advocating against war, but here I am. A part of the tribulation.
“Let’s start with the questioning…”
"Why do you want to join the military?" The psychiatrist smirked. He knew I was only here for one reason and one reason only.
I hate it, I don't want to join. My chair squeaks as I move, trying to get comfortable. I hope it didn’t sound like a fart. But I was threatened with an ultimatum; it's either serve, or leave the last part of Korea you had with you. But it's not about that, is it? It’s about not disappointing your family anymore. Not being the outcast, striking out among all. I know, I definitely struck out already, but better not to tarnish our family name back in Korea either.
"Because I am a Korean citizen, it is mandatory," I tell him.
I was barely a Korean citizen, I spoke the language, lived there my first 4 years of my life and thrived whenever I could say: I'm Korean. It was a way to be different in an exotic way, not a gross sexual way. Maybe not how kids back in junior year thought of it, but that’s how I remember it.
"Do you care for Korea? With you being an American citizen as well?"
What is with this guy? It's like his job is to make me feel less than Korean. I bite my knuckles, feeling every emotion bubbling up inside me. My lips feel chapped. I was too nervous to put on lip gloss near here. He was dead set on making me feel less than human.
Less than worthy of this position. He sits on that chair, judging how insane I am. When will he get his evaluation? Only crazy knows crazy.
Why do I have to tell him why I want to be here? I don't. I care for Korea just as much as any citizen, more than him. If he really cared about Korea, he would focus more on politics and trafficking rather than fewer gay kids on the street.
I want to be with my friends, I want to be at home. I want to be with Mal. Oh, his hair… Oh! The question!
"Korea is my birthplace, my home." I didn't know how to prove it to him.
I visited Korea often, but I was too young to remember going to school and actually being a native there. I remember leaving, going on a plane, sitting next to a tourist returning. Taking 3 flights to save money. Exchanging currency, getting lost, finding souvenirs, acting American.
I was never a part of their community, even when I lived there. I was a freak, an outcast. My granny always comforted me when I had no one to play with when I was a kid. Just because of who I was. They would look at me once and decide I was odd. Long hair but a male name. Sometimes helped by male teachers, other times by female. Sometimes wearing little dresses, but being called a good boy by my parents and teachers.
Korea can curse itself, forcing the military on the people you set up for failure. They know nothing about me now and nothing about me before.
"This is a psychological evaluation. Do you think that there is anything wrong with you?" He stared right into my eyes.
I know there isn't anything wrong with me.
I mean, I spent my whole life focusing on the negatives. I shook off any good feeling I had about myself.
I went into a downward spiral; I was rotting myself from the inside. I looked lazy, I looked horrible. My eyes were bloodshot, and I was a coward.
No. Fuck that. I still am.
I'm quivering at the thought of fighting for my country. I hated everyone who told me how good I was. I hated my father because what he was saying was true.
I left everyone back home to fight for my Korean citizenship. I promised myself I would take care of it. I failed.
"I don't know, I had a rough life, I guess."
Rough life was an understatement, but I doubt he’d let me talk about it. We have no time, well, some more than others.
"Everyone had a rough life." Then it was just pure silence.
No shit, I don't want to be here.
I'm 5'2. My last sport was track.
I was the kid that the teacher had to always remind kids to include.
Now, this man, who looks like he's way too old to even be within 50 feet of a military base, is telling me I'm not male enough.
"Don't you think I know that?" I sneered back at him.
You think every day I live my life without the knowledge that I am never enough? I hate this man— No. I hate what he's saying. He’s calling me a crybaby because I won't just bend over and let them make me uniform.
This is his job: to tear me to pieces and make me feel less than I am.
"No, I don't think you do." He sneered at me.
"I'm a psychiatrist, you aren't Chae-Min," he yelled at me. "You need help."
"Let’s be honest, Chae-Min, it’s my job to get to the truth. You young kids always act like victims and pretty boys. I hope the military breaks you into shape. Science says that you are just faking this to get back at your family. Daddy issues?"
You could hear his pen writing on the paper, already covered in every insecurity I have.
It was uncomfortable. Was he even allowed to do this? Gesture to me like a piece of barely quality meat. Now I know how the cows feel. I want to be eaten, so I don’t have to be butchered anymore. Drink my blood, eat my meat, don’t make me rot.
"Tell me more, I want the whole story—"
The whole story of what? My father? My mom? The suicide? The attempt? The photos? Everything in my life that made me the way I am now? He wants to pick at my brain, prod me with cattle irons. Make me understand why I am the way I am—no, make him understand.
"Not what's in the file,"
I actually focused on what he had to say. Normally, shrinks aren’t as nosy. This one’s old, and he doesn’t know anything about me. So why don’t I just tell him?
"Why don't you listen this time and find out?"
Click.
Okay so I use Novlr for my writing!
Thanks for reading, any feedback?
