— pedagogy of the implicit
They put themselves above others, thinking it’s better to live that way.
It’s not selfish, it’s foolish.
People tend to forget a lot of basic things, don’t they?
They take and forget to give.
I mean, they’re human, I can’t blame them ( cut them some slack ).
To be human, is to be an excuse. Does that sound good? No, no.
Everything’s an excuse when odds come to an even. Not that either.
짜증나게...
Jun inhaled, slowly counting to eight. A chill stutters down his neck though it doesn’t quite make it down to his back. The thoughts hold him accountable for his own breath, they come in narrative form, yet he hates the sound of his own voice.
Focus, focus.
At the long exhale, he remembered that he once heard footsteps behind him.
“ He’s doing it again. ”
“ What, the meditating? ”
“ Yeah, remember when I talked about the Buddha Lieutenant? ”
“ Holy shit, that’s him? I thought that was a joke. ”
Jun inhaled, slowly counting to eight. He told himself that there’s nothing surprising. They all come and go. They all think differently of him, they laugh at his methods and point at his temperance like it was a calamity. The wind curls around him, the early morning tells him to go away — that it’s too cold.
They ask why he goes on to do things like that, why he bothers to show clemency when his occupation was a terror by nature. He never explains, knowing they’ll never understand that it’s just how he is. They’ll find that his subdued nature is his only weapon. God, he only yearns for trust. Where there’s no need to bandage a split in skin, no wary that he’d be alone after twenty years of companionship.
Jun wanted a single moment of normalcy, where the back of his head was only an empty room.
A blank space, that’d be nice.
“ Sir. ” A tap on his shoulder wakes him, his head falls with the small slouch in his back. Meditation hasn’t been working recently, he had too much on his mind. Thoughts that he used to have as a hormonal acne-scarred teen, they’re all back at once. Jun hummed a reply before setting his hands in grass, opening his eyes to the sunrise. “ It’s been an hour, hyung-nim. ”
An hour? It was only seven in the morning and he’s already non compos mentis.
They think of him as weak, and he is. It took him a lifetime to learn how to be foolish.
Cut yourself some slack, you’re only human.
Nam Jun, who are you to think that you are a god?
