The Zodiac’s as Things my Heart Misses (From my mixed cultural childhood)
Aries: The wood burning stove in Nagymama’s kitchen, where the kettle that is older than me sits atop, and where our mittens rest near to dry from the winter’s snow. The fireworks we stole from Uncle’s shed and set off those summer evenings, smoke and fire decorating the night sky--creating a beauty only destruction can make. The wooden blocks Nagypapa carved and painted with care that we’d play with by the fireplace each evening.
Taurus: The way our feet, still small and untraveled, bury themselves into the earth as soon as the weather warms. The tree, large and ancient, with a swing tied on that head a seat smoothed from years of use. The way bark digs into your skin, biting your flesh in such a pleasant way, as you climb to the top of the tree just to show that you can. That secret little grove by the lake which held our ilde bodies and heartfelt words, as we bathed in the sun after a day of play.
Gemini: The way we would ask question upon question and Nagymama would always take time to stop, think, and answer. Baking pastries and treats each afternoon, only scolding us lightly when we ate them before meals. Oppa taking us on bike rides back the lane, teaching us which berries we could eat. The abandoned homes we’d explore, the way it smelled of dust and past life, and the splinters we bore after afternoons of exploring. The way we would get so excited for Mama to trim our hair in the back garden before school started again that we would dance in our seats.
Cancer: Stringing popcorn for the Christmas tree late in the evening. Sneaking out late when we were in high school to go skinny dipping at the lake. The pranks we pulled in home room and the way we could laugh with the whole classroom. Those moments we would cry because we were growing up so fast and knew this wouldn’t last forever. Climbing trees and the secret parties. (And Mama’s safe embrace.) The way coffee would taste after staying up late just enjoying life, or sometimes when we would just need a good cry. We never thought we could die.
Leo: Shakespearean plays performed at the local park just a town over. That summer romance on the islands, days filled at the beach and in each other’s arms, whispering promises that we’d never keep. The way we’d whisper to each other on the phone when the stars were out and how the quilts were worn thin from each generation sleeping on them. And when it rained on the island days’, how I’d sit in the window nook and read that same book, over and over again. And when we’d get on the ferry, you kissed my cheek and promised to call me, but with both knew that was a lie.
Virgo: Gardening with Nagypapa and the way the warm earth felt between your fingers. The smell of Nagypapa’s pipe, spices and tobacco, he always smoked after a nice cup of coffee. Making lists of things we wanted to be growing, the type of person we wanted to be, and the kinds of places we wanted to go. The way older cousins always taught us the streets of Seoul and the way we’d make outrageous plans to sneak into dance clubs. The smell of kimchi and fresh rice each morning and how Oppa always snored so loudly.
Libra: The sound of the bells ringing on halmeonil’s back porch, the screens paper thin with many patches filling in each generations, and bare feet pounding on freshly scrubbed wooden floors. Nuna braiding your hair and telling you of traditions you never knew before, taking you to museums, and telling you that you are enough. The first time you wore make up was in Seoul, and a boy with a pretty smile told you that you were beautiful for the first time. The smell of rain in the rice field and the buzzing of mosquitos in the summer nights.
Scorpio: The little girl you used to be.
Sagittarius: Those few days with so much time in between from that last that father was kind, that father was safe. The cherry blossoms pressed away in your memory journal, reminding you of a home that would never be fully yours, and the way Mama’s Chanel No. 5 clung to you (even though she no longer hugged you). The sound of the older record scratching, blocking out the yelling, and how you and your siblings would dance like you were from a fairy tale. And when spring came back to your life, you would sneak out and roam, because you felt caged all those winter nights.
Capricorn: The funny way Little Sister spoke, like she was an elder trapped in a child’s body. The smell of old books and the pride in your penmanship. Taking the pony on rides back the lane, the sound of her hooves on the dirt road made your heart feel immortal. Creating potions with petals and the ocean’s water, and determinedly telling Oppa that you would climb to the top of the tree. Crawling into the attic, so dusty and full of memories that were not yours, and crying because you didn’t want to grow old.
Aquarius: Holding your little sister for the first time, looking at her closed eyes, and noticing how she smelled like cashmere. The scrapes on your knees and the bruises on your legs from climbing the trees and the days filled with play. Hiding from Nagymama and skirting your chores, the way you begged to go back to the ocean’s shore. The way you spoke three languages in one sentence, not understanding why the other kids looked at you so strange. Nagypapa showing you the stars and how they mapped out so many stories.
Pisces: You missed Mama’s love. You missed being healthy. You missed the homes that were never quite yours and the land that you never quite belonged to. You missed the languages your Mama and Father spoke. You missed the walls of your home. You missed that they used to come and visit you in these sterile white rooms of the hospital. You missed your youth. You missed being called Honey.
