The World Through a Kaleidoscope

MARU'S TIME CAPSULE Do you ever wonder what it feels like to be a child again? The comfort of our bedtime dreams, the scent of our childhood home and the endless curiosities blooming inside our hearts. Runaway with me, while my heart still beats with a childlike desire, to the barefoot days. A project by Cherilyn Ahn dedicated to Creative Writing 213

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Music to go alongside the "Barter Cat" story Camille 2000, Easy Lovers by Piero Piccioni HQ audio published by Cinema Hotel Studios on Youtube

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The Barter Cat

At the dawning age, when I first learned to brush my teeth independently, I dreamt a dream so wondrously surreal I truly believe I encountered this cunning individual. It was late at night, the sky was fuchsia, and I was polishing my collection of unusual trinkets. An eye-shaped marble, a collection of teeth and a miniature porcelain tea set, approximately the size of a thumb. My favourite trinket was the sugar bowl engraved with pink ribbons that would clink and clank when you closed its lid. With the world asleep, the streets were undisturbed until a faint jingle of an ice cream truck swelled closer to my humble abode. An ice cream truck at this hour? Peculiar, there isn't possibly a customer awake, I assured. In disbelief, I peeked through my blinds and spotted a parked truck in front of my porch, it had pink wheels and an ice cream propped onto its lid. Oddly, the truck’s size was more like a microwave on wheels. Curious, I trekked quietly down the stairs to investigate. As suspected, no one was around, but only the luminance of tonight's super moon showered its moonlight, enchanting me towards it. “Hello? Is anyone in there?” I asked hesitantly, crouching down to its eye level. To my surprise, the small window slid open to reveal a black cat, wearing a chic headscarf. The cat was chewing on a dried piece of squid as it asked impatiently, “What would you like child? I don't have all night.” “Uh- alright, can I have one of those Powerpuff Girl popsicles with those gumball eyes?” I asked. The cat’s whiskers stood up, her pupils widening as if I requested something bizarre. “Popsicles? Do I look like some ice cream man to you? Tch, this is why I don't barter with children, they don't understand our culture at all. ” she whined. “Then what do you sell?” I questioned. “Miaow! Must I correct everything? I don't sell, I barter. Today, I have dental floss. But not ordinary floss, these are pink, taste like rainbows and can offer you luck. Your teeth are perfectly yellow and gross. Would you like them?” she smirked deviously. “Those do look cool. It's my favourite colour too, but sorry I don't have anything to offer.” I revealed. “Please, everyone always has something special to offer. Hmm…ooh! Like the pretty object you have hidden in your grip of yours.” she said as she pointed at my fist. As I redirect my focus, I feel a hard object between my palm. What? I don't remember bringing anything. As I release my grip, the polished porcelain sugar bowl lies flat, glimmering in the reflection of the moon. When did I- “Sold! Gimme gimme-please!” The cat gasped at the sight of the item, yearning as she propped her head out of the truck, itching to grab the trinket out of my grasp. Surprised by her determination, I unconsciously handed her the trinket. “Score! In exchange, one pristine dental floss as promised. Thank you for your wonderful patronage! It's been real.” she giggles, revealing her pearl fangs as she shuts her window and drives off into oblivion. Dazed at what had occurred, I opened up the dental floss and took a lick, for it to only taste bitter and of regret. Wait, I don’t even floss. I gasped as I realized I had been swindled by a Concat. My precious sugar bowl was stolen, and I have been ripped off of my eight-year-old pride.

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Home in Another Realm Original Illustration by Cherilyn Ahn for CRWR213 project Do you remember your dreams? I still frequently dream of a distant space, yet I feel a part of me dim as the lives I once lived in my sleep are slowly fading into a blur. So I will log my unconscious memories here for them to live on and re-tell while I daydream about when I will see you again.

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The Barter Cat and the Magic Pink Floss Illustration by Cherilyn Ahn for CRWR213 project I don’t dream so vividly anymore. I no longer see colours and experience smells like I did once as a child. Like a myriad of cataracts my conscious memories of both the present and past betray me. I no longer have time to remember and recall nostalgia. Yet, to still be able to feel and mourn for the loss of a non-existent object is a whimsical sentiment I hold close to my heart and for that, I thank the Barter Cat.

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Music which goes alongside the "The Sun, the Moon and the Kiss on the Cheek" Story Song La petite fille de la mer (Remastered) by Vangelis - Topic

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The Sun, the Moon and the Kiss on the Cheek

“Mom? Why are there so many stars in the night sky?” I queried as I spun myself against the night's delicate breeze. I could imagine my eight-year-old self’s beady eyes staring right into the soul of the abyss, waiting for someone or something to wink back to let her know that she was seen and was not alone in such darkness. “They look like diamond fruit waiting to be picked.” I sang. “I heard the stars were diamond pins placed carefully on a velvet cushion sky, for the moon goddess to then individually weave them in her moonlight hair. Or perhaps the night is where sea foam lies, a haven where the little mermaid disappeared off to, so no one can hurt her broken heart again.” My mother answered, taking my hand and tracing my finger along the constellations of the sky. “What about the sun? Is the sun any special?” I asked. “Of course, the sun is the most powerful deity of all child. He is beautiful and moody, just like your dad. His blush bleeds through the sky and his golden glint wakes us up to remind us of a new day. We are fortunate to have such beautiful and kind gods above us.” she assured. “But what about them? Are they happy? Do they ever see each other?” I questioned. “Hmm… no one can be happy all the time dear, but I think the sun and the moon works very hard day and night, till the day they get to see each other,” she explains. “And when’s that?” I investigate further. “Once a year, on a particular day and time, the sun and moon meet one another and exchange a short glance and perhaps a kiss for their long wait reunion. Just like this!” she explains as she pecks a long warm kiss on my icy cheek. “A kiss?! I knew it, they were in love! But once a year to kiss for only a moment is too unfair.” I whine, wiping my cheek. “It's tragic, but I truly admire their patience, darling.” My mom remarked as she smiled back at the stars above us… To grow up meant possessing knowledge and expertise of the world which our younger selves once pondered with inquisitiveness. Despite the limitations of truth, a child makes do with, I am envious of the magic of their oblivious wonder, as it is what had coloured unanswered queries colourfully. The scope of a child’s kaleidoscopic lens is what has refracted the same story into a multitude of possibilities and lives. I am grateful for my experiences, though I cannot deny that I long for the curiosities of not knowing. I miss not knowing why the moon followed me or not knowing why and when my mom’s kiss to my left cheek began to grow uncomfortable. Why did I ever outgrow something which never was wrong? Why did I critique myself for daydreaming and thus forget and care that I ever dreamed?

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The Day I Saw the Sun and Moon in a Different Light Original Illustration by Cherilyn Ahn for CRWR213 project

I reminisce of when my mother first told me about the story of the eclipse when I was eight. Not ever seeing one before, I couldn't help but daydream that it would be the most beautiful sight in the world. With both the moon and sun embracing the light of one another, I imagine its beauty to be an aurora of colourful refractions and shapes, embodying the heavenly figures of the sun and moon, creating a Kaleidoscope.

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The Embrace and Exchange of a Kiss

REAL Solar Eclipse Full-Time Lapse video by Lucky3d studio on YouTube

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Smoke

I recall a kaleidoscope of flames dancing off a sweat of liquid wax to the pulse of my tenth birthday song. The cadence of my parents' voices as they sang passionately to the tempo of each flickering flame and the slight burning glow of its reflection beneath my chin placed me within the limelight of its performance. “Make a wish, sweetheart.” My mother whispered into my ear. Unsure of what to wish, I prayed for stability, for today’s happiness to be imperishable and for the innocence of it all to grow old alongside me. As I blew out the candles, its flame delicately shattered into fragments of sweet buoyant silk, disappearing into the night alongside the rest of my juvenescence. Seven years later, I lit a single three-wick scented candle with a box of matches I heisted from my stingy neighbour in my dorm flat. I accidentally burned my finger in the process, and without an icepack to nurse it, I soothed the throbbing pain with my tears as I longed for the flame which had been put out memories ago. Vulnerable and unsure of where I am, I isolate myself, taking shelter in my lighthouse, a lavender candle brought far from home. Desperately, grasping at anything to stay afloat from the violent waves of homesickness, I crouch at the edge of sea staring into the abyss of my desolate and cold dorm room. Now I hate the smell. The memories of smoke which used to be sweet and tangible, have now singed into a burnt blackened paper, clinging desperately to your nose. No matter how much I try to cover my nostrils with my sleeve, I end up light-headed from holding my breath- suffocating regardless by passing by smokers. Living wasn't as pungent and slain as before, or perhaps I was fortunate enough to be hidden away and protected from it all. Now that I'm back home, change has been the most unforgiving. I remember not feeling a thing, not even the sinking of my own heart, when I received my mother’s phone call about my grandfather’s passing. Fortunately for my family, death had no part in my early days, but I now realize that its mercy of time has been fuelled with the intention of a long game of betrayal. For death to patiently wait and gradually augment into an enigmatic force, then to explode when I was most vulnerable and unguarded was its way of elucidating life’s reality. Now, fire is forever tied to the loss of time, and as I light a traditional Korean incense to pay my respect, its smoke carries a delicate time between you and I and is proof of the once beautiful flame we used to be.

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Dancing Flames and the Burnt-Out One

Photo credits : Top left cake : Posted on Pinterest By Val (Original source unidentifiable) Top right cake gif : Posted on tenor By Birillo569 (Original source unidentifiable) Bottom candle : Posted on Pinterest By Kristina shoshi (Original source unidentifiable)

I realize that I had taken my childhood innocence for granted. Maturing is realizing the fragility and vulnerability of a child's curious spirit only cease to exist through the nurture and protection of the loved ones around me.

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The last Candle Photo credited to Kim Jihyun on Naver Traditional Korean Funeral Service using incense and a candle