The Eyes Are the Best Part

by Monika Kim

Now, whenever I catch a whiff of peppermint or hear the crinkle of plastic, I feel a small zap, an electric current that runs through my entire body. A reminder that I once had a father.

I don’t understand it, though I’ve accepted that it’s beyond my control. Fate can bring you together, but it can just as easily tear you apart.

I’m certain that blue eyes would taste amazing, much better than brown ones. Especially George’s eyes.

When I was a child, Appa made me take taekwondo classes. He was certain that I’d need it someday, and instead of being grateful, I was angry. At the time, I didn’t understand why.

Not even my father, another man, can compare because George’s power doesn’t come only from the fact that he has a penis. It comes from his whiteness.

The only power he has is the power you are willing to give him, and you’ve given him nothing. Not a scrap. By the time you’re done with him, he’ll be begging for mercy. Who is he if he can’t control you? Is he even a man anymore? It will seem like a relief when you give him a hand, even if that hand is holding a blade. And when you take everything from him, you can say what these men say about us: He was asking for it. He was begging for it. He must have wanted it, since he didn’t fight back.