Walking Practice

by Dolki Min

My knees start to ache. It’s not a lie. I’m in pain, I tell you. My body is slowly approaching the point where it’s difficult to pretend that I am okay. If I didn’t keep my body tightly restrained, I wouldn’t even last ten minutes. There’s no way to prove how feeble I am. I can’t hang around with the old people or concoct some excuse to shoo the young people out of their seats. This is because my body looks to be the picture of health until right before it reaches the point of being cruelly beyond repair.

I feel a strange camaraderie with them. Every once in a while, I see myself in them. They are much younger than me but sometimes seem to struggle as much as I do. Although, once, an old guy shoved me to the floor and gleefully stomped all over me, all the while saying I had invaded “his” seat. I recognize them, but they do not recognize me. It’s a shame, but it’s okay. An old person couldn’t stomp me to death. I have to keep a tight hold of myself because even my gentlest prod could send them all the way to hell. You say that good things come to those who wait? Nothing good comes, but I keep waiting.