Walking Practice

by Dolki Min

What does it mean to be a woman? Among other things, it means that you have to decorate yourself and act like a woman. No one has ordered me to do so; I willingly take on the responsibility. For if the performance is not carried out properly, I am nothing more than a monstrosity. It is imperative that I am not seen as a monster. My work and my life depend on it. Are you listening? Pay close attention to what I have to say. This is purely a matter of survival. If I don’t become a woman—or, when the occasion calls for it, a man—I will starve to death. If I mean to satisfy my hunger, then scarcely living will not suffice. We must always do more. Whether it is keeping two feet balanced on the bus or subway, or becoming a woman . . .

My body is a filthy jerk that is constantly keeping its eyes peeled for any chance to betray me. I am certain of it. And I won’t be fooled twice. Normally, it puts on a show of doing its all for me, of serving only me, but if given an inch, it’ll give its owner a good bash to the head. There are a lot of times when this flesh suit is nothing more than cumbersome baggage that causes me pain.

I am powerless; I can’t even keep my own body in check.

I think she simply wanted to hear those words—I love you. I too want to hear words of love. If yesterday, then today; if today, then tomorrow—I want to hear those words. Even if they are empty lies. Sometimes words, regardless of the sincerity with which they are said, can be a source of ecstatic pleasure in and of themselves.

I am a being that always requires f r i e n d l y explanation. If I d o n o t e x p l a i n, no one understands me. Only beings l i k e m y s e l f must p r o v i d e e x p l a n a t i o n . The demanding you; the demanded of me. You are the d e f a u l t l i f e - f o r m . You are the c e n t e r o f the universe. It must be s o 0 O 0 o 0 O 0 o 0 O 0 o nice.

To regulate my body properly in front of others, I need to put myself through repeated excruciating training. This is my survival strategy. It would be wonderful if my body understood my objectives. No, I know that it is deliberately ignoring them.

I feel so refreshed I want to show it off. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt gravity pressing down on me just right as I do right now. If I keep feeling like this I just might float away, hahaha. But I get ahold of myself. I’ve decided this is enough. Happiness is an incredibly rare and dangerous emotion. I’m someone who can’t bear the fall from happiness to despair. I need a safety net to prepare for it since the higher I climb, the greater my injuries will be when I fall. That’s what’s so frightening. You never know when an iron mace will beat you out of your drunken happiness, casting you into hell. Am I incapable of fully enjoying even the smallest moments of happiness? As soon as I’m happy, I start having ominous thoughts of ruining that happiness.

For them, life is so boring that if someone doesn’t walk with ease, taking steady steps on two healthy legs of the same length, they violently overreact as if they were waiting for it. I think their bar for reactions is pretty low. They can’t wait to ogle a monster. Without monsters, how would they withstand the unrelenting futility of their days?

Ordinarily, I can incorporate the knowledge I have gathered, memorized, and internalized these past ten years without a hitch, but when I’m thrown off guard like before, I collapse like a sandcastle defenseless against the tide. Why can’t I blend in naturally with groups of humans? Won’t someone kindly share the secret? Can I become a human and receive love? Is that too much to ask for? Ah, it’s fine now. Please, don’t worry about it. Pay it no mind. You’ll all say that I don’t know what beat to follow, and if I’m crazy, I’m solidly crazy. But, dear reader, don’t you know it all too well? Know that if you aren’t crazy, at least once, there will come a time in your life when you simply cannot bear it. A time when it’s hard to tell exactly what trips your madness. I have some good news for you. I’ve safely made it through that time. As soon as the tides roll back, I can rebuild the sandcastle.

—Take a seat. Some kind of angel gets into an awkward position, intending to offer me their seat. —I’m fine. I spit out the habitual response in spite of myself. I’m worried they’ll take my nonsensical reply at face value. Not a single part of me is fine. —Take a seat. Your bag looks heavy. Thanks to their chivalry, I can gently lower my buns. Is this my good karma coming back to me? When the train stops, my angel flits out the doors like a sparrow. Thank you! For once the words aren’t merely lip service. Once again, I give thanks. I shut my eyes. A ray of golden light strokes both of my cheeks. The leaves are fluttering, and my lungs fill with fresh air. Somehow I’m now in a densely packed forest. Not a single person is there. Coo coo coo coo coo. Pigeons hop from branch to branch, crying out as if giving orders. I am at peace. The feeling spreads through me to the tips of my fingers and toes. Here my day starts anew. Sometimes you just need to start off on the right foot, get your buttons fastened right. I

The instant peace of getting a seat on the subway

Being a mess is totally different from knowing you’re a mess.

Can you understand the agony of hating humans so much but shoving that hatred aside to look just like one? The desire to become a member of society always overpowers the shame of being embraced by their system.

But has there ever been a time when I defeated my body? I am b e h o l d e n t o m y b o d y ’ s every demand. Dear reader, t h i s i s h o w I l i v e .