I am from the old wooden door
Dry sun and scattered dust flying
I am from the playground full of childish noises
Sand, tiny footprints, a ride covered with little fingerprints.
I am from the Mugunshwa and thick curved pine trees.
Smells of aromatic pine needles and green leaves throughout the year.
I am from camping every spring
From Joo and Shin.
From the fire that my uncle makes for a family barbeque at midnight.
I am from the bright smile from my grandmother
And the strong mind of my aunt.
From a crumpled textbook and an old pencil breaking
I am from overflowing love and warm embraces.
I am from the coldest winter time when everything is frozen.
Kimbab in a lunchbox on a picnic day,
My grandmother’s handkerchief hanging from by backpack.
From the rhythm and harmony of bedtime stories.