"Music is Math" by Tatiana Plakhova
I wonder, more and more, how much of everything is filtered day in and day out. What I say in Korean, which is perhaps gibberish, is translated somewhat into something that I can't perceive, although I've studied the language and have adjusted myself to life here. And even when people speak to me, I may be listening in with an automatic subtitle system set up in my brain. When it comes to the simple messages that are universal, words don't seem necessary. I am content.
But then there exists a whole new world of things to say and convey -- of remarking that the clouds this year in Seoul were sublime and ethereal and how this proved to be contrapuntal to the dark nimbus clouds which gathered inside -- and how oceans at high tide gathered in the soul and escaped as tears in the most awkward moments. How do I say these things without thinking about the words and how they should be formulated in a language foreign to me? And if I were to say what I think is right, how could I really know how many filters have hidden the want for a bull's-eye?
And sometimes, I wonder how much of me is left after having to translate myself -- "the me"--- and translate others and think with a limited vocabulary. If only, I could just look beyond the penumbra...I just know I'd feel some catharsis.
