Only One Of

He was striving towards greatness

But he was really striving to catch up with him

On the way, he became one of the greats

To become one of the greatest was right at his feet

But he failed to take it

There wasn’t enough runway left to let him take off

He will forever known to be “one of”

For the rest of his life

Orange Moon

For the past month, I have noticed that the color of the moon is orange

A rusty orange color

Despite the darker hue, there’s a glow to it that makes me notice it as I walk back home

Its glow outlines the mountain that it hides behind in the blackness of the night


There’s that orange moon again

As I wait for my bus

I wonder if it’s natural for the moon to be orange

Maybe at this latitude

I look around, but no one else seems to be as enamored as I am about the orange moon

Are my eyes playing tricks on me?

Am I going color-blind, a rare disorder that makes me see things that glow as orange?

The next night, I barely notice the orange of the moon

and have become like everybody else around me

and go about my business


Maybe it’s the moon trying to act like the sun

The sun, more powerful

But cannot compete with the clouds

The clouds act like nature’s sunscreen

As it protects me from my skin

Getting burnt


I am soooooo fed up with WordPress and the new block system. Now I don’t even have access to my drafts. Can anyone recommend any other blog sites for writing? I’m not into this to make money, obviously, and it seems like all these sites are more and more focused on “generating content” to “monetize.”


Harriet lived a full life. She raised three kids, four including her husband, and she raised them well. Now, at the age of 77, she found herself living alone with nothing to do. The museum in Cooperstown was looking for volunteers. She had grown up going to the museum regularly, as she can trace her lineage to the founders of the quaint village that was nestled in the mountains of upstate New York. She thought that it would be nice to talk to people again, even to people that she had never met. There were two two-hour shifts to choose from: 10-12 and 1-3. She decided on the first shift.

On her first day, she decided to put on a skirt suit that she thought was very smart. She didn’t remember the last time she wore it, but it included a navy wool skirt and a long blazer that fit loosely over her thin shoulders. Her wiry salt and pepper hair was cut short up to the neck which emphasized the crown of tight curls even more. She dusted on some pale blue eyeshadow over her eyelids and applied a bright crimson lipstick over her thin lips. One last look in the mirror, she straightened her golden wire eyeglasses, and off she went.

Day in an Old-Fashioned Town

I have spent many weekends exploring the wealthy neighborhoods in this area, with their fancy department stores and restaurants. I didn’t want to spend two hours back and forth to Seoul yesterday, and I always pass by a nice looking Lotte Department store on the train that I take into the city. The stop was called Jangwang. Even though they had a nice-looking department store, the rest of that neighborhood wasn’t as attractive. There were old and run-down stores and restaurants surrounding the area, and the Lotte department store, although nice on the outside, even with the new wing, wasn’t very impressive. If I wanted to do any real shopping, I would have to travel farther into the Seoul area. There weren’t that many shoe or clothing stores- just a lot of stores that sold housewares, catering mainly to families.

Since it was an older town compared to the surrounding satellite cities that have been springing up everywhere, the restaurants were more authentic and old fashioned. I entered one after I saw a picture of their dukkguk on the sidewalk. I entered the small shop. In front of the entrance, an elderly woman was making dumplings by hand. Clouds of steam rose from huge boiling pots. I ordered my dish. She nodded and told another elderly lady that was hovering in the corner of the small exposed kitchen. Several minutes passed by and she approached my table with my meal. It was steaming, just like the clouds of steam in the front of the restaurant. The dish was salty and the contents were thick and chewy. It didn’t have any extra or unnecessary ingredients- just some scallions and nori strips. That’s it. There was nothing else to interefere with the flavor of the soup. I ate it, bending over the small wooden table against the wall and sitting in my small and short stool. I was content as I left to reenter the cold January air.

The First Five Days

I couldn’t wait for January 20th to come, and I was so elated to see 45 leave and have Biden sworn in. But the news is still about the ex-president and what a mess he had left everything for the new administration, and for the country, for that matter, and it has been frustrating to see how Democrats just can’t stand up to the Republicans, even though many of them were involved in an actual insurrection.

I left America because of Trump, but even though he’s not president anymore, I still don’t recognize my country. It seems so bitter, angry, and divisive, and it seems like it will stay that way.

I thought naively that we could return to normal, but I only see pointless debates about Rolex watches and Pelotons. It makes me long for the good old days when we would come together to overcome a common enemy, but the Russians have seen what we’ve become: our own worst enemy. And it’s not like we don’t have any serious problems to tackle- the global pandemic is still wreaking havoc on our lives. It makes me wonder why this disaster isn’t enough to bring us together. Instead it has enhanced the divisions that have existed within our society for a long time.

All of this makes me feel ambivalent about returning to the U.S. The pandemic doesn’t make it any easier to return, but I am currently reading a biography about Emily Dickinson. Why I am drawn to her story as a recluse leaves me to ponder, my desire to withdraw from this crazy messed up world.

The Architect

He was small for his size, but he had always been small for his size.  He had thin lips and a delicate skull with prominent cheekbones.  His brows were of normal size that shaded his pensive, intense brown eyes.  He always looked like he was staring, but it was just that he was always thinking, finding solutions to things that he found difficult to understand.  He showed little emotion, but it wasn’t because he was unfeeling.  Brian felt a lot, to the point that he felt he had to hide all his feelings that it wouldn’t startle people.

He was looking for a new apartment in the city.  He wanted a pre-war building since he was drawn toward the fine old architectural touches he found lacking in newer buildings.  One apartment he was looking at had cracked plaster walls.

“It just needs a fresh new coat of paint!” the realtor said with a cheery smile.

Brian looked intently at the walls, and the ceiling cracks.  His brows furrowed.  He was imagining how he could fix the old place up.  He liked the challenge.

Raj came from the inner city of New Delhi.  It was loud and fragrant.  There were signs of life everywhere to remind him that he was not alone in this world.  Then he ended up in the suburbs of New Jersey. He started working for a pharmaceutical company in Lyndhurst. Every weekend, he would come into Manhattan to try a restaurant in Gramercy, or watch a movie in Times Square. After several months of this, he decided that he wanted to move into the city. He couldn’t afford much, but he was willing to sacrfice space and conveniences, such as a dishwasher and stairs.

There was an open house in a quaint little building in Midtown. A doorman greeted him, but refused to open the door for him. He instructed Raj to take the elevator to his right to the fifth floor. Raj took the rickety old elevator and entered to find a young man with his parents chatting with a friendly homely blonde woman. She has holding a binder, and as she was talking to the threesome, she waved her arm at Raj, motioning him into the tiny but brightly painted studio apartment.

“Come in! Come in! Please sign in, and I’ll be right with you,” she beamed. She was short and plump, sturdy. She was wearing a faux lavender fur coat, which matched her eyeshadow. She had the energy of a Bette Midler, and was around the same age as her.

This was Raj’s first open house, and he felt confused and out of place. He didn’t know if he needed papers or proof of qualifications, or any ID. Whenever he applied for anything in this country, he knew mounds of paperwork were involved. When she was done with answering the young man’s questions, he soon left with his parents. Raj immediately showed the woman his driver’s license. She looked down at it and chuckled, saying, “So, you’re interested in finding a new home?”

“Yes,” he said nervously.

“Well, here’s some important info. Oh, and you’ll need to fill this out.”

“Um, OK. How long does it take to buy a place?”

“It depends!”

Raj walked out discouraged, but a little delighted at the thought of owning his own place. “A slice of the Big Apple,” he whispered to himself.

Brian went to the local steakhouse for lunch with his parents. He relied heavily on their opinion when it came to major life decisions. They had decided his major and which college to go to. They knew him best, and they knew what he had to do to succeed. They also knew that it was time for him to find a place of his own. The commute from Westchester to Midtown was getting grueling, as his hours at the office have been getting longer and longer. He was sensible with his money, so he was looking at starter apartments. He liked the apartment he just saw because of the architectural detail. He just wasn’t completely convinced. The realtor was nice enough, but was turned off at how desperate she seemed at selling the place.