Day 602, February 24, 2022

Peacenik 

I miss the contact of people, the hand in palm, the press of cheek, a pulled close embrace. I am not a naturally hugging person, and I miss being startled by the comfort of others, that initial shock and tension, and then the release and drop of falling into it, the touch, the embrace, the sense of calm.

Perhaps that is what is lacking now, in this moment. More of those strange happy white people holding Free Hugs signs. More massage chairs in public locations. More uncomfortably long handshakes. More distant friends you are happy to see.

I thought I might write about finishing a jar of my mother’s kimchi. For the last serving I am attentive to the small slice of pear, the small pieces of ginger, scallion, the slices of red pepper, and cabbage. I note how it brings flavor and texture to everything it is added to. And later, when I am washing out the empty jar, I can smell it waft up from the sink in an enveloping wave before it is rinsed and all goes down the drain. It is like a vivid memory.

A storm is coming tomorrow. It might be easier to stay inside. Sometime in the middle of the night, like a blanket placed over a sleeping child, the snow will fall with a quiet softening.

Imagine an era of peace and gentle kindness. What is human capacity? What is a simple uncomfortable gesture?