Tuesday 14 November 2017

Injeolmi

I can never quite understand my cravings. How is it that I am able to yearn for Injeolmi bingsu for as long as three weeks, maybe more, when the last time I had it months ago, I'm positively sure I had not liked it? Taking in the very first half-spoonful of bean powder dusted shaved ice, reality melts back into realisation in the form of a milk-coloured puddle. Ah, that's right, I never truly enjoyed the taste of Injeolmi.

The taste of it isn't what brought on the month-long longing for it. Rather, an odd sense of peace that seems to originate from the body of powdered beans was what I wanted from it. I heard the flapping of wings and the whistles of an evening breeze. Further, it makes its way through the narrow veins of my heart, and I saw myself standing in a golden rice field facing the amber sky. Its earthy tones, in appearance and in taste, roots me down to the soil I otherwise fail to acknowledge from day to day. This one mouthful and I become but a peasant waiting on a cup of hot barely tea after a day's work.

It is likely that I would long for this sense of belonging again. Comforting, though unpleasant as it is, I would come back to momentarily regret my decision while giving myself up, following its notes down to the sultry countryside.

Maybe I want you to bring me there too.

Lake water lapping on a misty morning, the floor boards creak as I wake up to the peeping sunlight peeking in through the cracks. Is anyone by my side? I wouldn't know, but I wouldn't be surprised either, if I would come face to face with a bag of finely ground soybean powder.