Hi. I made this to, as my title says, get by day to day. I don't really know if it will help but I guess I will try.
no other song is “this generation’s bohemian rhapsody”
bohemian rhapsody is every generation’s bohemian rhapsody
This actually applies retroactively. Thanks to a quirk in the space-time continuum, the first time Bohemian Rhapsody was broadcast, it resonated backwards and forwards through time. Every generation of humanity has experienced it and recognizes its greatness.
Imagine Person A singing “You are my sunshine” as Person B slowly dies in their arms
what THE FUCK
I DIDN’T FUCKING NEED THAT RIGHT NOW
imagine if person b sung it to comfort person a
YOU’RE NOT HELPING.
At this very moment, I do not anger or cry for the people traumatized.
I do not anger and cry for their sleep-less nights,
And terror filled future.
I do not anger and cry for the fear that churns inside them,
As the sea had churned around them not too long ago.
At this very moment, I do not anger or cry for the people still stuck,
Unable to escape a metal trap in a watery terrain,.
I do not anger and cry for their fear and slow death.
I do not anger for their lost souls
And their terror filled breaths.
At this very moment, I anger and cry at living people.
People who, for the past few days, have breathed fresh air,
Have been surrounded in safety, fresh air, and solid ground beneath their feet.
I anger and cry at their shameless hypocrisy.
For at this moment, at this very mournful moment,
Hundreds, if not thousands upon millions, of people,
People who have claimed to be “fans” and “followers” of my culture,
Are turning a blind eye, are raising no awareness, are giving no prayers.
Yet they continue to blast music of my tongue,
They continue to try to speak my words,
Continue to claim to love the country of my ancestors.
So tell me, avid followers and fans of my culture,
All you k-pop lovers, Korean Idol followers, Korean culture “enthusiasts”,
Why do you not cry? WHY do you not MOURN? WHY DO YOU TURN A BLIND EYE?!
My people, those people of the same ethnicity of those petty idols you look up to,
People who grow up speaking that language you listen to and attempt to learn,
My people who grow up living the culture you so claim to love…
Are trapped and dying and crying.
Are mourning and screaming and praying.
Are terrified and petrified and numb with shock.
So tell me… please… because I don’t understand…
If your precious idols had been on that ferry,
If an embodiment of my entire culture had been on that ferry,
If the epitome of k-pop had been on that ferry…
Would you not have screamed and cried and prayed and mourned?
Would you not be speechless and glued to your precious computers,
Digging up every translated news, begging for more survivors?
Begging for hope?
So why do you not do this now?
Because your precious idols were not on that ferry?
Because the epitome of k-pop wasn’t on that ferry?
Because an embodiment of Korean culture was not on that ferry?
Do you know what was on that ferry?
Teenagers, not even 17.
Babies, not even double digits.
Mothers, to some poor child safe at home.
Fathers, to some poor child safe at home.
Lovers, to some poor partner safe somewhere.
Friends, to someone out there who needed them.
People. People. People.
You claim to love the country of my ancestors,
So let me correct you on your misconception.
You love what the country deports to you,
You do not love our culture, you do not love our people,
For every one of you who has turned a blind eye and didn’t raise awareness
Is nothing but a hypocrite.
Korea is not defined by k-pop,
Korea is not defined by your idols,
Korea is not defined by the culture you think you know.
Korea is defined by the people,
and right now,
Korea is crying,
Korea is mourning,
Korea is begging,
Korea is praying.
You… you are simply a person who turns a blind eye,
Who hides behind the shine and glamour of pretty idols,
Someone who hides behind stereotypes and prejudices.
For every one of you who has simply bypassed this tragedy,
I hope, and I do mean this with all my heart,
I hope you never know what it feels like,
To go through a tragedy like this and know people who claimed to love your country
Are ignoring it, refusing to raise awareness to it.
I pray you never know what this is like.
So go listen to your music,
Go drool at the feet of your idols.
I’m going to deafen myself with the echos of screams,
I’m going to go busy myself by looking for hope.
I’m busy loving and trying not to die with a country I’m not even a citizen of.
Because I am a Korean,
Because my blood runs just as pure as my parents,
And, to me, my country will always be Korea before America.
I mourn with my people.
After learning my flight was detained 4 hours,
I heard the announcement:
If anyone in the vicinity of gate 4-A understands any Arabic,
Please come to the gate immediately.
Well—one pauses these days. Gate 4-A was my own gate. I went there.
An older woman in full traditional Palestinian dress,
Just like my grandma wore, was crumpled to the floor, wailing loudly.
Help, said the flight service person. Talk to her. What is her
Problem? we told her the flight was going to be four hours late and she
I put my arm around her and spoke to her haltingly.
Shu dow-a, shu- biduck habibti, stani stani schway, min fadlick,
Sho bit se-wee?
The minute she heard any words she knew—however poorly used—
She stopped crying.
She thought our flight had been canceled entirely.
She needed to be in El Paso for some major medical treatment the
Following day. I said no, no, we’re fine, you’ll get there, just late,
Who is picking you up? Let’s call him and tell him.
We called her son and I spoke with him in English.
I told him I would stay with his mother till we got on the plane and
Would ride next to her—Southwest.
She talked to him. Then we called her other sons just for the fun of it.
Then we called my dad and he and she spoke for a while in Arabic and
Found out of course they had ten shared friends.
Then I thought just for the heck of it why not call some Palestinian
Poets I know and let them chat with her. This all took up about 2 hours.
She was laughing a lot by then. Telling about her life. Answering
She had pulled a sack of homemade mamool cookies—little powdered
Sugar crumbly mounds stuffed with dates and nuts—out of her bag—
And was offering them to all the women at the gate.
To my amazement, not a single woman declined one. It was like a
Sacrament. The traveler from Argentina, the traveler from California,
The lovely woman from Laredo—we were all covered with the same
Powdered sugar. And smiling. There are no better cookies.
And then the airline broke out the free beverages from huge coolers—
Non-alcoholic—and the two little girls for our flight, one African
American, one Mexican American—ran around serving us all apple juice
And lemonade and they were covered with powdered sugar too.
And I noticed my new best friend—by now we were holding hands—
Had a potted plant poking out of her bag, some medicinal thing,
With green furry leaves. Such an old country traveling tradition. Always
Carry a plant. Always stay rooted to somewhere.
And I looked around that gate of late and weary ones and thought,
This is the world I want to live in. The shared world.
Not a single person in this gate—once the crying of confusion stopped
—has seemed apprehensive about any other person.
They took the cookies. I wanted to hug all those other women too.
This can still happen anywhere.
Not everything is lost.