2024, Seoul
A neighborhood I used to frequent, with a foreign-feeling Asian market.
An old TV playing Chinese programs.
A meditation poster taped to one corner wall suddenly comes to mind—
its worn-out texture, the awkwardly typeset fonts, the natural gradient of color, weathered by time, and the heavy mix of spice and seasoning in the air.
I inhale through the nose.
Exhale through the mouth — ha. Harmony.