Thank you. I am not sure if I wrote anywhere on Substack, but I lived in the US for a year as a teenager, in Beaverton, OR, to be precise. (I sometimes just say Portland for the convenience.) Wonder if there's my ghost lingering somewhere at Powell's.
As someone who has moved around a lot, from Hangzhou, then Shanghai to London now Barcelona I don’t have any ghostly apparitions in my day to day life linked to the places I frequent yet, but in every city I leave behind a few and they visit me when I travel there again. Thank you for sharing this story
What a personal and haunting story, thank you for sharing so beautifully. I had full and wonderful life, then I became sick with a degenerative brain disease and lost that life forever. I felt twined to the part of your story about going days alone in silence, feeling like I am now on the periphery of society, now a ghost, watching the living, well, live. Thank you again, feels good to relate to someone else, struggling with existence. 🙃 I live in the upside down world now.
Thank you for the compliment. My first reflex to your story was to just say I am sorry to hear it, but I've chosen not to—after all, what do I know about the life with a brain disease? It felt more like a social courtesy than a genuine act of connection. However, I am indeed deeply sorry that we all, not just you and I, are going through a struggle not to live as ghosts. Hope you are doing well, though the world may be upside down.
Maybe not just writers but all of us sentient beings, for "Nought may endure but Mutability." It is rather strange that only now I have remembered Shelley starts his poem with "We are as clouds that veil the midnight moon". What an image for the Chuseok night.
I demure. To realize that the only constant is change is one thing. And many if maybe not all sentient beings might recognize that. But your essay does considerably more. The changes are strange; the now becomes strange. You don't recognize your girlfriend. You recognize her (your?) "ghost." So, who are you, here? Who is she? And why is this _felt_ to be weird, strange? I think that's a writer's perspective, standing above and asking how is this? I've been thinking about similar things in photography, but I digress.
This is perhaps the biggest issue I have with visiting once familiar places, articulated so beautifully, too.
Thank you. I am not sure if I wrote anywhere on Substack, but I lived in the US for a year as a teenager, in Beaverton, OR, to be precise. (I sometimes just say Portland for the convenience.) Wonder if there's my ghost lingering somewhere at Powell's.
Oh that’s interesting. Powell’s seems like an appropriate place for a writer’s ghost to linger. I’ll let you know if I run into him.
If you run into him, please tell him that his stories do get published!
You described something that I’ve always felt but have never been able to put into words
This is one of the best compliments I've ever heard!
As someone who has moved around a lot, from Hangzhou, then Shanghai to London now Barcelona I don’t have any ghostly apparitions in my day to day life linked to the places I frequent yet, but in every city I leave behind a few and they visit me when I travel there again. Thank you for sharing this story
I know what you mean. I have some cities to return to find out if the ghosts are still there, but I'm not sure if I want to.
What a personal and haunting story, thank you for sharing so beautifully. I had full and wonderful life, then I became sick with a degenerative brain disease and lost that life forever. I felt twined to the part of your story about going days alone in silence, feeling like I am now on the periphery of society, now a ghost, watching the living, well, live. Thank you again, feels good to relate to someone else, struggling with existence. 🙃 I live in the upside down world now.
Thank you for the compliment. My first reflex to your story was to just say I am sorry to hear it, but I've chosen not to—after all, what do I know about the life with a brain disease? It felt more like a social courtesy than a genuine act of connection. However, I am indeed deeply sorry that we all, not just you and I, are going through a struggle not to live as ghosts. Hope you are doing well, though the world may be upside down.
Thank you for your kind words Hyun Woo, God bless 🙏🙏
Beautifully done. Maybe all writers become, over time, strange to themselves. The reality that was once so real as to be completely unquestioned . . .
Maybe not just writers but all of us sentient beings, for "Nought may endure but Mutability." It is rather strange that only now I have remembered Shelley starts his poem with "We are as clouds that veil the midnight moon". What an image for the Chuseok night.
I demure. To realize that the only constant is change is one thing. And many if maybe not all sentient beings might recognize that. But your essay does considerably more. The changes are strange; the now becomes strange. You don't recognize your girlfriend. You recognize her (your?) "ghost." So, who are you, here? Who is she? And why is this _felt_ to be weird, strange? I think that's a writer's perspective, standing above and asking how is this? I've been thinking about similar things in photography, but I digress.