2021-2

(The text is included in the solo exhibition <LIARS> (2022.10, UooYoung Space, Seoul))

Honestly, I thought honesty was a kind of betrayal. My eyes stung, my cheeks flushed. Sugar-filled eye sockets. I grew a little and met you, and we each give our time to one another. I eat snacks to be with you. I eat the donuts you bought, straightening my back and giving a thumbs-up to hide the stabbing stomachache. I take pictures to look like I ate more than I did. To look prettier than I am. To say it tasted a little better. My stomach still aches. My pants' hook presses against my belly full of food. I hold my breath and swallow antacids. Yet I still think of sweet candy. You gifted me gluttony, and in return for receiving it, I buy antacids every time.

He scolded me loudly for not eating eggs in the morning. The reason I gagged then was the scent of his cologne wafting from his shirt right before he left for work. He still doesn't know how well I eat a sandwich with eggs in it. Truth is, I like wearing perfume too. He hates that I put on mascara every day. I apply it daily to hold my drooping lashes in place, but he seems unaware of most things about me.

Was I first, or was he? The day before was my day off. When I returned, I sat in front of the pepper mill. The left-handed chef and the heat that made my scalp tingle. Did he notice my gaze? We were the only ones alone, after all.

The gifts he gives always miss the mark.

First. A call lasting over an hour and a walk lasting over an hour. It was night, the lingering scent of sweat and dampness soaking through the fur coat. A call lasting over an hour. Were there tense moments or places? When food is shoved into the mouth, I hold my breath and close my lips. 54321. The meat mixes in my mouth for a long time, saliva pools, turning it mushy. Soon, I gag, and that seems to determine the day's success.

How long can one endure fullness? Something like paper that cannot be planted, cannot be planted, cannot be planted. Obsessing, obsessing. Meal times, times when one must eat, horribly obsessive meals, after those meals, obsessing again.

The table at the Thai restaurant I revisited was too narrow for bags, and I only had one bag. After eating curry topped with warm fried bits, I met about seven people at the bus stop where I waited. I went straight upstairs to gaze at the scenery with yellow flowers blooming, then dozed off briefly just as the bus's speed made the yellow flowers look like yellow sticks. An announcement came, and following them off the bus, I found myself at a different stop. After retrieving the single bag still occupying space, about three hours remained. After checking that bag again, I looked around and realized walking from one end to the other took less than two minutes. I decided to just sit, then ate something, wandered around finding it boring, watched people—though there were certainly more than seven people there. Too restless to sleep again, I plugged in my earbuds and tried watching YouTube videos, but the slow signal made the screen blurry, so I turned it off and listened to saved music instead. I flipped through photos taken over the past seven days, and three hours passed. Then the broadcast came on again. 9:30_ Someone's traffic accident_ February_ Equipment and supplies_ Stockings inside pants_ The smell of baking bread. Things disappearing and things decaying. Things on the verge of disappearing. Things that don't rot. Bikini and jeans. Below the valley and above the bridge. Tourists lack courage.

Day two. I thought I disliked you. But maybe that was just because of my crooked teeth back then. The doctor said my left molar was tilted.