I am someone who often thinks about what kind of person I am. I answer when you call my name because I want to know what kind of person I am. But I find it strange that that's my name, so I keep calling yours instead.
I am someone who often thinks about what kind of person you are as well. Are you cynical or not? Are you shallow or not? So you are cynical and shallow, but do you like me anyhow? I am someone who cannot love until I know, but sometimes I hold my breath during an unknowable caress.
I am someone who picks up words. I am a collector of myself. I am the most insolent person to myself whom I frown upon. I am the kind of person who, though my bladder is about to burst, leans closer to hear people at a pub tell me what kind of person I am. As a person who considers myself a bit special, I find it offensive that people in front of or next to me may also consider themselves special.
Maybe I could describe myself as "someone who can only do one thing in a day." If the task du jour is to wash my sneakers, all I really do that day is wash my sneakers. I may be lazy but I'm also diligent in that I think about how 'I really need to wash my [End Page 243] sneakers today…' all day long whether I'm sitting or lying down. I dislike those who boast about their knowledge but feel ecstatic when someone comes into my room and says, "Look at all these books you got!" I like jokes but harbor hostility against witty people. I get depressed over just 10,000 wŏn sometimes, and am always self-conscious when someone's in line behind me at an ATM.
I am someone who feels relieved after making strangers laugh, someone who adores my prejudices and someone who can't let go of the paths I took to acquire them, getting hurt in the process. I am the kind of person who underlines Alyosha Karamazov's "… that was the question of a sufferer. …" I am a nobody and someone whose knees tremble with the fear that I might really be a nobody.
I am what I fear, disdain, wonder. I am what I watch with my eyes wide open, glance sideways at, turn a blind eye to. I am someone who says it's okay, I'm sorry, thank you. I could also talk about blood types, horoscopes or the plethora of descriptions we've read about each sign. I am someone who still has much that remains.
I collect this and that and you always say it's not enough. I go back to the beginning and tell my story again. So it gets progressively more boring, as when someone you have no interest in confesses his feelings for you.
I am the kind of person who often asks what kind of person I am. I turn my head when you call my name because I want to answer what kind of person I am, but I find it strange that that's my name, so I wait for you to answer instead.
I am the kind of person who often asks what kind of person you are as well. Are you funny, or not? Are you vain, or not? So you are funny and vain, but do you like me anyway? I am someone who cannot love until I ask, but sometimes my heart drops when you call my name.
I am my first love. I am a must-read I never got around to reading. I was never my crime but have become my punishment. I am the kind of person who, though my bladder is about to burst, chain [End Page 244] smokes to explain what kind of person I am in an online chatroom. I am someone who wants to impress you but knows deep down in my heart that the person I want to impress the most...