Wind
The force of the wind hits me differently every time I feel it. Its current bounces off buildings and rustles leaves. It hums softly, kissing my face with its coolness. It roars wildly, pulling the hair on my head and toppling me over, so strong that I might fly away. The wind is a steady presence, one I yearn for, and one I can count on to remind me of all the times I’ve felt it before. It wraps me in its familiar comfort and transports my mind to days past.
I am reminded of days spent swimming, when I would jump out of the water to be embraced by my mother and a towel—the wind cold and strong against my wet swimsuit that I could forget about the equatorial heat. I hear old home videos, the grainy footage capturing days of play, but the sound blocked over by the whipping wind. I see me and my siblings mouthing inaudible words and laughing silent giggles to the camera, while the flaps of the breeze sound like a helicopter’s blades against the microphone. I remember riding bikes and scooters in the early evening after school. The wind behind me pushed my wheels faster and faster like it pushes birds up by their wings. I would glide across the black asphalt. That is until I would fall and scrape my knees against the rough road. As I cried at the stinging in my body, the wind came to cool down the burning pain. The lines between my brow dissipated and my aching wound was spared from repeating pricks as the wind flew by.
I see my mother getting restless after long dinners.
“바람 좀 쐬러 가자,” she says to me, and I run towards the car parked in the driveway, eager for a long drive. 쐬, a Korean verb meaning “to feel or expose oneself to the wind,” is almost untranslatable. It is used when one wants to feel the euphoria only a breeze can deliver. It shows how special the experience of feeling in the wind is, so special that my language has created a word for it. My mother and I take long drives across the highways, windows rolled down, and music blaring. We rest as the wind hits our faces and dissolves into a scattered breeze that peppers through our hair and down our necks.
The wind carries with it the scents of the places it has traveled, like the smell of wet grass that fills the air after a rainstorm, or the warm scent of bread that flows through street markets. Soon, I will leave my home and follow my fate wherever it takes me. In this new place, wherever that may be, everything will be different. Unfamiliar faces, smells, and streets will surround me. In a brief moment, I might feel the familiar sensation of the wind that passes me, ruffling my clothes, and throwing around my hair. I will again be reminded of the countless times I have felt the euphoria of the wind. I will hear my mother asking me to enjoy it with her, even if I may be alone. Maybe the wind that flew through my childhood will make its trip around the world and fly by me again, reminding me of my past, and bringing the scents of the present into my future.