Still the blinding sunlight casts the shadow of only a white orb and a whitewashed Korean. about being single. We listened to Lo-fi on rainy nights, with the window cracked open to hear the droplets. We wrote and shared three things we were grateful for at that moment: the aroma of an espresso, a satisfying sneeze, Ella Fitzgerald. Simply put, it felt good to be there with someone. Of course, sometimes I needed quiet to browse a Jimi Hendrix album or binge on Shameless. But, he was my brother. He was there for me, too. When my grandpa lost his battle with cancer, Moritz hugged me and made sure I had my chin up. We gossiped about teachers and laughed by the crackling camp-
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fire until our stomachs cramped. We wrestled in the hallway until my knee bled. Moritz helped me realize that I am like the Moon and other people are the Sun. Jay’s checklist of Koreanness felt like the Sun’s golden rays beaming into an abyss as the only light and truth. I, as the Moon, blocked that light and reflected my own. I had a face that looked predictable. Yet when others shined their light on me, there was still more unfound. My bowl-like hair screamed K-Pop, but I tapped my leather loafers while mumbling Guns N’ Roses and Pearl Jam. On Saturday
nights, many assumed I raged and reddened like a berry while clicking away in League of Legends. Instead, I placed another dry log on the golden fire while Jack strummed his acoustic to Hotel California. Still the blinding sunlight casts the shadow of only a white orb and a whitewashed Korean. Because of this light, the more I define my appearance, the more my shadow darkens into a mere fraction of something more beautiful. But I, like the Moon, was not created by God simply to rest in space and conform. I, like the Moon, seek to cause tides. v
