Flame, Glass and Ink are Poems, essays, and reading notes by Stefania Joori Suh

Tag: story

  • 🐾 Understanding Cats as Mirrors of My Soul

    They say pets reflect the personalities of those who care for them. The way they respond to others and express their feelings seems to mirror how they’re treated at home—or perhaps how their owners reveal the rawness of human emotion, unfiltered and instinctive.

    My two cats, Toro and Camille, mirror my ego and superego, respectively. Toro is a sensitive soul, easily shaken by the outside world and never shy about his emotions, almost like a little human. Camille, in contrast, is calm and observant. He watches me in silence, as though he sees through to the very center of me. At times, I think of Toro as the General Cat from Cat’s Eye, and Camille as Jiji from Kiki’s Delivery Service.

    Sometimes, I wonder if they are the little brother and sister who were never born—that they somehow returned in fur and paws to be near me… and, strangely, near my mother, who once chose not to bring them into the world.

    Whenever they curl beside me, their small hearts pulsing gently against mine, I feel the wonder of life swell within me—a quiet awe at its vividness, like a tide of feeling stirred with reverence for the mystery of creation, and the One who makes all things beautiful.

    Rudyard Kipling once said that a cat walks by himself. But perhaps he never met mine.

    Whatever happens, they are my familiars—silent witnesses and gentle companions, walking beside me through this strange and lovely journey of life.

  • prompt 216

    Tell us about your favorite pair of shoes, and where they’ve taken you.

    Sound: My cats’ pleading sounds, especially Toro’s, for paying attention to them while I was WFH until 7:00 pm today. No matter how hard I tried to ignore them all the time, it was impossible because I simply couldn’t. Then there’s mom’s ever-neurotic shrieking for my letting the cats out to the living room, which is her domain. I am getting crazier and crazier by day.

    Smell: Mon Paris by Yves Saint Laurent. I got the smallest size of the lovely perfume from a Sephora store that happened to be an hour away from home. I ordered it online yesterday for the same day delivery. Anyway, I got it, and it smelled lovely. It makes me feel like I am a beautiful sultry French chic. Plus, it’s cheaper than Chanel’s Coco Mademoiselle, which I will get in the future.

    Taste: I had Coffee-Flavored Hagen-Daz ice cream during an afternoon break. It’s both proportionally and favorably perfect. Small but fulfilling. I used to be biased against the brand because I thought it was overhyped, but as I get older, I like the flavor, which pleases my taste buds.

    It was a long day for me. I prefer WFH to WFO even amid the cacophony of my cats’ caterwauling and mom’s shrieking because working in such a small office with people half my age gives me an awkward vibe, and I believe they will feel the same way. I think I am wired to be alone. Good-hearted but socially gauche. Anyway, tomorrow is WFO ! But I have no choice of obeying it because if I don;t go there, Alan will complain about handling the incoming mail by himself, which will be rolled into a bid snowball of criticism about my not keeping commitment to WFO two days a week. Nevertheless, I hate going to the office.

  • Alchemy of words

    Imagine
    The visions
    Summon
    The letters

    Conjure

    The words
    Inspire
    The Muses
    From within.

  • emotion bin

    Why do I always feel guilty and remorseful about things I am not wholly responsible for, the faux pas?

    And I have a reason to think so.

    Today, the accounting clerk – more of a delivery guy – was supposed to pick up a returned check from a vendor, but he wasn’t, and the accounting department was behind him by not answering my questions about why he didn’t pick up the check. Did I do something unforgivably or gravely wrong? Was my calling the guy “Hey George” enough to irritate his nerves? But don’t they at the firm call each other “Hey?” Oh, I got it. So they can say hey, but me. It’s not the same, hey. It’s a different hey from mine. I got it.

    Still, it’s a job, and what if someone – and most possibly the guy himself – steals the check and appropriates it to frame me so that I will be fired from the job? I have a valid reason to speculate the scenario: that guy smirks at me and is always happy to ignore me when saying hi and hello, and what’s up to everyone but me. Too sensitive? Of course, when you and he are alone in an elevator, and there’s only radio silence, except for his malicious and vile smirk? Oh, yes, definitely sensitive.

    The check was not returned and is supposedly kept in our desk drawer in the office. I worked from home today, and I asked my colleague in the office to keep it in the drawer. I hope the delivery guy or his kindred accomplice will not do anything malicious to wreak havoc on my career and sanity.

    I am writing this because otherwise, I would feel like I cannot sleep. So, by writing the litany of woes, I hope I can get rid of the evil spells or exorcise demons hell-bent on gripping my soul, dragging me to hell.

  • I love you, my dear Camille

    My Camille is unwell now. He eats, drinks, and defecates, but I know there’s something wrong with his demeanor, mood, and aura. No, it’s not a hyped reaction from an overly protective spinster guardian, but I ohknow. It worries me to death; it pains me to no end. I am so thankful for his little heart pumping beneath his sleek, straight black fur, and on the other hand, I inwardly recoil in fear that what if it begins to slow and then stop? 

    I have noticed that when I pet Camille, he secretes a fluid with a noticeable smell, which isn’t terrible. I thought it was his way of expressing content when petted, and my research shows it’s partly true. Partly it is due to his anal gland charge, which worries me. So, I think maybe it’s a complication of the anal glands and other organ infections, such as liver or urinary. 

    And it plunges me so low into the abyss of grief, echoed in guilt for Camille’s condition because I have not been so loving or patient with Camille’s urge to play. He tends to eat frequently, almost every 10 minutes or so. Even though I always ensure my cats’ bowls are full of dry food with water, Camille prefers wet food. He eats small but many times. It might indicate diabetic symptoms. I feel like a terrible guardian, and more terrible is losing him – which is unthinkable! Let present fears less than horrible imaginings! 

    I just made an appointment with a vet to check him this Saturday. I hope Camille is not seriously ill. 

  • Shooting star

    He shouldn’t have been there. No, not at that McDonald’s or any McDonald’s where random people might have seen him. For the class of people he seems to care about, that’s how they perceive him. What an irony it is—sad but true.

    Mangione must have been incredibly hungry to eat at a McDonald’s while knowing he was on the run.

    Did he think he wouldn’t be caught? It seemed almost naive in a boldly youthful way. Mind you, I am not endorsing his killing of the CEO of UnitedHealthcare on his way to the “investment” conference. Still, his motives reflect some of the ancient and medieval ideas of self-evident justice—his actions against the unjust. The entire narrative feels like an adventurous tale about a young knight.

    He comes from a wealthy background, much like our new president-elect, Donald Trump. However, there is a key difference: Mangione is a well-read, articulate thinker and writer who empathizes with the have-nots. He does not feel entitled or complacent about his status and circumstances. Here is a young man who truly cares about those outside the boundaries of social protection—those without health insurance or, even if they have it, without enough benefits.

    He is an unlikely person in an unusual situation.