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

Tag: Writing

  • On Watching “Adolescence” (2025) – Netflix Season 1

    This Netflix drama series does not focus on an activist narrative that many might passionately debate from various political or social perspectives. Instead, it explores how something unimaginably tragic can affect anyone or any family, regardless of their socioeconomic status, race, or cultural background. Committing a crime is not solely the domain of a degenerate or disturbed mind; rather, it can be seen as a sickness influenced by a combination of social factors and the inherent predispositions of individuals. And yes, this reality includes all of us.

    Here is an adolescent boy from a hardworking family whose father may have a temper but is kind and understanding and has a strong responsibility for his family. Hardly a likely candidate for the head of the dysfunctional family contributed to producing a psychopathic killer. Having a temper doesn’t mean you are automatically attuned to criminal minds. To that effect, the father of the boy is neither a saint nor a sinner, and his son’s problem is not of family but of peers; it’s from peer pressure under heavy intoxication with social media where your worth is valued by lookism and agism vying for popularity as key to success. A loser is an Incel whose insecurity is forced by the number of likes destined for a public whipping boy or walking sandbag. Yeah, it’s easy to label anyone who is not within a safe zone of being accepted, and you become a new outcast. If you are a woman outcast, then you are a new witch to be persecuted. 

    The problem with the boy here is his consequence and punishment, but that should not be relegated to the family. To ostracize the family of the sinner is a time-honored practice that never changes, just as there’s no new thing under the sun. While the drama shows the brutally realistic portrayal of the crime, the doer, and the family without overt display of emotions or elaborated scripts, it does not give the boy light of redemption in the person of the psychologist interviewing the boy. I cannot help but think that she’s there to get what she wants, which is to extort confession that he did kill the girl, and that is why he did it, not trying to help him cure the mind disease. She does not seem to be happy with herself either. 

    It was mind-disturbing and painful to see how the police handled the boy and the preponderance of shock that his family encountered on what might have been one of those ordinary mornings. Seeing his father criticizing himself for not being perfect broke my heart. Yet, no one is perfect; he is a good father with a strong sense of responsibility for his family and a good heart. That’s good enough. You see, bad things can happen to good people. Dad, please don’t blame yourself. You are a good father: good night and sweet dreams. 

  • Prompt 217 – things i took for granted

    What’s a part of my daily life that I often take for granted?
    I have begun noticing things I took for granted before, such as the following:

    1. Waking up every morning: I now realize that night is when our bodies either revolt or rest while we sleep. I may never open my eyes to meet a new day. And especially right now, I am going through the pains of the internal organs that seem to be worsened the following day; I am grateful for finding myself greeting a new morning.

    2. Living with Mom, however difficult it is: Although I sometimes want to live alone with my cats in a small but nice apartment, I cannot imagine not having anyone to talk to all day long and for the rest of my life—at least for now. I am just not prepared to live without Mom.

    3. Eating – it is proof that my body is still operational despite the problems inside of my body. I am scared to death for a diagnosis that I will get after the physical scheduled for next Friday. Still, I can eat now.

    I now know why some people want to trade their souls with vampires to gain external youth – the prime of health and beauty. So, I am considering accepting the law of nature, as Cicero said, because if we reject it, we ask for trouble. That said, appreciating simple, small things that I used to overlook while retaining graceful poise and becoming where I am now is probably the best and wisest thing to do. Or so I should think.

  • 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.

  • Winter, come; snow, come

    Where she came from
    The white wreath of snow
    Blossoms where cactuses grow,
    Lakes become links of ice;
    She shall smile when Boreas
    Arrives in the wings of winter
    And ushers in the fury of fire.

  • 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.