This morning I pulled the crown of my watch to the side. The watch stopped ticking for a while as I turned the crown backwards in time. One hour fall back. The daylight savings happened last night. Every part of me still lingers restlessness despite the extra hour of sleep. As I pushed back the crown, I heard the ticking sound of the red second hand start rotating clockwise again. I stared at it tick and stared at it tock. It’s too bad that we get to fall back in time only once a year. I often wish I could fall back in time and catch the glass before it shatters. It seems like everything comes down to one single moment of difference — one slip from the hand, one decision, one word, one.
The very first class I had in middle school was a Korean literature class. The teacher came in with a long stick she could use to point at the giant green chalk board with, a brand new textbook, and a box of white chalk in her hands. With a white chalk, she drew a dandelion seed and a small needle on the board. She explained to us that a poet once described, the chance for a person to be meeting another is as same for the wind to blow a floating dandelion seed to pierce through the hook of a tiny needle standing on the ground. She then drew the wind in a pig-tail looking curvy line in between the seed and the needle.
The fall in Korea is gorgeous. The wind blows gently. The trees brighten in sunset; red, orange, and yellow. Memories live in me through the last four autumns I spent in Chicagoland. They don’t have daylight saving in Korea. I say I wish I could fall back in time more often than once a year, but I don’t know if I want to stroke my fingers against the wind blowing in a different direction than the one it could have blown towards.