Post #4053743

I present a brave face. But because I lost my job, part of me is utterly terrified. I have written before that I'm a smashed-together collection of multiple personalities. One of them is about eight years old. He's the personality most sensitive to cilantro ("SOAP IN FOOD!"). And he's my pickiest eater. Even though I grew up in a very racist home and went to a racist school, I'm glad that few parts of that racism took hold in me. (Most of Los Angeles is a miserable place to be a racist.) The eight-year old was feeling terribly alone and unlovable today. The rest of me is very, very grateful that Korean food is very close to what he considers comfort food: Soups and stews with strong savory flavors and rice or noodles. But it means something weird. I don't visit Koreatown to expand my taste palate. I visit Koreatown to tell my inner eight-year old that he is loved.