How to Teach a Wound to Sing
What does it mean to be a crack in someone else's foundation? This concrete knows—each scratch a small migration, each stain a severed root. I trace the fractures with my finger and think: we are not statistics but survived storms. Not metaphors but breath made visible. The surface breaks but does not disappear. We Korean adoptees—scattered seeds finding soil in foreign ground. Our multiplicity is not flattening but flowering. Connection doesn't erase the wound. It teaches the wound to sing.