How, you may ask, do I know that I'm not living in a musical? Because when all of the audio equipment within my grasp at work fails and a student suggests I sing the song I am thinking of for their listening exercise I do not burst into siren-like song. The children do not join in after the first chorus. I am wearing the same pants I wore Monday and the lighting is shit. This is how I know.
When I learn my first phrases in Korean I am unable to commit them to memory by singing a little ditty that eventually turns into a three-part routine, including some co-worker who unwittingly stumbled in on my lesson only to find herself pulled, by lyrical forces beyond her control, into our song. Clever lines about remembering to pronounce final esses and d's do not pop into my head. The children cannot conjugate in rhyming couplets. This is how I know.
I have no perceived enemy with whom I will fall in love with in the next act. When colleagues leave the room I do not sing to myself about how poor, lonely, aspirational, or in love I am while looking into my reflection, at human activity below, or upon adorable children/adults/pets/anthropomorphized educational materials engaging in whatever behavior most highlights how isolated I am from all that I, the protagonist, so richly deserve. This is how I know.
When I say something curious or pithy those in my vicinity do not pause and repeat my statement to a beat. When I am unable to communicate with the Koreans in my neighborhood we do not commune on some higher plane through song. Adoring children do not follow me wherever I go. Likewise bluebirds, young men taken with my charm, and sparkling halos of light. This is how I know.
17 hours ago
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