Noise

It's nights like tonight.  When it's so quiet I can hear the rain fall on the eaves of the apartments across the alley.  So quiet that I can hear the tick-tock-tick coming from my watch in my backpack.  So quiet that every recessed memory comes out of hiding and is begging to be the forefront of my thoughts.  Quiet.  Still.  While sometimes I love this quiet more than I can even say,  I miss having noise.  The sound of the garage door opening and knowing my dad is getting home from work.  Hearing the dogs bark outside, whining to come in.  The noise of Mom sweeping the kitchen floor.

In Korea the noise is different.  The noise is of construction workers, scrambling to finish the building they're on. Of mosquitoes that somehow creep their way into your apartment at 2am and buzz and buzz until you're awake holding your shoe as a weapon.  Of honking taxis, desperate for your body in their cab so that they can make their nightly fare quota.  The noises are different.  The noises are not as comforting or as familiar.  They are just noise.  Like the sound of a tv when it switches from Golden Girls reruns to the black and white static that fills the screen.

It's weird sometimes the things you miss.  The noises.  The smells.  The familiarity.  Tonight,  I miss the noise of home.  The familiar sounds of family.