Hanako despised the way their conversations entered a freefall of chaotic words and too tender feelings. The way they could pick apart each other’s sentences like birds pecking at nearly bare bones. At these moments, Hanako often felt as though she would rather die than admit she could have said or done things differently.
Why did it sometimes hurt so much to think that everything wasn’t for her? That the story she stepped into wasn’t always her own? Wasn’t it possible that God loved her and her friend equally? She’d always had the sneaking suspicion He played favorites.
Read the rest at hanahawley.com
When the older gentleman enters the room, everyone stands and bows deeply. Jiro follows suit, but Mr. Saito quickly reaches for his hand. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Jiro-san,” he says. And there is something at once elegant and sharp about the slender man’s eyes, a hint of humor, at the corners of his mouth that Jiro likes instantly.
Read more about Hanako and Jiro’s adventures in Japan at HanaHawley.com
I talk more about my travel to South Korea and my visit to the baby home where I was an orphan, in part two of my story on Sister Theresa on my web (www.hanahawley.com). Read an excerpt below:
Everything I see makes sense, but it feels unreal and intangible. I breathe deeper, open my eyes wider. If I could dig my bare toes into the ground, scrunch the earth between my toes and somehow immerse myself in my surroundings I would. If it wouldn’t be rude, or be weird, I would walk off by myself for an hour or two, sit in the middle of the lawn somewhere, let the past find me.
On my blog: Searching for Seoul, I talk about being an orphan, an adopted child, and a woman, seeking her identity. Last week, I went to Korea for the first time since I was seven years-old to meet the woman responsible for helping me find my birth dad last summer. Here is a short intro. You can read the FULL STORY at HanaHawley.com
The night I met Sister Theresa for the first time, she took me and Josiah to eat a traditional Korean meal at her friend’s restaurant. I felt spoiled, and loved, and slightly sad. I let my imagination run away from me. A glimpse into what goes on in my head sometimes, in this post called “Chopsticks.”
“Her eyes seep sadness. They sting like old wounds reopened–wide and gaping. I imagine for a moment that she sees her own abandoned daughter–a hint of the child she once knew in the shape of my face.”
(photo by Jacob Kapusnak for unsplash)
Stepped onto Korean soil for the first time in thirty-years this week. The last time I was in Korea, I was just seven years-old.
Excerpt from my post:
I study the quiet and sleepy faces around me in the “foreigner” immigration line. We shuffle along as the “resident” line across the way from us empties. It feels a little strange to be in the line with foreigners because technically, I am coming home…Read the Full Story at http://www.hanahawley.com on Searching for Seoul.
“The demand for your genre is down right now,” her literary agent had said kindly before her move to Tokyo. In her bleaker moments, Hanako reinterpreted that to mean, “no one gives a shit about what you’ve written right now.” READ THE STORY at http://www.hanahawley.com