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⇢(1) Pupu’s Paradise
⇢(2) Four Windows
⇢(3) Nail Clipper, Peach, Face, Lodging and a Hug
⇢(4) Ember
⇢(5) The Bench Above
⇢(6) Shaded Green
⇢(7) The Bird That Cries at Night
©2025 Sanuk Kim.
All rights reserved.
(6.1.2025)
Pupu is a kitten we brought home from a shelter four months ago. In front of the mirror, Pupu and I are standing.
Small and light, he jumps effortlessly to places many times his size, exploring every corner of the house with his soft white paws.
He doesn’t recognize his own reflection in the mirror. He lives in a whole, uninterrupted world—one without ego, longing, or anxiety about tomorrow. On sunny days, he sprawls belly-up on the couch, lost in sleep. When he wakes, he comes over with a toy in his mouth, asking me to play. Even on nights I’m away, he doesn’t worry I won’t return. When I come back, he’s quietly waiting, then happily comes to greet me. He simply feels each moment fully, always living here and now.
Standing beside his tiny, weightless form—just shy of my shins—I see a mountain in the mirror. A body burdened by weight I gave myself. Scrolling through my phone, chewing on yesterdays that exist nowhere, anxious over tomorrows that haven’t yet come. Trapped in borrowed values, always reaching, always proving and always restless.
And yet, there are moments when Pupu’s paradise opens up to me. When he quietly closes his eyes beside me, when he kneads just because, when he gently bumps his head against me at the door in the morning. Moments when I, too, grave the edge of lightness.
When life feels heavy, Pupu meows through the crack of that tiny paradise. As if to say, that weight was never meant to be carried, but something to receive lightly, like a harmless joke.
So may I too, someday—
love my fate, lightly.