Kinda Korean by Joan Sung

Author:Joan Sung
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: She Writes Press

BIG GIRLS DON'T CRY

It was October of 2010.

I had been carrying a weight on my chest for several months. But this time, it had become unbearable. The fluorescent lights were blinding me, and I was hyperventilating into a paper bag, sitting in a swivel chair in our aircraft hangar office. My supervisor, in his uniform, sat in front of me, trying to calm me down.

Sergeant Stanley was a balding man in his late thirties who reminded me of Jerry from Parks and Rec. He was kindhearted, and for that, easily dismissed at work; all kindhearted guys in the military were taken for granted, except by the few women who served. His forehead was wrinkled with worry, and his eyes darted between the office door and me. He held both his hands out, palms down, pushing down repeatedly on something invisible. He was stammering, and I could tell he was calculating what to do if I passed out on the floor.

They can’t see me cry in uniform, I thought. I worked too fucking hard to get here. I was staring down at my sage-colored military-issue boots. My chest was tight, I couldn’t breathe, and my vision was narrowing dangerously.

Sergeant Stanley tried to coach me. “Sung! Breathe!” Now he was looking panicked. “You’re going to make yourself pass out!”

But I couldn’t control it. I couldn’t calm down. I felt like I was about to die.

Joining the military had done something unexpected. It gave me full independence, away from my mother, which was exactly what I had wanted. It had also done something strange to my alcohol dependency—I no longer felt the need to self-medicate or numb my feelings. Along with teaching independence, the Air Force drilled into us how to be type A: controlled, disciplined, perfect. I loved it. Because I got to control all of it. Room inspections, hospital-corner bedsheets that had to be folded as neat as a pin, scheduled exercise, clean and pressed uniforms—even hair had to be up to code. I thrived. But whenever there was a threat to my controlled habitat, I would crumble.

What sent me into a panic attack that day had occurred a few minutes prior. My new flight chief, Wildress, had stood in the doorway, looming as he always did.

“Sung, I need you to reorganize all the TOs.”

“Why?” I asked, dismayed because I had organized them diligently according to number.

“I want you to organize them according to title. That’s how we’re supposed to do it.”

“No, it’s not …” I said slowly. He raised his eyebrows at my disobedience. “There’s a TO that tells us how to organize it, and it’s deliberately vague. It’s a gray area. Which means it’s our call, and there’s nothing wrong with how I did it. I mean, I literally got the AMU Support Performer award after I organized the TO library. I know what I’m doing.”

“Sung!” He raised his voice, exasperated. “Do as I say! It’s an order. And you know what? I’m not dating, like you are, so I can work twelves until they’re done.

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