Korean-American Psycho 1

I am a faceless being. I don't mean that I don't have eyes, ears, lips and a canvas on which those forms exist. I mean that I have completely lost my ego. I think that my ego has been deconstructed in various ways over time. I only have the id and the superego now and they battle against each other constantly.

I don't remember when I lost my face. Sometimes I think I lost a bit of it when I heard words like "chink" and "faggot" directed at me. Sometimes I think I lost it when I realized that I could not be the center of society, that athletes, handsome guys, beautiful girls, very smart and ruthless money-managers, corporate titans, and the likes of those occupied the center and I was meant to be in the margins. Sometimes, I wonder if I wasn't too proud. Othertimes, I'm a happy camper with the ugly, fat, dysfunctional, colored, homeless majority.

For days and nights I used to wander around the city, lonely as hell, looking for someone like me. While I was sitting next to garbage in a corner of a neighborhood, someone stooped down and talked to me.

"What's your name?" she asked.
"Don't have one," I answered.
"Are you going to sleep next to the garbage?"
"Yes."
"Why don't you come home with me?"

I looked up. She was tall and attractive and an Asian. Three pluses for me. At the same time, there was something fishy about this situation.

"Why?" I asked.
"Because I am just like you."

I liked her answer very much and after walking for a while, we were at her underground apartment.
It was a large room with everything in it, the kitchen, the bedroom, and living room all in one.

"You must go shopping at IKEA," I said.
"Yes. Why don't you take a shower?"

I obeyed. The bathroom was in a separate room. It felt nice taking a shower and the liquid raining down on me, almost peeling my flesh. I wanted to tear out my flesh and become something else altogether. The soap slid all over my body like some mischievous chick's hand. It was definitely nice.

"Wear this."

I saw her long arm come into the bathroom, then the clothes dropped on the floor.

"How do I look?"
"Ok."

I looked around the walls of her large room and saw pictures of handsome looking white guys.

"Obsess much?" I asked.
"Former boyfriends," then she chuckled, "Like to keep something from the past."
"Did you like them?" I asked.
"At first. Then over time, I got sick of them telling me that a Korean chick is not supposed to be like this or that. They had it all figured out. They knew everything. Real Ivy-League types. Besides, they could get any girl they wanted according to them."
"Then why keep the pictures?"
"Memories. But first. Bed or the sofa?"

I hadn't slept on a bed for days, but I wanted to be a gentleman.

"Bed," I said unconsciously.
"I'll take the sofa."