Peeking through the Crack 문틈아이

[태그:] WhoIWasBefore

  • Who I was before

    나는 왜 기다리고 이루어지지 못한 만남으로 괴로워 하는가.

    잎을 알던 사람
    가끔 향신료나 약초를 손에 쥐면,
    내 안에 무언가가 깨어나는 느낌이 든다.
    전생의 나는 약초를 알고,
    몸의 아픔을 느끼는 사람이었을지도 모른다.
    잎을 끓이고, 상처를 감싸며,
    조용히 사람들의 아픔을 치유하던 삶.
    그래서 일까.
    지금도 나는 음식을 만들며 기도하고,
    차 한 잔을 정성껏 내리는 순간,
    누군가의 마음이 낫기를 바란다.

    The Herbal Healer

    In a past life, I was someone who healed not only through presence but through knowledge—of plants, of pain, of what the body needs to remember how to be whole.

    The One Who Knew the Leaves

    They say the body remembers
    what the mind forgets.

    And sometimes,
    when I hold a leaf between my fingers
    or crush rosemary in the kitchen,
    I feel something awaken.

    Like I once knew the secrets
    of plants and roots and oils.
    Like I could listen to the aches in someone’s breath
    and know exactly what to brew.

    In another life,
    I think I was a healer.
    Not the kind who chants or touches light—
    but the kind who boiled leaves slowly,
    who waited until the color changed,
    who crushed herbs with the edge of a stone
    until they bled medicine.

    People came to me
    with coughs that wouldn’t leave,
    wounds that wouldn’t close,
    hearts that forgot how to trust.

    And I gave them little bundles,
    wrapped in soft cloth.
    Bitterness that healed.
    Warmth that lingered.
    Smells that told the soul,
    “You’re not alone.”

    Maybe that’s why, even now,
    I press tea bags like they’re prayers,
    and cook soup as if someone’s life depends on it.
    Maybe this is why I care
    in ways I can’t explain.

  • 숲을 떠돌던 아이

    가끔 혼자 있을 때,
    나도 모르게 나무 냄새가 그리워진다.
    비 온 뒤의 숲 냄새처럼
    무언가 오래된 기억이 내 안에서 피어난다.

    엄마를 그리워하는 날에는
    이상하게도…
    숲 속 어딘가에서 누군가의 상처를 감싸주던 나의 모습이 떠오른다.
    나는 아주 오래 전,
    사람을 치료하는 아이였던 것 같다.

    말은 없었지만
    손끝으로 아픔을 느꼈고,
    내 손길을 기다리는 이들의 울음을 들을 수 있었다.

    내가 먼저 다가가진 않았지만
    누군가 다가오면 조용히
    그들의 상처를 닦아주었다.

    아마 그래서일까.
    이번 생에서도 나는,
    누군가 아플 때 그냥 지나치지 못한다.

    그리고 그럴 때마다
    나도 모르게,
    그 숲이 그리워진다.

    The Child Who Roamed the Forest

    Sometimes, when I’m alone,
    I find myself longing for the scent of trees.
    Like the smell of a forest after rain,
    a distant memory quietly rises inside me.

    On days when I miss my mother,
    strangely…
    a vision comes to me—
    of myself gently tending to someone’s pain in a forest.
    I think I was a child who healed others a long, long time ago.

    I didn’t speak,
    but I could feel pain through my fingertips.
    And I could hear the cries of those
    who waited for my touch.

    I never approached first.
    But when someone came near,
    I would silently wipe their wounds.

    Maybe that’s why,
    even in this life,
    I still can’t walk past someone who’s hurting.

    And every time that happens,
    without realizing it,
    I miss that forest again.