I can’t help but feel eyes on me as I meander through the city streets. Walking down to the subway, I feel the eyes. Sitting quietly, listening to music or reading a book, I feel them.
Once in a while, I will catch the eyes and notice who they belong to. A human being, small in stature and maybe about couple of feet tall. With big eyes and curious gazes. Holding a hand that belongs to a person much larger than them. Possibly carrying a doll or toy. Can you guess who is watching me?
Yes, it’s a toddler. More particularly, a Korean toddler. I live in Korea, and I work as a school teacher. I’m fairly used to being the only non-Korean person in the room, and while that has never bothered me, I can’t help but notice the little ones. They are my favourite. I can’t help but feel a strongly selfish desire to be the first curly-haired, tall, pale, green-eyed foreign woman they have seen. I’m as transfixed with them as they are with me. I feel special, and interesting, and for a moment, I remember being that age too.
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