An open letter to the tree in my school's playground

Dear Cicada Tree,

You used to be such a good tree. I rather liked you, in fact. They way you stood apart from the stand of trees in the garden, lending your own shade on the pathway around the field up to my school. You proudly stood for an independence and self-sufficience that so few trees these days are willing to take on. I admired you. I enjoyed walking past you, not just because it meant I wouldn't have to get my shoes dirty on the constantly sandy or muddy field, but because you provided a brief but welcome respite from the relentless Korean heat. I enjoyed that I could look out of my classroom window and see you standing there, proud and alone.

But not lately. The last couple weeks, I've noticed that things have changed. I cannot walk past you without a gnawing fear growing in the pit of my stomach. And it's not you, per se, Tree, that is causing my anxiety. Rather, it's what is living amongst your branches. And I think you know what I'm talking about.

The cicadas.

Those hideously loud, nasty, enormous devil bugs that let us know the hottest days of summer are upon us. At first, I thought it would be okay - you are a strong, independent tree, and you know how to take care of yourself! And when I first heard the air-raid siren-like screech of the cicadas, I did not hear them from your branches. So I thought to myself, "Thank goodness. Tree is alright."

But no. As I was walking home yesterday, I thought I would pass underneath you to take some shade and avoid the recently rained-upon mudpit field. But as I got closer, I noticed that the cicada noise was louder than ever, and it was coming directly from you. I thought that perhaps I was just hearing things - my hearing isn't the greatest to begin with, and I had been sick for the last couple of days.

As I approached your branches, though, I saw them. The Monsters, screaming their screams and dive-bombing their...dive-bombs...

I was devastated.

Et tu, Brute? Are you, too, housing these horrible devil-monsters? I can't believe it. I won't believe it! I am sure you are infested against your will...and if that's the case, well hold on. Wikipedia tells me that the mature adults will generally live only a few weeks above ground before finally, mercifully dying off for the rest of the year.

But not before having laid their eggs.

Oh you poor tree. You must go through this every summer! This macabre Rob Zombie-esque annual fight with what can only be described as the forces of Satan. Stand well, my friend, and continue to fight the good fight. Rest assured that we are hard at work finding a "final solution" of sorts to the Cicada menace. One day, you too will be free.

Sincerely looking forward to fall,
Nolen

An open letter to the hot water heater in my apartment

Dear Hot Water Heater,

I know we haven't known each other for very long - only a little over three months - but I think we need to have a talk. You may think this forward of me, but I am a little upset with you. Perhaps I just haven't taken the time to get to know your quirks. I do try to spend a little time with you daily, whether it's in the shower or doing my dishes. I like to think we were starting to build a rapport together!

But a month or so ago, all that changed. I'm not sure what I did to anger you, but apparently it was bad. For some reason, the nice showers you gave me and the lovely heat you radiated from my floor just got to be all too much. And then you decided that 10 minutes of hot water was really all I needed. I'm not sure why you allotted me only 10 minutes, but I thought, "okay, I can work with this while I try to make amends to HWH."

Perhaps that was it. Perhaps the nickname came too early in our relationship. If that's the case, I am truly sorry. I can easily switch back to the more formal Hot Water Heater, if it will help us out. Because I do believe there can still be an us! We just have to work together to figure it all out - we are, after all, in this together. You and I, sailing down the whitewater rapids that is life in dynamic Korea.

But then again, maybe not. Maybe it is time to let go. Since yesterday, it seems like you have let go. Of course it happened while I had a guest over who needed to shower. I am not sure why you felt the need to take our fight public - a fight which, by the by, I wasn't even aware we were having. But to suddenly decide to produce no hot water whatsoever? Not cool! Not cool at all.

So now it's been two days. Two days, Hot Water Heater, of me being unable to shower, unable to wash my dishes. And that's just two days too long! I can understand the need to take a brief respite from your duties every once in a while. But it would be great if you took that rest and came back full force, ready to heat water to the best of your ability. Two days is just unacceptable. I am tired and dirty and just generally thrown off now! I need my morning shower like some people need their coffee - I just can't function without it.

And I miss you, Hot Water Heater. We had some good times, right? Me trying to figure out how to turn you on even though I can't read you. You alternating between boiling lava and ice at the slightest nudge of the faucet. I miss that! I miss...us. There I said it. I miss us! Come back to me, Hot Water Heater!

I know this will be difficult, but that's why I've enlisted some outside help. Yes, I called the landlord. Because I know we can get past this! But it's silly to try it on our own. We just need to admit that this is bigger than us. It's not something we can figure out on our own, but I am sure with the right professional help we can at the very least come to an understanding that will let coexist peacefully. Because Hot Water Heater, whatever I did to upset you, the dishes are starting to pile up. And I am starting to radiate stank lines. It's time for this standoff to end once and for all.

Please come back to me Hot Water Heater. I need you. I miss you.

With all my warmest affection and tenderness,
Nolen