Last night, Min-ji peeled off her skirt and said,
“Two more kilos. It’s your fault.”
The television laughed while I held my breath. The air-conditioner cooled the sweat on my skin, yet I melted where I stood. No one explains why I must be the culprit, why her flesh is my responsibility.
A Mirror-Side Confession
The clock read 11:47 p.m.—the hour Min-ji pinches her waist. In the mirror she glances at me, then aims at her stomach again. When her fingers seize the roll of fat, my chest is seized in the same grip.
“I should diet. I can’t, because of you.”
Her gaze doesn’t land on me; it passes through and fixes on her own body. I swallow a double anxiety: the dread of witnessing her disgust, and the dread of discovering I harbor disgust for her body.
The Hidden Thread of Desire
Once we were bound by a single thread of wanting. Now the thread is frayed, mere scraps of string. I do not miss the body she had when we met. No. I secretly consume the moment she loathes herself—the glint in her eye, the voice that scolds its own flesh. I cherish the illusion that when she can no longer prop herself up, I become the only pillar left. The more her belly softens and her self-esteem crumbles, the more power I taste. She dwindles into nothingness, and I swell into her sole redeemer.
A Locked Room, A Door That Won’t Open
Third-year married couple: So-yeon and Jae-woo. Whenever So-yeon whispered, “I think I’ve gained weight,” Jae-woo nodded. But the nod was no comfort. He hoarded her anxieties, her revulsions, her self-reproach like jewels.
“I can’t eat because of you.”
Jae-woo’s silence was a contract: the smaller she became, the more indispensable he grew. In his quiet she shrank; his power expanded.
Eight Kilos After Childbirth
Six-year married couple: Na-young and her husband. After childbirth Na-young gained eight kilos. Her husband said nothing, yet she read an entire sentence in his eyes: You are no longer beautiful.
Na-young turned herself into the guilty party. Every day, in front of the mirror, she pinched her belly and declared,
“I’m hideous. It’s because of you.”
He still said nothing. But his chest burned, for he believed that if she could no longer love herself, only he could save her.
Why We Stay There
Why do we linger in this place? Why do we accept her disgust, her self-reproach, her frailty? Because through them we secretly feed our own desire, our power, our need to dominate. We do not inhabit love; we inhabit exploitation. Her disgust hands us the scepter; her guilt hands us the crown of savior. This is not love. It is the trap of desire.
A Final Question
Tonight Min-ji will stand before the mirror again, fingers digging into soft flesh, and say,
“More weight. Because of you.”
What face will you wear as you watch her? Will you sate your desire through her disgust, or prove your love by ending it?
Her belly is not your desert; it is your mirror.