Atlanta, Georgia
United States of America
August 2016
Whenever being interviewed, the question
concerning being like his father would always rise. And the answers he gave
would always be the same; Jin-ho would give a small laugh, fold his hands on
his lap neatly, put on that quiet smile, tone down the confidence and instead
increase humility. Open his mouth and speak about never being able to reach his
father’s heights. Speak about recognizing that he would never be as good, but
that he would do his best to live up to the Kang standard.
All of it would come to the point of it
sounding rehearsed. He was surprised that the media hadn’t made any comment
about it; that no newspaper or magazine had published how many times he just
recycled his words endlessly when it came to living under the shadow of his father.
But they kept quiet and he kept doing it anyway until the words tasted like
nothing in his mouth.
Mathieu caught him after yet another
interview. He merely remained backstage, waiting for Jin-ho to finish up. When
they were both in the car, Mathieu cleared up his throat and spoke up. “You
know, you’re starting to look and sound like a machine when you talk to those
people.”
“I know. Don’t tell me,” Jin-ho replied
shortly. Mathieu merely shrugged.
“I’m just saying. Seems like you’ve got a
mask on.”