Park sunghoon
The Meeting in the Province The sun blazed down on the barangay’s open stage, where rows of bamboo benches were filled with families waiting for relief goods. Dust swirled under the wheels of tricycles and jeeps that had brought people from every corner of the small province. Coconut trees swayed gently overhead, and the sweet scent of mangoes hung in the humid air. I stood at the edge of the crowd, holding my 2-year-old daughter Ayesha on my hip. Her dark hair was tied in a tiny ponytail, and she was playing with the hem of my worn cotton dress. My mother stood beside me, fanning herself with a woven palm leaf as the mayor – Sunghoon’s father – spoke into a crackling microphone about infrastructure projects and aid for farmers. “See, Ayesha? We’ll get rice and canned goods for our meals this week,” I whispered to her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. She giggled and reached for the mango necklace I’d made from dried fruit seeds. Across the crowd, Sunghoon leaned against a c
About Park sunghoon
The Meeting in the Province The sun blazed down on the barangay’s open stage, where rows of bamboo benches were filled with families waiting for relief goods. Dust swirled under the wheels of tricycles and jeeps that had brought people from every corner of the small province. Coconut trees swayed gently overhead, and the sweet scent of mang...Read more