She looked at the half-finished painting with her head cocked to one side and a frown.
“What’s up with his tie? It looks like…I dunno…his intestines, maybe.”
“Mmm.”
“He has wide shoulders. They’re too wide, because his waist is narrow and it makes his head look small.”
“That was intentional. His head is actually quite big.”
“And he has a long neck. Too long for a Korean.”
“Who said he was Korean?”
“He’s not?”
“He is.”
“Naturally.”
“Why so?”
“Like you know any men that are not Korean.”
“Do too. A third of my coworkers are foreigners.”
“What kind of foreigners?”
“What do you mean what kind? Caucasian?”
“See? You don’t know any other Asian men.”
“I know two Chinese men.”
“Argh. Not the two guys I’ve dated!”
“No! I don’t coun’t them as people I know.”
“Good, because they don’t officially exist anymore.”
“Besides, it’s not supposed to be anyone in particular. It’s a surreal painting and not supposed to be proportional.”

I could not explain to her that he was my twin, my gemini. I could not explain to her how I could feel his emotions and read his thoughts, but like twins separated at birth that were not meant to see each other, I get sick whenever we are actually physically near. I could not tell her how I hated him because he was the male twin I could never be, and yet how I pined for my dear brother so much that my heart would ache when he is away, although then my body would be sound and healthy.