I Me My CTK

Started as a fb status. Turned out blog-worthy (I guess).

Wed, 12 Jun 2013 23:01:01 -0400

시간의 흐름을 멈추려 하는건 바보같은 짓이다.

그리고 시간과 덤으로 오는 변화를 무시하는 것은 더욱더 바보같고 쓸떼없는 짓이다.

그걸 알고서도 노력하는게 우리다.

이 글 마저…

기억나나? 옛날에 자신과 했던약속. 처음 미국에 왔을땐 한글을 절때 잊어버리지 않겠다고. 그리고 한국인이란 정체를 잃진 않겠다고.

And how many words did I have to remind myself to write this?

모든걸 다 잃진않았다. 아직은.

But slowly I’m getting there.

한국인 이란건 자랑스러운 것이다.

Yet I strive for a more “American” personality.

조금씩… 바뀌고있다. 시간이 흐르고 있다.

Little by little, I’m forgetting. Then I am stuck in a zone of non-entity.

The thing I believe myself to be differs from the person I wish to become. And the things I take pride in changes as my priorities do. I take comfort in things I used to fear, and fear things I used to take comfort in.

I dream in different colors and nobody can really remember when that exactly happens. One day you realize you’ve been changed for a long time. You remember what you used to dream about. Maybe I used to dream in Korean once. And although it does creep in once in a while, it is all but flushed out from my dreams. Not necessarily the sleepy kind of dreams either.

Trying to stop time is an idiotic thing to do.

And trying to stop the changes that come with it is even more idiotic and futile.

Well aware of this, we still try. We never stop trying.

Talk on Cutting People in Line.

Sun, 09 Jun 2013 16:26:29 -0400

Talk on Cutting People in Line.

Yet A Long Way To Go

Tue, 04 Jun 2013 21:41:52 -0400

I’ve definitely gotten better over the years. Only two years ago I was still very moody and antisocial. I hated everybody yet I wanted them to like me. Being extremely introverted and shy never helped. I was awkward all the way.

And compared to that, now I actually put effort into my friendships. I care to hang out with them frequently and take interest in their daily lives. I ignore awkward silences and make them feel better when they make an awkward comment. It’s not perfect, and I’m still a little bit shy, but I’ve gotten so much better. I can actually start conversations and be myself; that was a big step for me.

Still I have a long way to go. Friendships, I can manage. But relationships? Not at all.

Recently I’ve realized a recurring theme in my crushes/interests, etc.

I would like them because they’re cool, they started flirting first, they’re sweet, etc. I don’t fall for people, but I do have nice, pleasant feelings and want to be with them more. That’s completely normal.

I’m also comfortable with flirting. Not that great, but I can do it. And half the time it works (the other half not so much). Moreover, it’s fun for me. “The Chase”, in a way? That part is always fun. Seeing your friendship grow into something more, sharing nonchalant touches and secret looks.

Then comes the problem. I want to be in a relationship, but I don’t—do you know what I mean? I do like them, these crushes, and it’s great when that feeling is reciprocated.

But that’s when I start feeling reproachful. I guess you could say I was “bored” of them, but that’s not exactly it. It’s as if my brain (or heart whatever you believe) shuts down and says “nope, that’s as far as you’re going with him”. I’m not even going out with this person, and I start letting their little habits bother me. And it’s really not that big of a deal; but it bothers me. And I grow more and more distant.

Still, I think about them, and hope to be with them. But when I actually see them, my mind tells me that I actually don’t like them that much. Who do I believe? Is this a problem of high standards of ideal versions of these boys that only exist in my head? Or, at least I think, that I’m just afraid of being in a committed relationship. Especially now, that I’ll be going off to college soon and all.

Also I have the residues of my antisocial ways. Romantic relationships are something you share with one other person, and that person only. It’s too intimate. It’s too much for me. I can’t deal with that kind of closeness, that kind of vulnerability.

But I’m still very close with a few friends, and I don’t mind spending a whole day with them alone (although I might have used to mind few years ago). Is it just that friendships are of a whole different caliber than relationships?

Or maybe I just need to try as hard to beat this problem as I did with my adverseness to people in general. I need to try, and keep on trying until this… romantic stuff feels natural. To go on dates, and have long conversations… which only makes me shudder now. Sure, it’s great to fantasize about those things, because I am a big romantic after all. But reality is different. I can’t do a montage of muted conversations and laughter in reality and skip to other parts (which really sucks).

Anyways, I hope that one day I can overcome this great fear. I think only then I’ll be able to truly love a person. I am filled with so much love today, but I am unable to hand it out until then.

Giving Up

Sat, 01 Jun 2013 11:33:38 -0400

Sometimes, or frequently, I think about the possibility of me reaching my goals. Becoming an actress.

And after a while of thinking, a sudden wave of fear washes over me.

It wipes out my fantasies and spoken convictions, and has me staring into the eyes of reality.

I would shake my head and laugh, “How stupid I was to think I could actually do it. It’ll be impossible for me.”

Then I want to go on with my life by giving up on that dream, because that would be so much easier than failing. Giving up before I knew what I was giving up. Better than all the rejections and disdain. Better than the loneliness of knowing none of my friends or family have or will ever walk the same path. I get scared thinking about that. Unsure.

But I try my hardest to ignore those feelings. I refuse to believe it as reality or being rational, and instead pin it all on my insecurities. So in the end, I still don’t know what the right choice is here.

I just know that if I give up now, I’ll be nothing but a coward and reaffirm all those beliefs of my passion “just being a phase”.

Sickness

Fri, 17 May 2013 13:18:20 -0400

I’ve posted something similar on suffering and torture a few weeks/months back.

But the reason I’m doing this is because I’ve been sick for the past two days (and possibly still sick).

I don’t know what caused it, but I had severe nausea yesterday and vomited a few times. I even tried to go home early from school—which I was not able to do due to school policies and ended with me throwing up before class in front of many, many people.

When I came home, it just turned worse. Hours upon hours of pain and discomfort that no medicine could better. It’s like staring into a dark tunnel hoping it’ll end soon but it never does. Sleep can’t take your mind away because you wake up feeling like you’ve slept a year away to find that it’s been an hour. Oh, the endless torture.

I think the worst thing about being sick is the helplessness. The fact that you can’t say anything other than “I hate being sick” because you truly, truly loathe it. And people respond “Who does?” but they can never understand unless they vividly remember an episode similar to yours.

You are restricted by the rules of “you must rest” when you are sick. And those who work, go to school, they envy those who are sick and resting. To spend a day away in a comfortable bed. But it’s not always that easy.

I had to rest because I physically could not do anything else. I couldn’t even read or do my math homework because even using my brain was too much for me to handle. Even watching television hurt my head and I could do nothing but helplessly stare into the void above my bed because pain won over sleep. And the headaches begin because of the immobility and restlessness to which the pillows and blankets can bring no relief.

That’s the thing. You’re stuck there. On your bed. And you’re helpless, you cannot escape from this torture that is sickness. You lie wide-awake, constantly thinking about the fact that you’re sick. You can’t distract yourself because distractions hurt and the sickness wins over everything else, every other thought you’ve ever had. It leaves you writhing on the bed with the mind inundated by the words i hate this it hurts hurts get me out hurts please i hate.

So that’s how I spent yesterday. Today I woke up having starved a whole 24 hours. I don’t feel nauseous anymore, but my stomach still hurts and I feel like I’m constantly shivering. I can barely open doors because I’m so weak. And I wonder if that’s because I have no food in me to convert to energy. But I’m still not hungry and there’s a plate of food in front of me that I really don’t want to eat. I’m debating whether I should eat it, and there’s a mild discomfort whenever I bring the food to my lips. Is it just trauma or is my body still warning me not to eat? I can’t tell. All I know is I don’t want to be sick anymore.

It's That Time Again

Sun, 12 May 2013 00:37:15 -0400

With summer fast approaching, my mood is getting more hopeful and optimistic. I feel more alive, younger, and filled with life. There are so many things to be experienced, so many things to learn. So many upcoming events like prom and graduation. Things I’ll never experience again. People I’ll never see again. Many good byes, and many hellos.

I’m the Little Engine That Could, I think I can, I think I can, I think… But could I? Climb the insurmountable mountain of hopes and dreams and fantasies never to come true?

Reality says no. But my heart says yes, and isn’t that always the cliched problem? I feel it from the recesses of my soul. I feel my entire being glowing with possibility and hidden talent that only I seem to be able to detect. I convince myself that if I try hard enough, try long enough, I could achieve what nobody thought I could do. They’d laughed at me. They’d stepped on my dreams. They’d almost won—but in the end it was me that climbed that mountain.

But of course, there is just another dream of mine. The green light glowing at the end of the pier. Something so far away, but so close to my heart that it almost feels real. Then again, something so perfect can’t ever be real and the light loses its meaning one way or the other.

Summer is almost here. And I cast away these voices of reason and dive right into the delusions I content myself with. Inspirations appear before me like friendly apparitions and I take solace in their company, because they are proof of my worth. I know they fade away and disappear in the winter but for now, they are here. I am valuable. I feel great. I am at the top of the mountain.

So this is what I did at Culture Fest (me being the girl in a...

Fri, 19 Apr 2013 20:26:00 -0400

So this is what I did at Culture Fest (me being the girl in a white top and hot pink skirt).

It was really fun, and while it was really stressful sometimes, I think in the end it was all worth it. I’m not usually one to claim all credit, but… this show wouldn’t have been possible without me. Gathering people, learning and teaching dances… Karen (the one in the blue skirt) and I came up with this idea together, but I don’t think she could have pulled it off. Throughout all the weeks when we had practice, she would get increasingly annoyed while everybody slacked off—but couldn’t do anything about it. On the other hand I, being the person that can’t handle getting pissed off, I wouldn’t mind going full bitch-mode (okay, maybe that’s too strong a term—I wasn’t mean or anything. Just very stern).

I guess being the “leader” though made me stressed out a little too. But I couldn’t have trusted it to others because I really wanted to get this show together (and it was ALMOST perfect—do you see how we don’t sync up at the last Pretty Girl part? Yeah, they never did learn to match up to the song…)

But I wish they can know how glad I am that they all agreed to do this in the first place. I don’t think any one of them (except Karen) thought we were going to be seriously doing this. Another dream, another failed attempt. But no, not this time. We practiced. We stayed hours after school every day. We went home in the dark, sweating. And we pulled this off. I’m so proud of each and every single one of them.

So by the end of the dance, I was panting, sweating, and grinning. My face was flushed from the heat and the dance. But I didn’t have a chance to settle down, because now my mind was occupied with one single question: What happened to my friend?

Let me explain. Before I went up on stage, my friend, Melanie came up to our group and pulled me and Karen out. We’re some of her closest friends. She made sure nobody else was listening and told us that she had to talk to us about something after we perform. At first, I thought it was about her crush—but then I realized she was way too serious for that. Karen protested a little, saying things like, why not now? or can it wait till tomorrow? Melanie gave her a good glare and said, “Karen, we were friends since middle school, and you can’t do this single thing for me?” (I knew Melanie could be somewhat sensitive sometimes). We agreed to meet her on the staircase after the performance.

Karen tried to rush me to the staircase, but I didn’t want to go yet. There was an act after ours, with more KPOP dances. And these kids were pretty legit—so I wanted to stay and watch. I felt a little guilty, but it wasn’t as if Melanie would be gone in a few minutes. So I convinced Karen to come back and watch half of the remaining show with me.

After they danced to Psy’s Gentleman, we rushed out. Karen muttered something about Melanie’s crush—and I secretly doubted it in my head because Melanie wouldn’t be so serious over something like a crush.

We approached the door to the staircase, and I saw Kevin (the guy in our group) standing there with a bouquet of flowers. I saw Melanie standing not far off, a smile playing on her face (and right then I knew she was acting all along). But I had my doubts—was the flowers for me or Karen? I didn’t want to do anything stupid.

But Karen ran off with Melanie, giggling (she also knew all along). Kevin then went on with his little speech, and asked me to prom. What could I do but accept? Then we went to find the rest of the group.

By the time we reached the auditorium, the show was over and everybody were filing out. Then people started congratulating me and Kevin. I replied “thanks” to a few familiar faces—some of which I had seen earlier that day, asking which flowers were the prettiest. I had innocently assumed that they were doing some sort of a bet.

So that wraps up my culture fest night. There’s a part two to this Kevin thing, but I don’t want to ruin this mood so I’ll post that later.

So what has been up with me lately?

Tue, 16 Apr 2013 21:20:32 -0400

Well, I don’t post unless something major has happened. Plenty major things happened, but I didn’t post because I was lazy. Also, this post won’t really talk about the major things (i.e. I’ve decided that I will attend Brandeis University for the next four years of my life. Also, I’ll be participating in my school’s Culture Festival this Thursday, and for me that’s a huge deal).

I want to talk about little things. Like how I just… can’t seem to be happy for a full 24 hours. Every single day, something ruins it for me and I just want to go to sleep and never have to wake up and face this crappy life.

And the following events are so stupid to the point of hilarity, but who’s laughing? Not me. I’ve yelled and I’ve cried and I just want this week to be over.

Sunday. Not doing much, just sitting around, watching shows. Yeah, it’s my fault that I left my math homework to the last minute. But I hate it when I get stuck on the very first question (I solved the rest though). I was stuck for an hour. I couldn’t go on. My tiny living room walls were closing in on me, I was cranky and tired and angry, so of course my mom yells at me to stop complaining. I had to go outside and sit on my front steps because I just couldn’t take it. I yelled for a while, cried for a while, and then talked to myself for a while. It didn’t really resolve anything, but at least I was tired enough to come back and finish my homework.

Monday. Having to go to school again is always bad. I practiced my butt off for the culture fest, recording our group on my phone. I got home to realize the file was way too big to do anything with it. Then I got all happy because we decided to eat McDonalds for dinner. They screwed up my order, and I just had to have such high expectations that day. I couldn’t eat it and had to walk 30 minutes to the McDonalds to change it back. With my hair wet. I’ll admit, I cried a little. I get frustrated easily.

Today. Oh, today. It wasn’t such a big deal today either. But I really want to just kill myself right now (but don’t worry, I won’t). Good enough day. Psychology test. Exhausted the whole day, sleeping in class. But I finished math homework at school. Then more practice for Culture fest. And guess what? My mom decides to come to main st! She barely gets out of the house and I just absolutely LOVE hanging out with my mom. So I was so excited.

She arrives, and we look around for a while. But by then, I’m already in a bad mood because my library books are so damn heavy. Then I decide to buy to pairs of skinny jeans for $20. Well guess what. It wasn’t $20. More like $26. And the store has a policy of “once we sell you something there is no way I’m giving back money even if you JUST made the purchase RIGHT NOW, here at the counter”. So yeah. I was pretty pissed.

Then I go to eat dinner with my mom. And she says she won’t be coming to see me at culture fest no matter how much I beg. The last time she came to see me at school for any reason? Oh, that’s right. Sixth grade, elementary school graduation. Thanks mom, for all your continued support. (And no, she won’t be coming to my high school graduation either. I’ll be all alone as I always am. As my brother never is.) Did I mention the culture fest is a big deal for me? I put so much of my time and effort into it. I don’t hate my mom though. It just makes me hate the world and I pity myself for having to live in it.

Right, so then I come back home and try on the jeans. They’re too big, and don’t fit. Great. Just fucking perfect. Cherry on the top of my day.

Now I should go and do the mounds of homework before I crash on my bed and suffer from insomnia till 3. Oh, what horrors will await me tomorrow?

College Rejections

Thu, 28 Mar 2013 19:36:12 -0400

My rejections to acceptances ratio so far is 3:1 (actually 6:2).

Hm. Not bad? But bad. But… not.

All my rejections are from Ivys and MIT. Which was kind of expected. But not. Do you know what I mean?

I mean, I at least expected Cornell. Maybe Brown. Or, just maybe, I got extremely lucky and get into Columbia.

But that’s the thing, this whole process isn’t just luck. I have very uninteresting extracurriculars and my essays were self-edited. And so I expected this result. I’m not surprised or depressed or disappointed, even. I knew what was coming (on the other hand, if I get rejected from Amherst tomorrow I’ll definitely be disappointed).

The point of this whole post is, I don’t know what to feel.

I really can’t figure out what it is that I’m feeling right now. I’d have said disappointment, but my head strongly denies it. Sadness? So I supposed on my facebook status, but I was just kidding. Because not a single tear was shed or will ever be shed. Despair? But why would I feel despair? I already have two other options, hopefully more tomorrow.

Bur I think if I wanted to, I could definitely will myself to cry. I’m not sad, but I could be sad—really sad, if I wanted to. Is that strange? I tend to feel like this a lot. Very ambiguous. I could feel one thing, I know I could, but I choose not to. And I guess choosing not to feel sad is a good thing. I can choose to console myself in the fact that I have Brandeis to fall back on, and that I was going far away for college anyways.

I could cry, but I won’t. The only side effect is feeling awkward in my own body. I wonder if my mom notices it? Laughing a bit too hard unintentionally, getting up to go somewhere then changing my mind, looking lost from time to time. But not lost as in “my life is ruined”, but a normal looking lost—like “should I go drink something or maybe do homework or just return to tumblr or wait what was I even thinking about”.

This post is all over the place. I’m sorry. I feel jittery.

I just—I just don’t know how to feel about this. I mean, a girl from my school posted a very suicidal status and disappeared (I hope she doesn’t do anything rash). I’m certainly reacting better than her. But I still don’t know. I don’t know. I just. Don’t know.

I hope this ambiguous feeling passes soon.

Miserables d'Stuy

Tue, 26 Mar 2013 17:24:41 -0400

So I’m producing a Stuyvesant version of Les Miserables 9Stuy being my high school name).

I can’t contain my excitement. Really, you don’t understand how important this is to me. This is a really, really big deal.

I thought that the only cool thing I would do in Stuy would be participating in the Culture Festival this year. But no. I am producing a parody musical. I am producing a parody musical. I am producing a parody musical!

This is such a big deal for me. Because what have I made so far? A gangnam style video? Sure, it’s got a lot of views, but… It wasn’t anything special. It wasn’t really our creation. We learned the dance and made the video. A lot of work did go into it, but it wasn’t really… ours.

But this? Stuy Miserables? I wrote it. Sure, I’m using Les Miserables songs. But no, I rewrote the lyrics! I casted the members! I have a filming director and a musical director working under me! And they’re not just some friends that are interested—they’re the real deal! My filming director’s been doing video stuff since God knows when, and I know for sure that my musical director is an absolute genius. I trust her to make the chorus sound amazing. Not only that, our chorus is the best of the best in the school. School chorus, acapella group, band—best of the best of the best.

This is going to be big.

This is going to be legit.

The only thing that worries me… is, well, me. Because I didn’t really think this was going to be so big. So, naturally, I casted myself as the main character. And I’m sure I can do a great job in the role, that is, acting—the only thing is, I’m not too sure on my singing abilities.

Like I said, the chorus is going to be made up of musical geniuses. And me? Well… I’m not. But I’m hoping that my musical director can give me some tips and whatnot. (Oh, and she’s also in a main role too.)

I really hope this turns out well. I will be so proud.

Bad Breakups

Sat, 23 Mar 2013 23:20:09 -0400

I always see those hipster break up posts on Tumblr. They all usually have the same message, or same undertones. You know, the typical, cliche things. How every little thing reminds them about all the good memories, and perhaps a little of how the relationship deteriorated.

Well, I’ve only ever had one legitimate break up, and it ended very well. Because we never cared for each other much in the first place. It lasted maybe a month or two.

But along with that break up, while I was still with my ex, I unknowingly went through another one. And it turns out, break ups aren’t easily forgotten. It’s true, all those quotes online. If you truly loved somebody, break ups are always bad. And it never really goes away.

Let me clarify: I lost a friend.

I was pretty cool about the whole situation in the beginning. I thought it would blow over. After all, five years of close, intimate friendship must have meant something Right? Right?

Wrong.

I guess it was just so easy for her to cut me out of her life like that.

I’m angry. And I have every reason to be. I gave her a chance. Many chances. And yet, she decided I wasn’t good enough for her. After everything I’ve put up with. I’m stupid? I’m not a good friend? Well how about you? Have you ever apologized for anything you ever did to me? And then how about me—apologizing to you when things weren’t even my fault.

And yeah, I was cool with it for a while. But that was only because I was still giving you a chance back then. A chance to come back.

Now, we can never be what we once was. It’s way too late for that. I’m angry. And so, so sad. It’s tragic that all we built up amounted to nothing in the end. It counted for absolutely nothing. You appreciated nothing.

The things I’m going through, I guess it’s just like the hipster definition of a normal break up (fyi, I don’t mean to use the term “hipster” in any derogatory way—I just can’t find a better way to put it).

Sometimes I hear songs on my iPod and think of you. Sometimes I go into certain stores and remember the times we had together. Sometimes I see my friends—but no. They’re not really my friends. They’re yours. And they remind me of you.

And it doesn’t hurt—not anymore. But just a little bit sad. Like an echo of a heartbreak. Of something I thought might have lasted forever. It was simply a tragedy. And it’s too late to remedy that. Don’t blame me, because I’ve given you so many chances. And I blame myself a lot. But for this? No. I will not take the blame. This was all on you.

And all I can ask is, why did you do this to me?

How The Tables Have Turned

Tue, 19 Mar 2013 21:52:39 -0400

A lot of things can change in four years.

I really thought they wouldn’t. I remember remarking to my dad one night, in a bout of annoyance at my life in general, “It’s just as well if I never go back to school; nothing will change by the time I graduate.” To which he replied in a surprisingly sagacious manner: “You may think that now, but once you get there you’ll realize that you’ve gone through changes without having noticed it.” (Side note, that is probably the only thing my dad has ever said to me that I liked).

Now, seeing the finish line only a few months ahead, I finally am starting to see the changes.

I was so socially inexperienced back then. Freshman year I stayed close to my middle school friends, and rationalized that there was no point to making new friends. The friends I’ve made, I didn’t connect with—which is neither of our faults.

Sophomore year I was obsessed with friends. My middle school friends has settled in—so why haven’t I? I realized there was something wrong with me, perhaps, in ways I couldn’t help. Awkward. Shy. Antisocial. This led to the question I’ve asked my dad, and this was one of the worst year’s I’ve ever experienced. I don’t know if what I had would be a case of mild depression, but I certainly wasn’t happy most of the year. All I remember of that year is endless darkness and despair of which I couldn’t climb out of. I wanted to belong, and I felt like I fit nowhere. Belonging was more important to me than being myself.

Then Junior year came around. By this time, I was already changed. Still shy, still a bit awkward, but I’ve developed a more concrete sense of self. I had a pretty good idea of who I was and what I wanted (although I was wrong; but I won’t go into that now). With college applications just approaching, I focused more on school and less on popularity. I stopped looking up to bad people and looking down on good people (which is what I realize I’ve been doing). Moreover, I think I finally managed to “be myself” and open up to others. Until then, I was wary or perhaps afraid; always telling myself that “they’re not good enough to be my friends” or “we just don’t fit”. Still, it wasn’t completely gone. I still looked unfavorably on those select few who I’ve known since Freshman year; they reminded myself too much of the “old” me. I didn’t give them a second chance, even if they did nothing wrong.

Now it’s Senior year. I’ve been skipping all the summers which were probably the most important parts of my life. Just to summarize, the summer before senior year gave me the most confidence. And some things don’t go away. I’m still pretty quiet. I still am reluctant to speak up in class. But I am constantly surprising myself. I find it much easier to open up, and relate to others. And if my participation in English class is any indicator, I’ve gotten pretty unafraid of forming coherent opinions and repeating them to the class (could it be that this blog helped me?).

I’ve changed, and I think, for the better. This is such a unique experience to me that I almost don’t want anybody else to understand it. But you probably do, if you’re my age or older. You’ve probably gone through some changes similar or much more dramatic. At least, according to my Psychology class I’m taking now, adolescents do this all the time (I read the textbook in a state of horrified agreement, wondering how these researchers knew so much about how I thought).

With the change I’ve gone through, and that my peers have gone through, it’s produced some strange results. Freshman year, second term, I made an “acquaintance” in english class whom I’ve never cared to speak to again. Last year, when I made my closest friend in high school, it turned out the “acquaintance” was her close friend. Now we’re all pretty close friends, alongside another girl I’ve met during sophomore year.

Also, second term Freshman year, I made friends with this guy. He was pre-pubescent and rather tiny-looking. Then after that, we’ve constantly had classes together or saw each other from time to time (in the hallway, during breakfast, etc). He always greeted me and I found it only polite to greet him back. And, maybe I was mistaken, but I could have sworn he had a crush on me during sophomore year (we had classes together, he used to follow me to breakfast and my locker—despite my annoyance). I tried to keep him at arm’s length after that, and barely saw him Junior year. During his absence my irritation at him dissipated and when I got my Psychology class together with him this year, we sat at the same table. I was still reluctant to be close to him, but that lasted maybe a week, if even that long. Was I always blind to his charms or had he changed? He’s a great friend right now, and although I don’t particularly like him, he’s a pretty awesome guy.

Of course, there are more people I’ve talked to Freshman year that I’ve never talked to again. Oh sure, sometimes we say “hi” but I sometimes avoid them. Not because of the social situation, but simply because I wouldn’t enjoy my time with them. We have different interests. The interests I might have liked back then, but not anymore.

If there’s one thing I realized though, is that the last year of any school is always a time for second chances. Those people you’ve always hated don’t seem too bad once you realize you may never see them again. You start to miss all the years that’s passed by without your notice. You wonder why you’ve wasted all this time. And I wonder what I meant by “focus on the present and not on the past” when I repeated it to myself so many times during Freshman year. Because I surely did not focus on the “present” if the past is all I can yearn for right now.

Then again, maybe it’s just in human nature to yearn for something they can never have back again.

So Close, Yet So Far

Sat, 16 Mar 2013 01:14:42 -0400

I make decisions every day to forgo certain opportunities. By going straight home when I could have bought myself a snack, I save money but lose the chance to treat myself. Or it could be bigger decisions, such as deciding not to even apply to NYU because I know I can never afford it.

But this decision is a little different. Because it’s a big decision—using a good chunk of my money or not—but I actually have the money. NYU, I simply cannot afford. Bubble tea—I won’t miss that $3. But this?

I want to go away on an overnight trip with my friends, after we graduate. Living in NYC, the biggest attraction around here, is, well… here.

We considered a lot of things, and decided that we really wanted to go to Disney World. I have never been there, and I don’t want to be too old to enjoy it when I do visit someday. So I did all the research, calculated and recalculated, and the vacation fees come out to be about $1500, provided we try to save as much money as possible.

I have the money. I can spend it without going starving or homeless. I can still attend college. I really, can do it.

But I won’t. I thought I would. Then I thought harder. I realized I could never commit to spending so much money as that. Yes, my monthly rent is about that much, but that’s different. I may be turning 18 soon, but I’m far from an able, working adult. I’ve scraped this sum for the last two years, thinking of fees I would have to pay in college.

And if I spend it now? I can’t empty out my stash like that, not even for Disney World. It’ll be fun, it’ll make a lot of memories… but I really can’t commit. I’m not going to bet a whole week of fun on this. I’ll barely be able to sleep the week, trying to do everything to get the best out of the price. I’ll come home tired and weary and penniless.

As attractive as that sounds, maybe I’ll save it for the future. The part that really hurts me though, is that I’m actually the person making this decision. I won’t have fun. I won’t take this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity (because I’ll never be this young again or even go with the same friends). I’m not denying myself this opportunity because it’s impossible. I’m denying myself like I would deny the sip of bubble tea after school.

Is this the right choice? Because laziness have failed me in the past, and let too many good opportunities go by. But I don’t want to end up tired and miserable after my vacation. I want to go to Disney World when I have enough money that I don’t mind getting the full 8 hours everyday.

Am I fit to make this choice? But of course I am. Because who else would? There’s nobody to follow around anymore, not really. Not on big decisions. Because whatever I decide, I know I’ll stick to it and nobody will be able to change it.

I can totally go to Disney World.

But I won’t.

And that makes me sad.

Home

Thu, 07 Mar 2013 22:01:24 -0500

My heart says no, but my head says yes?

I’ve been faced with a dilemma today. I went over to my friend’s house after school today so we can eat dinner together. This isn’t something that happens often—actually, it never happens. Because I never have the time to dilly-dally like that. But being a senior and all, it’s pretty much a free-for-all.

So we cooked and ate dinner, watched Ted, and it was already 8:30, For those that don’t know, it’s snowing in NYC right now (there’s supposedly a storm but it’s not too bad—but still bad). So naturally I didn’t want to go outside and get home.

And all the factors were against me going home—my friend had contact solution, extra cases, change of clothes, extra toothbrushes—everything. This time, it wasn’t even laziness that kept me home—this time, laziness actually made me want to stay at my friend’s house.

And although I fought tooth and nails with my mom over the phone to let me stay over, my heart wasn’t in it. Although it made perfect, rational sense for me to stay over, study for the test with my friend, and go to school with her (her house is closer to school than mine), I just actually wanted to go home.

I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean. It could be a good thing, like the fact I care about home and the value of a family. Or it could just mean that I’m still afraid to make decisions for myself and don’t trust myself to be independent.

Well either, or both, ways, I’m home now. But I might stay over next week—although if it’s planned, it’s not half as fun.

Pretty much everything you write about is what goes through my mind on a daily basis. Especially that one post about realizing you can find a relationship any time you want but also realizing that doesn't necessairly mean that relationship will be with someone you want to be with. It's difficult to find someone you like who also likes you back the same way.

Sun, 03 Mar 2013 19:40:24 -0500

Wow, I’m glad to hear that you agree. I didn’t think anybody actually read through my posts.

But yeah. There are always going to be “fish in the sea”, but that doesn’t mean you’ll meet the right one. Hopefully though, someday, we’ll all find that person we really connect with.

Growing Up

Sat, 23 Feb 2013 11:02:54 -0500

More and more recently, I’ve been thinking about living on my own. I’ve made a mental list of things I’ll have to do myself when I’m all “grown up”.

For example, I’ll have to learn how to trim my own eyebrows. I can’t ask my mom to do it anymore, especially if I’m miles away in college.

And what if a spider or some bug appears in my room? I’d have to kill it myself. Even worse, what if it’s a centipede? I hope god’s more merciful than that.

Anyways, I’ve been thinking about this stuff a lot. It seems natural to me that I would be, because I don’t want to wake up one day and realize I can’t do a single thing by myself.

It must feel great to be self-sufficient. But it should also be really lonely. Because I won’t need other people anymore. And it’s not like I’m a great extrovert. If I’m self sufficient, I don’t know how close I’m going to get with other people. Because that’s the thing about me. I can do perfectly well alone. But I choose to depend on others because of the bond it brings.

I don’t know. I’ve just been thinking a lot. I guess I’m growing up again. For better or for worse.

Desensitization

Wed, 20 Feb 2013 22:14:46 -0500

So in Psychology, you learn about how watching violence and things on tv will desensitize people to such things.

And seeing as how I can sit through any horror movies without flinching once (which is more than I can say for most people I know), I wonder how badly the media has desensitized me.

I can’t help but wonder, how would I actually react if I were to witness a violent event?

Perhaps I see somebody get pushed into the train tracks. Or maybe see them violently shot to death. Of course, the scariest part is, both of these situations are very possible to witness if I just wander into the wrong neighborhood just minutes away.

I don’t think I’d be traumatized at all. I feel like I should be, in order to be a normal teenage girl or something. But really, I wouldn’t be. I would just happen to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. I can’t stop crime and it happens all the time. (but of course this would be a whole other story if it had been happening to me)

Even so, unless I have somebody out there who really wants to kill me, I wouldn’t take it so hard. If I was just an innocent victim, to say, rape. It’s horrible to think about, talk about, etc, I know. I’m sorry (should I have put some trigger warning?). But I already live in fear of that. How much more fearful can I be?

God hope that that kind of stuff never happens to me. But even if it does, no real harm done. It would be a different case if somebody decided to slit my face open. That would suck and I’d probably be depressed for a while. But I wouldn’t feel “impure” or ashamed. If anything, I’d be enraged. But he’ll probably have great years in prison and that’s that.

Anyways, this post turned out really weird. But desensitization. Serious problem or harmless immunization?

Diversity

Sat, 09 Feb 2013 01:12:54 -0500

It’s more important than I thought.

I recall a comic I read here on Tumblr. There’s an aged white male who believes in white supremacy—involved in the KKK and the Nazi party and whatnot. Then he takes a plane ticket and travels the world. Traveling has completely cured him of ignorance.

I think I’ve been really underplaying the importance of diversity in my life. And I think a big part of the reason is because I’m a minority. That sounds strange, but let me explain.

As a minority, and many people here, in America, still seems to look down on me (although not so much in New York). All I see when I turn on the tv are white people; a great amount of pride swells in me whenever I see an Asian person doing my dream job.

That pride is what caused this ugly ignorance of mine to fester and grow.

I am proud of my culture, and there is nothing wrong with that. But over the years I have developed a certain arrogance about it. I also have prejudices with many other topics, but let’s focus on race for now.

I look up to Americans. And most Europeans. This is a false idolization. I (used to) find myself beneath them. Not as an individual but as a people.

Same goes for those races I used to think were below the Koreans. I’m even ashamed to type this statement out and I really do hope you all realize I never expressed these feelings in any way, and they no longer control my mind. And although I won’t point out which races, I thought them below me—us.

Of course though, I was never outwardly racist. I might have been ignorant but I wasn’t mean to people (although words sometimes slipped out too fast for me to catch).

In my defense, it was a self-defense in a way. I didn’t want to be ignored because of my race. So I ignored others to raise myself above them.

In any case, that slowly changed over the years. I can say I was the most ignorant in eighth grade. I was in the graduating class, and I felt like I was at the top of the world. That was the worst time for the openness of my mind.

In high school, I was forced to interact with other races (mostly because most of the Koreans were—well, let’s say incompatible with me). And slowly I came to realize there’s not much of a difference between us.

I wasn’t sure that I’ve learned this until now. Even more recently, this year, I’ve been more social in general. And more accepting of others. More considerate. I don’t know where that came out of, but it just happened over the course of four years.

If I was told to pinpoint an exact moment of this realization though, it would have to be last Thursday night. I was invited to attend a cultural festival at another school. I kind of didn’t want to go for two reasons. One, I wouldn’t get my homework done or get very little sleep for school next day. Two, I didn’t care about other cultures. It didn’t interest me, and I just assumed it won’t be something I’d enjoy.

Well, I can tell you that I’ve enjoyed it a whole lot. Actually, it was stunningly amazing (and these are just high school students! Think of what the professionals can do!).

So now I’m in the process of extending my horizons. I want to learn about the different cultures. Not just to be part of a group or community, but just because I would honestly enjoy their way of life.

I didn’t realize how badly I needed some diversity in my life.

Her

Fri, 08 Feb 2013 00:28:46 -0500

(The following is my submission into a writing scholarship program. It is a memoir.)

Her

By Eunji Christine Kim

Without her. I am without her for the first time in my life.

I don’t have a mother.

Day in and day out, I walk a few blocks to my new elementary school. I say my goodbyes to my mom who walks me to the very steps. A few weeks in and I already hate it. A few weeks in and I am giving my mother a convincing smile that hurts my cheeks. A few weeks in and I’m more alone than ever.

Don’t laugh, Christine. I’m serious. I don’t have a mother. The woman I lived with—your grandmother—she’s not my mother.

I make the unfortunate mistake of catching a cold on my first day of school. My nose drips so much I swear I lost my body weight in mucus. I am a blubbering mess and nobody comes to my help. I don’t have a tissue and I don’t know what to do. Then the familiar face next to me, my supposed “friend”, yells out: “Eww Christine, that’s gross!”

The teacher does not notice the whole class turning to look at me. I’m caught like a deer in headlights—a deer with a grossly dripping nose. I am confused as that deer must be. They point and laugh. A boy in the front row calls me an immature nickname. Soon the name spreads throughout the classroom and I hear it between their laughs.

These kids are vicious. They never forget.

My parents were vicious. I would never forget the sort of things they put me through. Christine, you already know that I’m not very fond of my parents. But it goes deeper than just differences of opinions. I hate my mother. And I hate my father for marrying her and letting her treat me like that.

My real mother died when I was just a baby. They told me it was from a snakebite, but who knows? They’ve kept this fact to themselves until the day I got married. How could I trust them with anything?

When my father first took me to meet his soon-to-be wife (who also happens to be my biological aunt), I saw that she already had two children of her own. Both were slightly younger than I was. That woman, upon seeing me, took me to some room at her house, piled with laundry. Honestly, I was a bit excited. I thought, ‘Maybe she wants to bond with me over folding laundry!’

All she did was push me into the room, give an order to fold the clothes and leave to talk to my father.

My dad isn’t home when I return from school. Then again, he’s almost always working. But my mom readily awaits me. She tells me she has counted to infinity waiting for me to come back. I laugh and tell her that it’s impossible to count to infinity—but my laughter is strained. I don’t want to talk about school. I am ashamed.

I tell her the good things. I tell her about the picture books. I tell her about the classroom. I also complain that there are no toys at school. She doesn’t seem to notice my underlying distress, and I secretly hope she never finds out.

I don’t tell her about my new nickname. I don’t tell her that I don’t have any friends. I don’t tell her that my “friend” had made new friends. I don’t tell her what my ex-friend told me: “When you come to school tomorrow, we’re gonna beat you up.”

I watch her cook up a snack for me while I watch T.V. I am happiest here.

That woman would make snacks for her children. I was never invited to these “family” things. It wasn’t that she hated me. She just didn’t care. And Christine, the only thing worse than hatred is indifference. I wasn’t her child, no matter how many years she was married to my father. I always watched them from far away, hoping that someday I could have a mother make me snacks.

The only family I had as a kid was the house dog. I’ve already told you about all the adventures we had together. And that wretched woman took that away from me too. One day I came home from school only to find that the only thing I’ve ever loved was sent to the pound.

I come home from school yet again. The days are almost routine to me now. My mom walks me to school and I give her a smile with too much teeth. She makes jokes to me through the chain-linked fence and my giggle sounds like a sob.

I sit quietly in my seat hoping that nobody notices me today. But of course they do. They start taunting me again with that horrid nickname. It had been a few weeks. I tear up at the thought that it would never stop. The group of girls are back. They steal my stuff and hit me on the back of my head. I stifle my cries and try not to be seen.

She never saw me as one of her own. At best, I was some sort of live-in housemaid. I saw her spoil her children as I swept the floors and did the chores. She said it was because I was the eldest. I might have believed her if she showed me even a trace of affection.

There were times when it got really bad. Countless nights I would stand in the kitchen alone, holding a knife in my hand. Wondering how much it would hurt to commit suicide. Can you imagine? Such a young girl, thinking such vicious thoughts. Of course, I never got enough courage to actually do it.

I never get the courage to tell my mom about the bullying. I don’t want her to trouble herself with it. But above all else, I don’t want to disappoint her. I want to be a normal, fun-loving child. I want her to have the perfect daughter.

And as fun-loving goes, today I am that child. It’s a nice Sunday afternoon. My family just finished spending the morning watching some T.V. shows, as we do every Sunday mornings. My mom decides it’s the perfect weather for the park. While she gets ready, I am already out the door of my apartment and wait for her on the steps of the building, overlooking the parking lot. There are boys playing soccer. I recognize one from my class and our eyes meet.

An indescribable amount of fear slowly builds up inside me. I hear him calling to me, but the sound is muffled as if I’m submerged in water. Please please please go away and leave me alone. Please God, anyone, please, don’t let my mother see this. Dread envelops me in its stifling grasp.

“Who’s that?” The boy’s friend asks him. He explains that I’m in his class and tells him, tells the rest of his group, of my shameful identity.

I turn away into the apartment garden and crouch down. Maybe if I turn my back like this, he will go away. Maybe if I pretend to stare at the dirt long enough, he will go away. But he doesn’t and I hear my nickname yelled louder and louder and comes closer and closer. It almost drowns out the sound of feet coming down the staircase.

Anyways, Christine, I guess all I’m trying to say is that I never had a real family. But when it comes down to it, family is all you have. The people that loves you unconditionally no matter what. That’s why I keep telling you not to fight with your brother. When I’m dead and gone, he’ll be all you have. Keep that in mind. Nobody, not even your future husband, can love you like a true family can. You can always rely on your family.

I don’t turn back, but I see the dirt turn darker as a person leans over me. She is not happy. I hear her outraged voice. “Christine, do you know what these boy are calling you?”

I play dumb and pretend I never noticed it before. I stay silent.

She gets frustrated with my silence and faces the boy. He looks at her with his stupid soccer ball in his stupid hands and has a stupid look on his face. I grin inside my head. Oh, he’s gonna get it.

You can always trust your family.

My mother chastises him for calling me names. Her temper’s aimed at somebody other than me for once. And strangely, I feel proud. I stand up and try to hide a smug look that tries to creep onto my face. After this, I bet he’ll never call me names ever again.

At the same time, I feel a lump in my throat. It was so easy. Why hadn’t I realized this before? I had ruled out my mom as a solution from the beginning. But in hindsight, telling her was the only rational solution. She would always stand up for me. She could always protect me.

They’ll always be there for you.

My mom dismisses the boys to return to their soccer game. They don’t give me even a glare. They won’t bother me again. I can tell my mom’s still feeling uneasy. I feel a flood of remorse for not telling her earlier.

What was there to fear? My mom loves me unconditionally. I can trust her to always be there for me. That was more than what my mom ever had, as I would find out almost a decade later. She would tell me her childhood story, prefacing with the words “I don’t have a mother.” It would be one dark night in November, when the T.V. screen was showing a blue and red map of the U.S. The impending excitement of having the first black president would be pushed to the very back of my mind as I quietly cry over everything my mother lacked as a child.

And everything she lacked were all the things I found in her.

So after the admonishment, my mom and I make our way to the park in the brilliant sunlight, hand in hand. I would never doubt her again. I am the happiest with her.

Romantic Relationships

Sat, 26 Jan 2013 17:53:43 -0500

Since I had that boyfriend during last summer, I’ve been pretty happy with myself. Prior to that, I was beginning to wonder if there was something innately wrong with me that made guys avoid me. Turns out there’s no such thing and relationships are very possible for me.

That lifted my spirits. I felt like I never had to feel alone again. I mean, if I wanted a boyfriend, I could just go and get one.

Still, as I smiled and thought such things, an unsettling feeling started building up. But why worry? There wasn’t anything wrong with me. Insecure? No. Lonely? No. I should be completely satisfied with my love life, although I don’t have a boyfriend. I was single because I like being single, not because I couldn’t get a boyfriend.

And just now did I realize what that unsettling feeling was.

The fact that I can get a boyfriend doesn’t mean I’ll get a good one. Because, being completely honest, I think there are a lot of guys out there who’ll be willing to date me. But do I want to date them? Probably not.

The fact is, I can’t get guys I like. But I guess I have a good historical statistic so far, because a 100% of my past relationships were mutual interest. That being said, I’ve only had one relationship.

Hopefully I’ll never date anybody I don’t want to date. Then again, that doesn’t sound too bad. My past relationship was too much arrogance on his part. I hate being put down like that, especially when my ego’s enough for the whole relationship (and his ego was way bigger than mine).

Anyways. I can get guys. Just not the guys I like. That’s the problem.