Thursday, November 5, 2009

Moving on...

So... it's official. Pretty soon I will be saying goodbye to Nashville



and saying herro to Raleigh.



Jamie is up there right now checking it out. He really likes it. We only found out that we were moving a few weeks ago. Everything is going so fast. There is so much pressure. Jamie is being transferred, but I need to find another job ASAP. I am also in the process of selling the house. I just finished slapping together my thesis so I can graduate this semester. I basically wrote it in four days, did revisions over the next week and did my thesis defense a week after I started writing. It was incredibly fast. While all this was going on, my Uncle Jack unexpectedly passed away. It sucked that I had to miss the funeral... but I just have so much going on. I know, in the end, it will all be worth it. We will have a shiny, brand new life in a very nice place. I'm really going to miss everyone here. I wish they could move with me...

How about some originality Hollywood?

Jake Gyllenhaal (aka Prince of Persia) looks like a high budget Hercules.





Just sayin'.

Monday, September 21, 2009

A New Hampshire Wedding

In two weeks, my best friend from high school is going to be married. I still can't believe she invited me to the wedding. Although we were really close in high school, we haven't been what I would call friends since then.

I wrestled with myself about whether I should go to this wedding. I wanted to understand her motives for inviting me. I had decided against it until I read (in a blog) that the whole wedding involves around 50 people... a VERY intimate wedding. How could I NOT go? It must mean something to her for me to go if she invited so few people.



The whole thing makes me extremely anxious. First off, I'm not a wedding person. I hate social gatherings of any sort. Secondly, I won't know anyone there aside from her, her mother, her brother, and the friend that replaced me when she went to college (he doesn't like me). I'm leaving my family behind for three days and traveling to New England alone. The last time I traveled alone was when I was a senior in high school. That was nearly ten years ago.

I'm hoping this wedding will be nice and I get along with her new friends. They seem really different from me. Borderline hipster. I'm not hip. I don't do witty banter. I do sarcasm and snark. I'm scared they won't get me and I'll end up being alone the whole day. I just have to continually remind myself that it isn't about me. This whole weekend is about making Carey happy at all costs.

While I'm in the area, I am going to see my family in Boston. I'm really excited about that. This time will be all about reconnection. Reconnection to my long lost friend and reconnection to my forgotten family members. It's going to be good. I just have to trust that.

Monday, September 14, 2009

psychoanalyze this

So I was reading through one of my journals... invariably this story always comes up: The first dream I remember having. It was the dream I had after they brought my baby sister, Malissa, home from the hospital. Bear in mind, I was born in March '82 and my sister was born in November of '84. So I was approaching three at this point. But this dream was vivid as any experience I can remember having. We were living in Korea when my sister was born. In Korea, families sleep together on a floor mattress called a yo (sp?).


In my dream, I was situated nicely, all comfy and cozy, on my mother's right. She was sleeping to the right of my father. Everything was peaceful. Then all of the sudden, the baby sister descends slowly from the heavens and usurps me from my rightful place at my mother's side. This yo was too narrow for the both of us and I roll out from under the heavy, "mink" blanket. The dream culminates in me freezing to death on that bitterly cold November night.


How fucking deep for a 2 year old's dream, huh? I've never forgotten it. This dream is engraved in my psyche. Needless to say, I did try to dispatch my sister several times during my childhood... but circumstances always kept me from accomplishing my goal. I wonder if all eldest children have felt this way or if I am just particularly crazy. Again, I apologize for my psychoness. I've noticed it is a theme that runs throughout my blogs.

Thursday, September 10, 2009

Solver

I never sit in the grass
Looking at clouds
I see the world in charts and graphs
I stare at screens
At numerical patterns
Another day
Another puzzle
The pieces at my feet
Disasters awaiting my logical solution
I am a solver

Books, papers, reports
Clamoring to be read
Things must be considered
Processed


My only escape is sleep
When I close my eyes
My handicaps don't matter
I can sing, drink, laugh...
Here I can see
Without logic to impede my sight

Awake, my eyes seem only capable of recognizing sober colors
Navy blues, browns, grays, blacks...
The pretty wing of a butterfly
Doesn't shatter me
Instead I ponder the taxonomy
Of this curious thing and its wing


Everything is reduced to a science
Organic, inorganic,
Soulwise, I feel like a dead thing

I'm jealous of those that see magic
Through pictures, I see
How they view the world
Without precision or calculation
No need for maps or goals
Living an end in itself
It must be nice

Saturday, August 29, 2009

matchmaker, matchmaker

I don't know if it is the Asian in me, but I just have this uncontrollable compulsion to play matchmaker all the time. The next likely victim is my own flesh and blood.





My sister's current "boyfriend" needs to be replaced. He is a third degree douche-nozzle. Of course he is. My sister doesn't really have great taste in guys. Her first real boyfriend was married (I told her he was. Why does no one ever fucking listen to me?!). Her second boyfriend was a pompous, closeted homosexual. Her new boyfriend, in my humble opinion, doesn't seem to like her very much. Can you say, "Jesus help the children"?! This is what I am working with here.


The problem, as I see it, is that she always meets people online. I'm old school. Just like buying clothes online is a crap shoot, so is selecting boyfriends. They're probably not gonna fit. Boyfriends need to be tried on. Which means dates, in-person awkward ice-breaking conversations, etc... Getting emotionally invested in someone before you even meet them is a recipe for disaster in my opinion. Plus, it is so easy to hide your REAL personality online. Most people, unless they are sociopaths, have a hard time putting on a false persona in their real world interactions. I am making it my mission to find a real life candidate for Malissa to try. I will find you, Man O' My Sister's Dreams. <--so pyscho, but that's why y'all love me.

Friday, July 24, 2009

Discussions on Race

I curse the day I chose to do my topic on race. If there is anything that Americans refuse to be honest about, it is this one thing. For some reason, we live in an age where it is unpopular to believe that racism exists. We supposedly live in a "colorblind" society. BULLSHIT.

I posed a question: Growing up, did you ever feel pressured to act “white” (or “black” or “Hispanic” etc…)? This question is deemed problematic... but not because of the white part or the Hispanic part. Only the acting black component is called into question.

I feel attacked.

Was it wrong to ask? Are people really just themselves? Or do we, as someone said to me, choose to participate in stereotyping ourselves. Let me ask you this... could Lil' Wayne get very far acting, looking, and speaking the way he does if his chosen profession was Investment Banker. No. He would not. Does saying so make me a fucking racist? Let's get real, people. Black people (Asian people, Hispanic people, Arabic people, etc...), to be successful... have to act white... and in particular, talk white. For some reason, in this society, acting white means acting like a middle class (or upper middle class) white person. Is it racist to believe that one can "act" white? The terms Oreo and Twinkie and whatnot suggest that it is a real social phenomenon... I'm not making this shit up.

The fact that I know this happens makes me want to ask about. It enrages me that I have to try to be politically correct all the fucking time. You can't hit at truth if you're scared to ask questions.

This would never even have come into question if I was black. There are things I'm not supposed to be allowed to ask. Why these rules if race isn't pertinent? Why all these rules if race doesn't matter and we are free to be ourselves?

Can we have a frank dialogue on race outside of our own races? I can't even get straight answers from Koreans because I'm only half. People will only discuss race within their own. How can we ever go forward until we can talk about this TOGETHER? Quit being fucking pussies.

People are so close-minded.

Yes, my questions are uncomfortable, but only because they are direct. Give me your gut reaction to the question. If it's anger, put it on the page. But don't ignore me or say I'm being politically incorrect. Because I'm not trying to be political. I'm trying to get answers. If you don't want your voice to be heard, just don't answer.

Sunday, July 5, 2009

strange dream

Last night, I woke up and I recalled very vividly the dream I was having. I was standing in a lake. I knew it was a lake because I could see trees and land in the distance. There was some kind of greenish brown substance on the surface of the water. I wasn't alone. There was a man beside me. I am watching him suck up this substance into some device he is carrying. He's a very non-descript man... darkish hair, white baseball cap, white polo shirt and long khaki shorts. He's so focused on his work that he doesn't even see me. We never speak and he never acknowledges my existence.



So the other day, Jamie just randomly bought me a dream book. Every dream I've had has involved the feminine aspect in some way. Well, last night's dream was no exception. The lake represents my feminine subconscious. According to this book, the green substance indicates that I've allowed unhealthy beliefs to enter into my mind. The man in my dream is supposedly my masculine side... the side that is using logic to clear up my misconceptions. Also, because he was working, this appears to be a task that I need to actively work on.

Interesting.

Friday, July 3, 2009

Let the Right One In

So I finally got to watch the Swedish "horror" flick, Let the Right One In. Thanks, Sara and Nathanial for letting us borrow it.





I have to say, it wasn't at all what I thought it would be. Yet, I am very impressed nonetheless. To me, it wasn't horror at all. Instead, it was a very tender love story. I know that sounds fucked up, but I was really touched by it. I haven't seen adults actors quite as able to capture love like these two young actors have in this film.

There were a couple imperfections. I think some of the dialogue was lost in translation. Also, I suspect the director may be a pedophile. His conception of love among 12 year olds is a bit more complex than I believe it can be in reality... that and the little girl's crotch shot... and all the shots of young Oskar in his underwear... I dunno. I was a bit disturbed by that. Aside from those issues... It was an almost perfect movie.

I'm still wondering if the Eli character actually existed or was a conception inside the minds of Oskar and Eli's older companion. Is she their killer instinct or are we supposed to believe she actually exists? Malissa's theory was that she was recruiting Oskar to be the replacement for her companion, which may be so... the whole face touch scene seemed to indicate that was the case. Another theory could be that he was actually her father. I like the ending. I imagine that, at some point, if she isn't imaginary, she will convert him into what she is so they can stay young forever and he can escape the fate of Eli's original companion... then it is a story of immortal love, as opposed to a tragedy in which love grows old and dies.

This definitely is joining the ranks of my favorite movies, along with another Swedish film, The Seventh Seal.

Thursday, July 2, 2009

I wish I was different

My mother is an evil person. My sister and I try so hard to please her, but she just doesn't care. All she ever wants to do is make us feel inadequate. Does she hate us? And she's always manipulating us so that we'll do her bidding. I'm not even exagerrating. If my life were a movie, my mother would be the villian.



I truly belive she is the reason I am so cold and guarded with people. I mean, if you can't trust your own fucking mother, who can you trust? I mean, after all these years, she's STILL abusing us even though she can't physically hit us anymore.

I think the way I am makes my husband, children, and friends sad. I love them so much, but I am, for whatever reason, unable to express it in ways they can understand. I am just not a physically demonstrative person. I CAN cuddle, but do I feel a physical compulsion to do it without prompting? Um, no. Combine my coldness with my earsplitting rages and I've got a totally befuddled crowd.

It makes me hate myself. I know I'm a good person inside. I tell my daughter that I have a monster brain and an angel heart. It is my fucked brain chemistry and my damaged amygdala. Even though I am totally safe and happy now, my brain just ignores that information and takes me through the emotions of total, irrational terror and anger. The whole fight or flight response... it just turns on at random or at the slightest stimulus. People don't consider the long term ramifications of what they do to children. I may have been abused a decade ago, but I'm still fighting it's affects. It's very similar to what veterans go through after coming back from war. You're just ruined... your capacity to feel safe and to feel emotionally invested in the world around you is gone. I'm always waiting for that blow to fall on me... like I deserve it or something.

Jamie asks me why I'm down all the time and why he can't make me happy. This question confuses me because I am the happiest I've ever been in my whole entire life. I just wish that I could manifest how happy I am on the outside and I wish I could convince my stupid, defective brain that I am OK.

Tuesday, June 30, 2009

Poop

Assignment from @KoreanCelt: Write about something you've learned about life from being a mother that you doubt you would have learned otherwise.

The one thing I've learned from being a mother that I would've never learned otherwise is that love can be measured in poop. If you are willing to clean someone's shit right off their dirty little ass without getting paid to do so, you probably REALLY love them a whole lot.

The Everyday

In high school, I remember reading TS Eliot's The Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock and being struck by the sadness of the verse, "I have measured out my life with coffee spoons." As a teenager, I didn't understand it and I pitied the man who wrote this. However, as an adult, I can see that I, too, measure out my life in the same increments.

We all waste a good portion of our lives. Life sometimes seems like a long wait. The intervals between days marked by the mundane...cups of coffee...the brushing of teeth... shitting. Too few momentous things happen. Before we know it, the thing we've been waiting for happens and we die.

Should existence be enough?

I wonder what would happen if each of us felt that we had something great to accomplish in this life. Would we be as unhappy as we are now? Or even more unhappy because more of us would try and fail?

I think about the amount of time I spend doing wasteful things. In the time I've spent watching bullshit reality shows or twittering, I could've written a book or started an organization to save starving Panda Bears in Asia or some shit like that.

Why do I crawl ever slowly to my death instead of rallying against it by living life as though it were my own personal struggle for immortality?

Some people become immortals... the people that are remembered by subsequent generations--the giants of their time. Is it arrogant of me to wish that I could be among them?

It seems so hard to pull oneself out of the throng... to distinguish oneself from the crowd that wants merely to live. How can anyone be satisfied to die unremembered?