A-polly-ologies

I realize that my posts have been:
1) Few and far in between;
2) Completely random in content; and
3) Rather sporadic in terms of quality

I've been mulling over a whole different blog in my head, but lack the time or motivation to make it happen. I've been debating moving over to WordPress, but I feel a certain amount of loyalty to Blogspot after all these years. Basically, if I had my way, I'd have a complete website, with entries separated topically, so people who come hear hoping for some amazing, political insight doesn't have to read about my mini-life crises.

That being said, man... oh man... I have been eating A LOT. I don't think I've ever cleared a plate of food in the last ten years. I know that this is sad given the state of food in the world, but it's because I usually have a small appetite and can't finish most meals.

Yesterday, however, was different. Crispy waffle + 2 eggs + sausage patty, all gone before you could 'gee willikers'! It's like I'm going through puberty all over again and eating my way through it.

Then I ate again an hour later.

I wonder where all of it is going...

one year

During my annual eye exam, my optometrist asked, "So, what's been new?" I thought for a moment and responded with a, "Not much."

The response wasn't so much a passive aggressive way of telling my optometrist to cut the chit-chat; rather, I couldn't think of any tremendous shifts in my life that was worth noting (she, on the other hand and just recently become a homeowner, so that's pretty exciting).

Time has had a strange way of eluding me lately. I step into work, look up from my desk and realize that it's already lunchtime. I start the week on Monday and before I know it, it's Thursday and I'm thinking about how to spend my weekend. While some would consider such huge lapses in time to be a good thing (time flies!), it's a little bit unnerving because I don't know where that flying time is going.

Thinking back on this past year, a lot, in fact, has happened. I met my maternal grandmother for the first time. I went back to Korea for the first time in over 20 years. I got promoted at work. I watched my brother become an engaged man. I watched a friend get married to a wonderful woman. I fell into a wonderful relationship and fell out of one. I went on two vacations with best friends. I've been meeting interesting and fantastic new people on a regular basis. I'm strengthening old friendships that I want to last a lifetime.

But at the same time, it feels like nothing has happened at all. Everything has been happening at such a gradual rate that it doesn't feel like it's happening at all. Perhaps this is the lull of adulthood -- moving from day to day with a certain level of satisfaction, but no big thrill. Or maybe this is just my life... who knows?

As I'm becoming more conscious of my body (working out has introduced to me muscle groups in my body that I never knew in my entire 24 years of life!), I'm also becoming more aware of my life in general. A little less monotonous work, a little more sporadic and spontaneous play.

Here's to another year.

I'm waiting for a rage that isn't coming. You would think I would feel angry.

Instead it's just utter heartbreak. That deep, empty-hole-in-the-soul, kind of heartbreak. The kind caused by a type of disappointment that will never be recovered or repaired.

After a year of participating in a public leadership fellowship and a year at the service of students, appearing as the shining example of democratic leadership, I find myself struggling to believe in something that just continues to disappoint me.

All these years I have been taught to believe in a system of beliefs that says that the minority is protected, that the collective opinion will somehow resolve itself and equalize everything, that wrongs will find a way to be corrected. Yet, all I keep seeing is act after act of this democratic public that does everything it can to oppress the minority and to perpetuate any inequities that can be exploited.

Someone needs to show me, and I mean really show me, what has changed in all these decades. Slums are still starving people to death, in the shadows of wealth and capital. Anyone who is different is still being forced to hide, pretend, and suffer a silent shame. Color still determines who receives help and who doesn't.

I'm not angry.
I can't feel the anger anymore. After years of pretending that I wasn't disappointed and pretending things will be better, I've learned to suppress whatever feelings I have.

I'm tired of patience-- of holding in frustration, of waiting until the next day for things to improve. Patience didn't get anyone anywhere. The impatient-- the ones who would stay up all night looking for an answer, the ones who hungered for something more than what was given to them-- they are the ones who succeed and the ones who shape the world.

Maybe if we, the silenced, the oppressed, the separate-but-maybe-not-quite-equal, stop being patient we will actually get somewhere.

Daydreaming about Dreams

(I'm going to completely disregard the fact that I haven't written here in about a lifetime or more and proceed as though I have been a very diligent and up-to-date individual...)

I woke up this morning from one of those dreams that kind of lingers on your consciousness for that extra minute between sleeping and fully waking. I woke up taking in a lungful of air, catching my breath from that moment of... something.

How to best re-tell this?

After a long and involved dream, involving close friends and acquaintances and tattoos and going clubbing, and living in a mess of a house, I open the door and find myself in the 1950s, in the bedroom of a teenage boy. I find that I have been transformed to a 1950s girl, wearing the typical "Pleasantville" type full skirt with cashmere sweater set. I don't recognize the boy, but I know that I know him. We are friends.

My heart beats as though we could be more than that.

The door to the bedroom is closed, but we are still nervous. His parents are hovering nearby and we are both aware of the unusual nature of our privacy and we respect it. I take off my cardigan and carefully place it on the desk, making sure that it doesn't wrinkle. I'm in a short sleeved sweater top, standing by the window, looking out the window. I don't know if we're even speaking. Suddenly, we turn to each other and it happens.
A kiss.
The only kind of kiss you can have as a shy teenager-- one filled with desire and love and passion that has no other outlet than a kiss. There is no groping, no pushing to take it one step further-- it's just that all-consuming kiss.

Suddenly he stops, hearing soft footsteps approaching his door. We separate and catch our breaths just in time as his father opens the door. Finding nothing suspicious, he moves on, leaving us alone again. The boy sits in a desk chair, his eyes still blazing.

I take another breath and we are together again and we stop for the briefest moment to look at each and I think, "God, am I in love?"

I gasp for air, as I feel the butterflies escaping my stomach and I wake up...



I woke up feeling nostalgic for that feeling. I miss that feeling-- that kiss that leads nowhere else but that kiss... a kiss that's enough. I hate the introduction of sex to adult relationships. It ruins that kiss.

When I'm sick...

I really start craving my dad's chicken porridge.

Simple, but takes a good part of the day to make properly, with only a whole chicken, rice, and a little ginseng and Chinese dates for good measure (and their medicinal properties). He takes the time to shred the chicken for me after it's all stewed together and the rice is perfectly soft, choosing only the white breast meat because I don't like dark meat that much. A little salt and it's warm perfection for my belly.



I've been feeling rather ill this week and am fighting the urge to go whining to my dad to take care of me.

New Space, New Vibe

I think I'm going to come into the office on Sunday with the sole intention of redecorating my cubicle.

Things have been rather depressing in the office and I think it's impacting my productivity (I'm very sleepy at work and I typically equate sleepiness with depression with myself). Perhaps a lively and well-coordinated corner will brighten my mood and allow me to blow past my deadlines with ease.

That and I've accumulated an unusual pile of things as people have left the office (and decided I was the person to give things to) and they either need to be trashed or memorialized.

Coming in on a Sunday also will be a great excuse to check out the Hole in the Wall burger joint for lunch, seeing as it's only a few blocks away.

Two Reasons Why Life is Pretty Good

The typical, kick-off-the-conversation question:
How is life?

The typical, continue-the-conversation response:
Pretty good.

Quick call and response. Practiced. Natural.
But, when asked to provide two reasons why life is pretty good, I had to think for a moment.

What is making life so good these days?
There's the having-a-job thing.
The obnoxious and smelly, but ultimately cute cat thing.
The lovely parents who send me back home with oodles of Korean food thing.
The roommates who clean to de-stress and leave the apartment looking spic-and-span thing.
The roommates who are just all-around the greatest people to live with thing.
The boy who keeps me warm because I am fully incapable of body core temperature control on my own thing.
The girlfriends who shower me with endless amounts of support and love thing.


Here's to Tuesdays thinking about the good things in life.