Nostalgia pt. 2

Mon came down to Lake Elsinore last week. Every time Mon is in town, I drive over to the other side of the lake. My mom’s place is in Wildomar, across the lake from the town of Lake Elsinore. I grew up in Lake Elsinore and most of my childhood memories are on that side of the lake.

I dropped off Mon at her home in the evening and drove back to my mom’s. I passed by a couple of my old homes. My family moved around a lot when I was a kid. I think that’s why I hate moving. We have lived at 5 different homes in Lake Elsinore alone.

I passed by Sue’s old street. She used to live at a house at the very end of the street. I remember going to Sue’s house for the first time for her birthday and we had a treasure hunt. I remember feeling kind of nervous and excited about being invited to Sue’s birthday party.

I drove into a housing track. The sky suddenly and dramatically grew dark. I may have just noticed that it was dark the instant I turned right into the neighborhood. It began to rain. I cautiously drove into the neighborhood. I didn’t know what emotional landmines I would encounter. It was so bizarre to look at the houses. They looked exactly the same. The paint, steps, doors and driveways looked exactly the same as when I was a child. I felt so different and changed, yet my surroundings reflected 1992.

I first drove down Heather Ln. I slowly passed by Gina Kim’s house. She was my best friend in elementary school until 4th grade. We had some sort of fight, I think. I don’t even remember. We became friends again later on. Her next-door neighbor on the left was Connie. I think she was a couple of years older than us. She died in a car accident when we were in elementary school. I think that was the first time that someone I knew died. It was so strange seeing her picture in announcements. Gina and I would look up at the window in Connie’s room and notice how everything was covered with white sheets. I used to calculate how old Connie would have been every year a new year book came out. I don’t know why I did that. I used to wonder quite often about her and what kind of life she would have lived. I did that until high school.

Isaac and Amanda lived to the right of Gina. I used to baby-sit them. I looked at their driveway and noticed the lines on the concrete. We used to play four square. We played handball on the garage door.

I proceeded to go up the hill and noticed that the street wasn’t as big as I remembered. The street wasn’t as steep as I remembered it either. I remember I rode my bike down the street once and my brakes broke, so I had to make the sharpest turn and I almost skidded on the ground. My heart still beats fast when I think about that moment. I thought about the time Peter (Gina’s brother) and I collided on our bikes when he rode his bike with no hands on the handlebars. He ran over my leg and I thought I was going to be crippled forever.

I finally came across 15060 Heather Ln., our first home in Lake Elsinore. My father ambitiously and foolishly bought a house that was too big and simply too much for our little family. He likes big houses. As a child, I loved the big house. My father nailed two big chalkboards in the garage. This became my classroom. I loved playing school. I remember I had a playroom and bedroom. I thoroughly enjoyed this house. I was too young to know about the financial burden of this house. I later learned of this and hated the house after that. I now dislike big houses. I suppose I could just focus on the happy moments. My half-sisters moved out of our house when we lived in Fountain Valley. However, they still visited us on holidays when we lived at this house. I really liked my oldest sister. My father’s favorite was my third oldest sister. But, I liked my oldest sister because she played with me. She called me Koala and bought me stationery.

My next-door neighbors were three brothers. They were all extremely tall and played basketball. Lance, the middle child was the same age as me. They all looked like giants to me. Jisan lived across the street. We were introduced to one another when I was six and she was five. They said that I was her “goh-moh” (aunt in Korean). I don’t think we really understood why, but she’s called me goh-moh ever since that moment. I guess her grandfather and my father are second cousins or something like that.

I slowly drove to the end of Heather Ln. and made a right turn. I made another right turn on Christina Ct. I slowed down even more. I stopped in front of a brown house. The lights were turned on and I wondered if the people who lived in that house were happy. I hoped that their happy memories would overpower my miserable memories in that house. I think we moved to this house when I was in junior high. That’s when I began to understand the financial burdens of my parents. I talked to the landlord for my parents, lied to the landlord, pleaded with the landlord. This girl from Korea lived with us. She was and still is annoyingly critical of me. Shinwoong lived with us. We get along now, but we had a few explosive fights while we lived there. It’s funny when I think about it now. We would scream and slam doors. I don’t think I could do that now.

Hyuk lived with us at this house too. I really liked him. I thought that he could be the big brother I always wanted. He didn’t talk much, but we had a couple of deep conversations. The electricity went out one night, so we sat outside in the backyard and talked for a couple of hours. He mostly talked about his girlfriend in Korea. The moon was so bright that night. I liked listening to him tell me stories about Korea and his friends. One day, I heard violent knocking on the door. I opened the door to find our infuriated landlord. He began yelling at me. I froze. I had dealt with him before, but for some reason at that moment, I couldn’t do anything. He towered over me and I remember his angry face. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone so angry. I froze in fear. I felt an arm on my upper chest pushing me back. I stepped back alarmed and saw Hyuk’s back in front of me. I don’t even remember what he said to the landlord. I don’t think he really even spoke English at the time. But, he made the landlord go away. He closed the door and turned around. I was still frozen. He asked me if I was okay. I sat down on the ground and cried. He sat next to me and just listened to me cry. He didn’t hug me, pat me or comfort me. He simply listened to me cry. That’s all I needed.

As I looked inside the house once more, I decided to leave those moments in that house. I think one positive aspect of moving a lot is that I can leave certain memories in a particular house. Each house is a photo album, filled with snapshots of my life while I lived there. I decided to file the albums away. It’s not being in denial. I acknowledge that they’re there. I browse through them once in a while. I just don’t want to get caught up in those moments and eventually get trapped in those moments. As I write about those moments now, I can reflect and move forward. I can see that I have grown the most and depended on God the most during those seemingly difficult times. I never want to forget that lesson. I hope to live in contentment, thanksgiving and joy. I want to be able to drive by these houses and smile as I pass by. Maybe I’ll test it out in a month or so.

Magritte

The Magritte exhibit was fantastic. I felt as if I stepped into one of his paintings. I thought that the exhibit was quite creative and I appreciated the thematic flow of the entire exhibit. The exhibit was of course filled with Magritte, but also other artists whose works were inspired by Magritte.

I like Magritte because he doesn't provide any answers. His titles don't make any sense. Most of his works don't make any sense. I remember learning about Magritte's pipe in high school. I was really impressed, still am by his way of thinking. This painting rocked my world.

Music Nostalgia

I’m almost done copying all of my CDs onto my new laptop. I transferred most of my music last weekend. My mom kept sitting next to me and trying to calculate how much money I’ve spent on music. I told her to stop because it was going to drive me nuts.

As I was copying CDs and listening to a lot of songs I hadn’t listened to in years, I couldn’t help but get caught up in nostalgia and warm fuzzy feelings as certain songs, albums, artists evoked memories and feelings of a certain period in my life.

The Beatles and Simon & Garfunkel: Elementary School. I wasn’t hip enough to get into New Kids on the Block or other pop artists of the time. I sat around and listened to The Beatles and Simon & Garfunkel when I did my homework.

The Carpenters: 4th grade. I think I listened to them obsessively in the 4th grade. This is a bit embarrassing, but every time it rained and it happened to be a Monday, I was so excited to listen to “Rainy Days and Mondays” and stare out the window. I still remember those moments so vividly. That song is so depressing. I don’t remember what went through my little 4th grade mind when I listened to that song.

Joni Mitchell: My obsession with Joni Mitchell began in the 7th grade. Once again, I don’t think I fully understood her lyrics, but I was attracted to her music and listened obsessively. I think I really liked her voice. Her songs remind me of junior high.

The 60’s: I think I really got into the music of the ‘60s my freshman year of high school. I worked on a documentary about the Vietnam War for History Day and listened to A LOT of music from the ‘60s to determine which songs to include in the doc. Whenever I hear any songs from Woodstock and that time, I remember my History Day experience. I began to appreciate protest songs.

G.Love & Special Sauce: I remember sitting in Sue’s Oldsmobile listening to 91X and listening to the middle and end of “Rodeo Clowns” for the first time. We both really liked the song. We listened to 91X every chance we had for the next couple of weeks hoping that they would play the song again and tell us who the artist was. We finally caught it on the air. I bought the CD that day. G.Love & Special Sauce reminds me of riding around hot, dry Lake Elsinore in Sue’s car.

Incubus definitely reminds me of high school. “Stellar” was ‘our’ song. I smile and laugh when I think about it now. I guess it was cute.

MTV2 discoveries: I couldn’t fall asleep one night, so I turned on MTV2 to watch music videos (because they actually played music videos while MTV was filled reality shows… I think that’s how it is now too). Ok Go’s “Get Over It” video came on. I liked the catchy beats and looooved the video: every time they emphatically sang, “Hey!”, they showed a stack of hay. Brilliant! Right after the Ok Go video, they played India Arie’s “Video”. That’s when I fell in love with India Arie. I bought both CDs the next day. I think I’m an impulsive CD buyer.

India Arie: I find all of her albums so spiritually refreshing. Her first album reminds me of my senior year in high school and freshman year of college. I listened to her second album non-stop while I was in D.C. I am now listening to her third album non-stop. It’s amazing how I find that her albums seem to fit reflect what’s going on in my life at the time of their releases. I’m sure most women feel this way about her albums. I see her growth through her albums and I’m able to track my own growth through her music as well.

Coldplay: I listened to ‘A Rush of Blood to the Head’ a lot while I was in Africa. “Politik” always reminds me of South Africa.

Gracie Mix vol. 1, 2, 3, 4: I think I expanded my taste in music mostly in college. I wasn’t one of those cool kids in high school who knew all about the indie bands and what not. I can attribute the widening of my musical taste to Dan’s mixes. I never grow tired of them and they’re filled with bands that I would have never known. Plus, like India Arie’s albums, each mix reminds me of a certain time or year.

So, I think that’s all for now. I recommend that you take a look through your hundreds or thousands songs you may have and listen to those songs you haven’t heard in some time, the ones you’re embarrassed you still have, the ones that make you giddy or sad… and enjoy a wistful moment.

Snapshot: Letter

I like writing letters and cards. I feel the same glee as when I take a picture with my Polaroid camera. A letter or card captures the thoughts and emotions of a certain moment. A snapshot of one’s mind and heart. The documentation is so immediate, yet the delivery is delayed. It’s quite mysterious and fascinating to me. By the time a person receives a letter or card, the writer may feel entirely different. I suppose this doesn’t relate to the internet or emails as much because one can instantly send and receive letters at the speed of a face-to-face conversation without the actual face-to-face part.

The postal service amazes me. I think there’s something quite special about physically sending and receiving a letter. Is it the physical touch? Perhaps the faint aroma of the writer’s space? The smudge from a chocolate bar, a small splash of transparency from the citric acid that squirted from biting an orange slice? I believe something is lost from our direct connectedness in the form of the internet and cell phones. I find it quite beautiful waiting for a letter, re-reading a letter over and over again while waiting for the next one, contemplating a letter. I think we’ve lost the contemplating and feeling aspects of communication because we simply don’t have time to process.

I suppose I have mixed feelings about it. I like how we can all be so globally connected; I’m a news junkie and love emails, blogging. I guess I just miss letters and waiting. I remember Helen, Lokelani and I used to write letters to one another all the time when we were little. We would mail them during the week because we didn’t go to school together and it was so fun to read about what song they were listening to on the radio, what boy they liked that day, and how they spent their day. I would imagine their rest of the week. I think we’re losing room for imagination.

I recently thought about ending my cell phone service and investing in a house phone with answering machine. Remember those? I think I get so sucked into my cell phone when I’m out and about – driving, walking, shopping, etc. I think it’s time I got off the phone and just enjoyed the moments, lived in the moments. When I’m on the phone while doing any other activity, I’m involved in the conversation. I’m off in some imaginary/real world where conversations take place. Even though my friend’s not physically there with me, I feel that he/she is with me in our conversation world. I think I want to miss and feel the loss/absence of the person, then appreciate the time that we spend together. I feel like I’m missing out on the actual moments before me. I don’t think I’m making much sense because I really like talking with people on the phone, especially when I see something that reminds me of them, or vice versa. I think I can have the best of both worlds somehow.

I miss my Polaroid camera. I should take more pictures. I’m going to start carrying around the clunker again.

Future Plans

near future:

• finish AmeriCorps* service
• attend Empower '07 conference in May
• possibly visit Korea and this perfect international law school I found

next one/two/three years future options:

• teach English in Korea for a year: I can eat lots of yummy food, build relationships with students, build a relationship with my father
• apply to law school: I'm scared.
• become an analyst at the D.A.'s office: basically an office job. It's secure, good money, but it doesn't excite me.
• become a counselor at the jail: It's similar to being a high school counselor - planning schedules, helping individuals prepare for reentry into the community. This possibility probably excites me the most because I can have one-on-one meetings and be creative with the position. I can even develop curriculum and teach a class. I really see this as a potential ministry. JJ was trying to scare me from the position. Actually, he was just warning me. He told me that I would be surrounding myself with people who are not emotionally, mentally and sometimes physically well. He said that I would be vulnerable to various illnesses. I was telling my mom about this job and what JJ said to me. She replied, But you like those kinds of people.

Another response:

Dearest Youngeun,
Those are good options. If you want to take a few days in New York to clear your head, let me know. We can arrange some gallery-hopping afternoons for you, concluded by scones and tea.

Love,
Me

It's always so nice to feel understood.

Haunting

I saw this photo the day after Christmas and I remember feeling utterly shocked. It seemed like a scene from a movie: the composition, colors, drama. I felt even more saddened by the fact that this was not fiction.

Here's the story that goes with the photo:

Nigeria Pipeline Explosion Incinerates Hundreds

December 26, 2006—More than 260 people are dead and over 60 injured after a gasoline pipeline that had been tapped by thieves exploded early this morning in the Abule Egba district of Lagos, Nigeria.

Emergency workers were held back from the epicenter of the carnage until the early afternoon by intense heat, melted cars and electrical lines, and crowds of grieving people. Crews battled the blaze for more than 12 hours before getting the flames under control.

Thousands of residents, such as this man washing soot from his face, wandered across the charred landscape searching for missing loved ones.

Although officials say they are not sure what ignited the blaze, locals told the Associated Press (AP) that thieves had originally ruptured the pipeline and had been tapping it for months. On Monday night the thieves left without fully sealing their opening, and people from the neighborhood rushed in with bags and buckets to collect whatever they could from the leaking pipe.

Although Nigeria is Africa's largest oil producer and the fourth largest exporter of oil to the United States, corruption and poor infrastructure create frequent fuel shortages across the country. Tapping is a relatively common problem, since cans of gasoline sold on the black market can fetch high prices.

"How can this be, that people are so poor in Nigeria that they will risk their lives for a little thing," Bode Kuforiji, a university lecturer, told AP. "But boats leave for America every day filled with oil."

—Victoria Gilman

The "M" word

Not marriage, Mon.
.....
I called my mom on the way to San Diego last night. I was quite ecstatic to share Pastor Roy’s message with her. Pastor Roy spoke about tentmaking in the world. He spoke about the need for professionals in addition to traditional missionaries. He mentioned Paul as an example. He worked full-time and ministered to everyone he encountered. I was so encouraged by the message because that’s pretty much my dream. I always dreamt of working in a different country, living with the natives, helping them, learning from them, sharing God’s love with them.

I have always shared this desire with my mom. She knows I dream of living in France, South Africa, North Korea and anywhere else in the world. I just never used the “M” word – missionary. I thought the missionary part was implied. I figured I was a missionary wherever I was anyway. I guess my communication wasn’t so clear. I thought my mom would be my biggest cheerleader. She always has been. She suggested that I visit China to see my uncle who frequently visits North Korea for business. She writes me encouraging letters. So, I was saddened and disappointed when my mom didn’t share my enthusiasm as I shared about Pastor Roy’s message. She never thought that I was going as a missionary. So, I have to talk to her some more and try to widen her perspective of missions. I don’t think she fully understands missions. Towards the end of the conversation, I felt too sad and drained to persuade.

After we hung up, I thought about our reality. I realized that for my mom this is shocking news. My mom waits for me to end my AmeriCorps service and get a secure job somewhere where I’ll receive a decent salary to support our family. I momentarily forgot about this reality.

My mom thinks that I can and should be a missionary wherever I am (here in the States). I agree, but what do I do about the burden I feel and tears that unnaturally form quickly when I think of the lost souls in the world?

Prayer is a given. There must be and is more.

Perfected Love

There is no fear in love; but perfect love casts out fear, because fear involves punishment, and the one who fears is not perfected in love.

We love, because He first loved us.

What I do

If you're curious about what I actually do here at the D.A.'s office, here's an interview with my boss regarding the program that I work on: Prisoner Reentry

Feel the breeze

I checked in with Arlene yesterday. I'm not sure if I've written about Arlene yet, but if I have, oh well. Here I go again. Arlene is an analyst here at the office and we verbally agreed that she would be my mentor. She reminds me so much of Missionary Mira. I think that's why I was so drawn by Arlene's spirit. I confide in her about spirituality and my doubts about the future. She's all about positive affirmations, so she's constantly telling me, "Grace, you're an intelligent, capable, dynamic and creative person. So be who you are, instead of getting caught up in your doubts. It's okay to be scared. But, be the wonderful you that you are." I always feel so encouraged and blessed after some good Arlene time.

Yesterday, we talked about God's presence. She said that our whole life has to be about realizing and acknowledging those little moments when God moves. She compared it to Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden experiencing God through a breeze. Before, she didn't really talk to God or ask him for anything because she didn't want to bother him. She realized that this was silly and that God is honored when we constantly talk to him and ask him about little things because it reflects our belief and faith in Him.

So, I encourage you to feel the breeze as you drive to work, walk to class, sit at a playground, talk to colleagues, smile at a stranger.

As a sweetly awkward sister of mine wrote: Be still and hear his voice.

The cure

I couldn’t fall asleep Thursday night. I stared at the ceiling of stucco and thought that without my glasses, the little bits of stucco were barely visible to me. I thought, ‘I need a new prescription’. I stared and stared trying to make out a few little bits, but eventually closed my eyes again in frustration. I plopped over on my stomach with my face in the pillow. I remembered I used to do that a lot when I was a kid. There was something excitingly refreshing about taking a breath of air after mildly suffocating in one’s pillow. Why is holding one’s breath such a fun challenge? Is it because we think we’re playing with death? Do we feel that we’re in control of life and death?

I digress.

My face was buried in my pillow. It was getting harder to breathe. I turned my head to the side and appreciated the cool breath of air that slowly spread to my lungs. It’s amazing how one can feel that when the air is extremely hot or cold. My shoulders were beginning to hurt so I bent my knees and stretched my arms forward with my head balanced on my pillow. I think it’s some kind of yoga position. I brought my arms into my chest and squirmed around to get fully under my blanket. I felt so warm and safe. I realized that I hadn’t prayed on my knees for quite some time. I decided to pray. It had been so long, I didn’t really know where to start. So, I didn’t start. I just stayed in the same position for some time. The word, “forgive” started floating around in my mind. I tried to dismiss it, shoo it away, but it cleverly dodged my efforts. The word started getting bigger and bigger. Then, I thought, ‘why not? Why not forgive?’. I think I expected some ‘aha’ moment or dramatic moment of enlightenment, brokenness to lead to forgiveness. It’s simply a decision.

The time leading up to this decision may have been a process and filled with such dramatic moments. I prayed to forgive for what they did and how they made me feel. It felt real and cleansing to list how they made me feel because I think I tried to forget about that. I was swallowed by guilt. The prayer wasn’t especially long, verbose or eloquent. I didn’t cry. My heart and head didn’t feel tingly.

I inhaled the cool air as I came out under my covers. I imagine that’s how my soul feels.

---------------------------------
There must be quite a few things a hot bath won't cure, but I don't know many of them.
~Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

I took a bath on Saturday or Sunday night. I think the water was too hot. I always do that. Taking a bath is relaxing for most people. It’s absolutely exhausting for me (mainly because the water is too hot). I end up feeling purged and faint. I like that feeling. It’s the complete opposite of taking in a deep breath after pillow suffocation. The feeling after a hot bath is release. I feel weak and hollow. I like that feeling, just as much.

--------------------------------

I finished Anderson Cooper’s book. It was an easy read, but I couldn’t read too much at one time because it’s a bit depressing. It’s a different kind of depressing from novels because it’s true. I liked it. I recommend it to anyone who might just have a weekend of nothing to do. You can finish it in a couple of days. As he documents his accounts of Katrina, Somalia, Kenya and other places, he interweaves his own story and struggle with pain. He was intrigued by and attracted to stories about war and conflict because he didn’t know how to deal with his own pain. Overall, it’s a fascinating and enlightening read.

"I'm voting for Dukakis."

I saw Michael Dukakis today at a luncheon. His wife, Kitty Dukakis spoke about how electroconvulsive therapy helped her deal with depression. I was pretty jazzed to see Michael Dukakis because I didn't expect him to be there.

Michael Dukakis was the Democratic presidential candidate in 1988. He ran against Daddy Bush. He said that he felt a bit responsible for the mess in the Middle East: "If I would have beat daddy, we wouldn't have even seen the son". I remember the election between Bush and Dukakis (it's the first election in my memory). I was in the first grade. We took a poll in our class and most everyone voted for Bush (because their parents were probably voting for Bush). I don't remember voting for anyone. I was barely learning English.

Michael Dukakis reminds me of my good childhood friend Matt Robison. I remember Matt telling me about how they voted in his first grade class too. He was the only one who voted for Michael Dukakis. I wonder how Mattie is doing. He's the most brilliant writer I have ever known. I think he's working at a magazine in New York. I expect to see his stories in The New Yorker some day.

Have a joyful birthday Dan

Thanks for being such an uber rad brother.

love,
your geeky little sister

A Book Chair!!!

(thanks Andy)

Hide and Seek

I'm addicted to this song.

Where are we? What the hell is going on?
The dust has only just begun to fall,
Crop circles in the carpet, sinking, feeling.
Spin me round again and rub my eyes.
This can't be happening.
When busy streets a mess with people
would stop to hold their heads heavy.

Hide and seek.
Trains and sewing machines.
All those years they were here first.

Oily marks appear on walls
Where pleasure moments hung before.
The takeover, the sweeping insensitivity of this still life.

Hide and seek.
Trains and sewing machines. (Oh, you won't catch me around here)
Blood and tears,
They were here first.

Mmm, what you say?
Mm, that you only meant well? Well, of course you did.
Mmm, what you say?
Mm, that it's all for the best? Ah off course it is.
Mmm, what you say?
Mm, that it’s just what we need? And you decided this.
Mmm what you say?
What did she say?

Ransom notes keep falling out your mouth.
Mid-sweet talk, newspaper word cut-outs.
Speak no feeling, no I dont believe you.
You don't care a bit. You don't care a bit.

You don't care a bit.
You don't care a bit.
You don't care a bit.
You don't care a bit.
You don't care a bit.

2006/2007

When I reflect upon 2006, I think of regrets, disappointments, pressure and stress. I didn't necessarily experience anything tragic or sad according to the world's standards, but I went through some kind of internal struggle in 2006. It wasn't a good year. It wasn't a bad year. I learned new things about myself and others. Learning is always good. The means to my lessons may have not been so good.

However, I'm taking the lessons and looking to 2007 to start anew. I think I still need to process, but I'm in the process.

I ended 2006 in a state of being that pretty much reflects the year: sickness. I know that I have a pretty weak immune system, but I don't remember such a year of sickness as 2006. Yesterday, I wavered back and forth in deciding whether I should go to church or not. I decided to go not necessarily to worship, but to say 'goodbye' to Kristine and Charlotte before they both left for the east coast.

Pastor Ty, a guest speaker, spoke about forgiveness. Unforgiveness blocks the power of the Holy Spirit. Unforgiveness blocks the power of our prayers. Unforgiveness becomes a cesspool - a perfect breeding ground for bitterness, rage and anger - in our hearts. Forgiveness is not about forgetting. Forgiveness is not saying that what the other person did was okay. One can't wait for the other person to apologize before forgiving. He also said that unforgiveness can even negatively impact one's physical health.

I never thought of myself as a bitter person who holds grudges, who never forgives. For the most part, I think I don't have the right to forgive because I may have just been hurt, not necessarily wronged. It's all still a bit unclear for me and I need to think about this some more. During the time of prayer when Pastor Ty asked us to pray a prayer of forgiveness with someone in mind, I simply sat there. I felt a few tears, but I didn't know for what or for whom.

I talked to Mama Liu about the sermon. I was encouraged and touched by my mom's attitude towards my father. If she can forgive, why can't I? I don't really even feel justified in my discontent towards my father, yet I feel it and I can't seem to stop it. However, I really want to surrender this to God this year. We'll see what happens.

I feel excited about 2007. I think it will be a year of forgiveness and healing. I am thankful that I can be forgiven because I forgive. I can forgive because I am forgiven.

hope always.

Divided and Connected

I watched Babel with my mom yesterday. I generally like movies where all the characters are connected in some way; therefore, I liked Babel. Beyond that aspect of the film, I thought it was a thought-provoking and intense film. It made me realize that so many things are complicated in this world simply because of lack of communication and understanding.

I couldn't really handle the abrupt cuts and extremely close moving shots. I ended up throwing up (don't worry, I made it to the bathroom. No Mon, I'm not pregnant). Besides that, I liked the movie. It's one of those movies (like 21 Grams) that I'm glad I saw, but I don't think I'll be able to watch more than once. My mom thought it was too sad: This world is already sad. Don't watch sad movies. It's not good for you.

The Bell Jar

is now one of my favorite books. It's definitely on the top 10 list. I found the book at an old, used bookstore near my house as I went on a poetry and play binge. I already scanned for Tennessee Williams (and found a fabulous book with several of my favorite plays; this excited me), Dickinson and I slowly made my way over to the 'P' section for Plath. I wanted a collection of poems, but found a tiny book. You know how I like small things. So I picked out the book and read the title, The Bell Jar. I had never heard of it before, but I liked the title and cover. I basically judged a book based on its cover and impulsively bought it.

I guess it's one of her most famous works. I like Plath's poems, but hadn't really researched anything about her novels. It's supposed to be a semi-autobiographical account of her own mental breakdown and suicide attempt. I found it quite odd and eerie that I related to the character so much. Esther Greenwood (the main character) is much more intense and dramatic, but I understood the core of her emotions and thoughts. I suppose many early-twenty-somethings dissatisfied with society's expectations may also relate to the character and argue that this is their story, but that's probably why this book is so popular. Kristine said it's supposed to be the girl version of The Catcher in the Rye. I can see the similarities, but I like The Bell Jar more (maybe because I'm a girl).

Here are a few quotes I liked (or more accurately put: stuff I wish I was brilliant enough to have thought of first and written):

• If neurotic is wanting two mutually exclusive things at one and the same time, then I'm neurotic as hell. I'll be flying back and forth between one mutually exclusive thing and another for the rest of my days.
• ...I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.
• How did I know that someday - at college, in Europe, somewhere, anywhere - the bell jar, with its stifling distortions, wouldn't descend again?

Traditions

My mother and I usually wake up Christmas day, have coffee and toast, then watch Little Women. I think when I was a child, I tried to start some kind of tradition because I was envious of all the other white kids who had a family tradition for every holiday, anniversary and birthday. Kids would eat on special plates, add charms to bracelets, spend time playing a game their grandparents played when they were kids. I'm not quite sure why I envied all that so much. I may still deep down inside. Perhaps, it's the consistency and warm-fuzzy-feeling associated with traditions.

I imagine that I would like to have certain traditions with my children: trick-or-treat for Unicef, World AIDS day walks, buying and decorating the lone Christmas tree which was killed for nothing because it has no leaves and no one will buy it. I really hope my children think that all these things are neat.


In these frozen and silent nights
Sometimes in a dream you appear
Outside under the purple sky
Diamonds in the snow sparkle

And our hearts were singin'
It felt like Christmas time

Ma Maman

Me: Okay, bye.
Mama Liu: Okay . . . I love you.
Me: I love you too.
Mama Liu: Thank you, thank you.

We can hear each other's smiles.