What I imagine the sound of my heart pounding in a bed of silence looks like...

This is about the time that my heart exploded in my chest, and then I realized that the fast breeze blowing through the strands of my hair was actually the air being broken by my airbourne vehicle:

This is probably what the police report and insurance claim reads because this was all I could manage to muster five hours after the accident:

"4:12 am. Was leaving DC and following the direction of my GPS system, took the tunnel leading towards the 295 SE/SW entrance but went into the wrong tunnel heading towards RFK lot. Entered into complete and utter darkness with no lights, no signs. Tried to adjust to the darkeness and just when I realized the pavement swurved to the left, I tried to turn left but had already hit the tree with my right side and turned upside down, did a 360 degree turn in the air befofe flipping back over and doing a 80 degree swurve to a stop."

The only reason how I know exactly what direction my car flipped, okay, there are two:

1. The fact that as my car impacted on the tree I felt my entire insides lift up from my stomach to my lungs, compressing together like a Slinky being turned upside down. What I didn't fully realize immediately? That I was upside down. And I caught a millisecond glimpse out the cracked glass of the passenger window enough to see the pavement at eye level, and the tunnel glowing through the darkness at me. That's when I closed my eyes to prepare for nothing, something and everything - all at the same time.

2. My Guardian Angel: In the form of a 6"5-6"7 thin-framed man in a red Honda hatch. An image that will stick with me for the rest of my life as a reminder that the smallest instantaneous moments can quite possibly bring you the most purest form of joy that you'll ever feel in a lifetime.

Hours before I would see the "light of life" and my car was left demolished, I had spent the entire day just trudging through work. It was just another day among the many where I kept wandering the maze of cubicles wondering why I still, without fail, park in the same spot, walk through the same building and sit in front of the same screen every single day and endure the bezerk behavior of certain people who have made it a career in having no basic social skills.

By the time 5 o'clock chimed in, I was ready to leave the smothering feel of work and escape to a place I knew I could just let go: in the presence of friends, dancing and just releasing all that anger and stress out.

Several hours later, Christauff and I were doing our regular Friday night ritual of walking each other to our cars safely. We had the miracle of parking on the same street as each other (a rarity to anyone who has ever tried to park to go to a club in DC) and I got into my car and watched as he walked across the street to his. I went to program my GPS to head home, and started to pull out of my spot.

There were a lot of little miracles that night. Little bits of instances that in retrospect, I will be grateful for, for the rest of my life. The fact that I had decided to go to Ultrabar where seven people I knew were going to be there, the fact that Christauff and I always walked to our cars together after the night was through, the fact that Christauff forgot that I had a GPS in my car and had seen me headed in a different direction than he thought would be the regular way for me to get home and just figured I was lost, the fact that he then, as a great friend with concern, decided to follow behind me to make sure I was headed in the right direction - and that he kept following me until he was 3/4 mile away in his car as he watched my car propel itself through the air.

I even feel blessed that I had had such a crummy week prior. I had pictures of my brother's bedsores running around in my head, constant thoughts of my brother's legs being amputated, depressed over my job and my inability to deal with overt micromanagement, frustrated with the outcome of my future - where was I headed with my life? how was I going to get there?, hurt from the loss of a friend and caught in a whirlwind of complete and utter confusion with life in general.

But in that millisecond glimpse of the world upside down, and in the next instant when I closed my eyes and prepared for what I feared to be the end, I found myself shaking away that fear, gripping the steering wheel with both hands tightly, keeping my eyes shut tight as my heart pounded in my throat, my ears, the pit of my stomach - I just let go of every single stress and hurt that I had been consumed with before - and relaxed my body and just breathed.

When I opened my eyes, glass was everywhere, and my hands were bleeding and so was a small patch on my chest where the airbag had hit. Smoke was all around me, and I turned my head ever so slightly to try and make sense of what my eyes were seeing through the cracked and broken glass window of my driver's door: Christauff, his red Honda hatch, and him running from his car, across the pavement, to open my car door.

I walked out of the accident truly unscathed. No broken bones, no massive amounts of blood. As I lay in the guestroom of Christauff's and his girlfriend's condo that morning, I kept counting the solid breaths of air that I sucked into my lungs.

"Someone wants you around, Em," Christauff had kept saying as we drove to his condo.

This is my second chance at life. This is my chance to keep living it without regret and to realize the true value of what I have surrounding me. I was given a second chance at this journey and I am not going to waste it worrying about things that I cannot change.

My Coming to America

When I was around 10 or 11 years old, I used to feel really uncomfortable and uneasy when it came to my friends and the conversation of birthdays. I'm not sure if your peers at that age were anything like mine, but it became some one's novelty idea to state not only their date of birth but the exact time stamp as well. You would be in the middle of 5th grade English class, and it'd be Mary Sue's birthday and when asked if it was, indeed, her birthday, Mary Sue would reply: "Yes! But my Mom says I wasn't born until 1:45 pm exactly!"

At that age, the fact that I couldn't give you the exact time of my birth unsettled me in some way. I don't know if I can dig that far back into my past to precisely explain to you why I felt the way that I did, and I'm not even sure that if you could talk to the 10-year old me that I would be able to explain it any better. I just did.

I felt embarrassed, and overwhelmed with just how embarrassed I felt over some minute detail that in the grand scheme of things, held little to no consequence if not to just be some sentimental value to throw into the pages of a baby book. But God, no matter how lame you might have tried to twist it to be, I would have wanted nothing more than to tell you what time I was born.

When I think back at the significance of my feelings as a kid, I guess I could self-analyze and tell you that this obsession and immense feeling of hurt/embarrassment that came with not knowing the time of day I was brought into this world would probably stem from the deeper-rooted problem of just not knowing anything. It could be, but I can't exactly be sure. Perhaps you could just chalk it up to pure peer pressure and peer anxiety of wanting to fit in. I guess maybe essentially that's all my adoption issues were - this identity confusion and overwhelming sense of wanting to find a place to belong. Who knows. (I sure as hell don't, even after all these years.)

Today, though, today is my redemption. Today would eventually become the counter-attack for my self-esteem during the early years when I would battle with my adoption demons over what made me feel more "whole". And as I grew older, and into my now early twenties, I have been able to remember this day with a tainted bittersweetness. The kind of bittersweetness you feel when speaking of a loved one: can't live with it, can't live without it.

Today is my "Gotcha' Day". The day that I arrived off the plane from South Korea into BWI at around 11:45 pm at night. The flight was long and I was actually part of a group of seven or eight children that were being flown into the airport from Korea with my parents being one of the adoptive couples. I hear stories, and I see pictures - a picture of my tiny, frail premature body being carried off the plane by one of my mother's closest friends - another picture of an anonymous Korean woman standing at the edge of the airflight gate, looking on with tears in her eyes. I had later learned that this woman was one of the young Korean women who volunteer to be "baby escorts" or pseudo-mothers for at least the long journey over to America. This was my "birth", so to speak. This was my coming into my life as an Asian-American. As the person that I am now.

At the peak of my teen angst years, I looked at this day with disdain. In my eyes, I was brought here against my will, I had no say in the matter - and it especially hit me harder whenever my parents would say things like, "We didn't bring you here to screw up your life." or "We adopted you to save you. You wouldn't have survived at all in that orphanage."

Nowadays, it's just a day. A day to remember, of course, but just a day nonetheless. Without it, I probably wouldn't be here writing in this blog, in this chair, thinking about how my Spanish midterm is due by midnight tonight. With it, I have faced a lot of turmoil, identity confusion, frustration and hurt. But I wouldn't be me without all of those things.

So maybe, just maybe, I'll break out the vodka and orange juice tonight to celebrate. And more than likely, I might even throw on "Coming to America" to heighten the celebration festivities. =)

Meet me at the crossroads (Echo & Fade: crossroads...crossroads)

There is no better way to explain how I feel at this precise moment than to tell you that I am at a definite and indefinite crossroads.

For the most part 2008 has become synonymous with the word "change" for me. A transition of sorts that keeps spiraling me further and further into a point where I realize - I just need to let go. There comes a point in a person's life when you just cannot have control over any thing.

I got offered a position as an M.A. for a doctor's office close-by. I had gotten a call sometime last week from my old Biology teacher who had recommended me for the position. Believe me, I was excited - but at the same time, I am really frightened. And I don't know why.

I always keep telling myself that I need a change - and yet, when one comes, I shy away. In all things. I am such a weirdo like that.

The doctor's office would train me. I don't have to know a damned thing. I was scared they wouldn't want to hire me, partially because I am so young in my educational career - with only a few science credits under my belt, and no challenging lab experiences - let alone real-time patient interaction.

But now they want to offer me the job. And I'm scared. Why? Why am I so frightened of something that would really be beneficial for me in the long run?

Well, for one thing, I'd be making significantly less. But the hours are flexible and all over the place. That has its good and bad points. Good: I'd be able to space my classes farther apart, and attend more classes and be able to have more study time (because I am currently WAY behind in my Spanish Web class. I don't know how I am going to catch up, EVER. But I have to get an A!). Bad: I probably wouldn't have consistent times off. Not that that is really bad- it's just something to think about.

Also, with such a cut in pay, I would have to take on a second job. Most likely a retail one - because no corporate job (unless I worked as a secretary or something) would be able to let me work part time with some goofy-ass hours.

This is what I want- isn't it? This is the start of my new chapter/phase in my life, right? A start towards my future, and what I've been working my ass off for the past couple of months for.

So why do I feel like such a chicken shit ready to piss my pants?

Music I Love Driving To

I have found that through my driving travels - there are certain types of music that just fit while driving that I love. The kind of music that fits perfectly with just cruising along the roads, whether it be during the day or late at night.

So I have dedicated this blog post to me writing down all the songs that I have fallen in love with again while being in my Corolla.

1. All 80's love ballads. Jeeeesus Christ, as corny and as goober as half of these songs are, the most brilliant song writing occurred in the 80's. Point blank and simple. I mean, c'mon... Spandau Ballet? Boy Meets Girl? Anyone?

2. RENT The Musical Soundtrack (Disc 1 and 2) I don't care who you are or what you think - this music is fantastic and I could sing "Light My Candle" till I am blue in the face.

2.5. Okay, you know what? I take the above statement back and replace it with ALL musical soundtracks. I'm sure the guy at the traffic light on Route 40 thought I was strange singing "Defying Gravity" at the top of my lungs with the windows down.

3. Justin Timberlake's "Justified". Particularly "Take A Ride" track. I LOVE that track!

4. Shivaree "Half On A Baby" (THANK YOU GOOSE~!!!!) If you like R. Kelly, this will make you think twice when you hear how f&cking awesome this girl sounds covering his song.

5. Jurassic 5 "Feedback" album. (Thank you to my favorite "black kid", Jos)

6. Ernie Halter's "Congress Hotel" - I think of his song "Love, Look At Me Now" as my eternal scream out to the world. I love his acoustic sound - and it's a nice raw melody to help keep time while you're on the road.

7. Amos Lee - Anything by Amos Lee. My God, one of the most serene things to do is to be moving - whether it be by bus, by car, by train, and to listen to Amos Lee at high levels - what a peaceful place to be in. I would always nestle into a corner of the train from DC to MD and listen to my Amos Lee playlist on my iPod over and over and over and over again.

8. John Mayer - "Heavier Things" The entire album. Particularly "New Deep".

9. Radiohead - ANYTHING. Ahhh, totally puts me in that zone. Thinking deep, feeling the music, and just me and the road.

10. Okay, K-Pop...alright? I'll admit, I still have my old H.O.T. CD, and my old G.O.D. CD - and yes, okay, I still listen to Brown Eyes and BoA. But I am totally stuck in the 90's when it comes to Korean music. The last album I bought was 5tion's first debut album...yes, I'm that behind with the Korean times.

The Most Beautiful View In The World

This has been my view of the world for the past week and a half. And what a gorgeous sight it is -- the dashboard of my 2008 Toyota Corolla.

For this Thanksgiving, I have been most thankful more than anything for the most amazing people that I have been blessed to have in my life. Friends who love me, care for me, and make sure that I am taken care of....Friends who made this possible this year:

So thank You for friends (family):

for cars, for left foot accelerators, for poetry, for blogs, for freedom, for crummy jobs that help pay the rent and put food on the table, and for sunsets:

Flick 'N' Pat

You know how in those cartoons sometimes, you always see Tom start to run after Jerry and then pause for a moment, only to see a "Devil Tom" appear on his right shoulder and an "Angel Tom" appear on his left?

The "Devil" is saying, "Hey Buddy, go chase after that mouse. He looks mighty tasty. You know you want to, go do it!"

While the "Angel" is saying, "Don't do that, Tom! Jerry has never done anything horrible to you, and you guys should be friends, not enemies."

As fanciful as those cartoons are, that depiction has been pretty true to life when it comes to how my thought process runs when I hit a bump in the road that I have (or haven't) seen before.

For instance, this recent idea of finally being fed up with banking and looking for a new job.

Every night, at the end of the day, I'll be sitting at home, wholly exhausted, my head hurting, and thoroughly disgusted with the lack of accomplishment I get from working at a bank, and all of a sudden, the "Devil" pops up on my right shoulder whispering into my ear: "Hey, hey, why are you thinking of getting a new job? I know you're unhappy with this one - but what if you're not qualified for anything else? What if there's a paycut? Wouldn't you rather be miserable in your life and wealthy than to be a little bit poorer and happy? And you know that the first job interview you go into your going to sink and sink hard. Plus, this boss here doesn't like you that much anyway and would give you a horrible reference if they called her."

And for some reason, I start listening to it. And I start freaking out. I'm thinking, 'yeah, yeah, that's right. I should just stay miserable. I'm too scared to do something else. I am too chicken sh-t to try a new profession even though I know I hate this one.'

Just then, the "Angel" pops onto my left shoulder. "What are you talking about? All anyone ever says is how professional you are, and how friendly you are. Everyone always says how much they like you - you've always gotten good reviews in the past. You know you're a quick learner, and you love learning new things. A new experience could be awesome for you. You never know! This could be your chance to find out what you love doing."

But I start battling back and forth between the two voices of reason in my head. There is a part of ethical logic that reaches me, and I kind of acknowledge the fact that the positive "Angel" is probably the one that I should be paying the most attention to. Yet no matter how hard I try to fully shut her up, the "Devil" on my other shoulder keeps talking. Keeps reminding me of all those negative thoughts, all that negative energy, and all those horrible memories I have in the past of failure, or not measuring up to what I wanted, or what I thought others wanted (another terrible thing that I must admit, I have allowed myself to be influenced by in the past: the thoughts and opinions of others).

One of my favorite quotes from one of my all-time favorite movies (Pretty Woman) is when Julia Roberts' character is lying in bed with Richard Gere's and they are facing each other. He starts to compliment her, and tell her how much potential she has in herself, and how she could be so much more than just a prostitute.

Her response is: "Somehow the bad stuff is always easier to believe. Have you ever noticed that?"

Yeah, I have. Throughout my life, no matter what I know that I will come out stronger and with more determination out of any obstacle - but in the beginning, the mean stuff, the negative energy, the negative thoughts: they always seem to be the easier ones to believe. Why is it so hard to truly believe that there is good in the world and that good can come to you?

I have been told by so many teachers in my life whether it be in elementary, middle or high school that you are what you think you are. "If you think you can do it, then you can do it." I always used to just brush it off. Psh, they are dorky teachers - what do they know?

And then as I got older, I realized that mindset played a huge part in my ability to see the true scope of things. The more negative life seemed, and I allowed it to seem that way, the more negative things tried to happen. The moment I started to smile or shine a light on the more positive things in my life, nothing just miraculously got cured or changed - but I was able to deal with the sh-t in my life with less strife and less anger.

This is way easier said than done, folks. Don't think I am sitting here claiming that I have all the answers, for I have not. And I know there is so much of life out there for me to grab with my two bare hands and grip with all my might. To really taste, touch, see, smell every single thing this universe has to offer me. But even still, I have my dark days, and even still, that "Devil" seems to appear on my shoulder every time.

So I decided that I shouldn't let fear guide me. Essentially, I realized, that's all the "Devil" represents. An inner fear that stems from a past memory, a present thought, a futuristic notion that something might become a catastrophe and then where would I be? Well, I'd still be alive. And that's really all that counts in the end, right? Because in the end, I don't get to take my resume printed on nice stationary into the grave - it won't matter that I got a C+ in Algebra my sophomore year or whether I was my boss' favorite. It won't matter what I wore or didn't wear. And it certainly won't matter what jobs I ever held.

That's why I started my fresh start with a single piece of paper towel. Any kind would do. Didn't have to be Bounty or the cheap Target kind. It didn't have to have the puffy "extra-absorbant" squares. Just one single piece of paper towel.

And then I grabbed a pen and began to write every single negative thought I could possibly think of. (Believe me, I wrote small.) Anything that I felt was holding me back from getting a new job. Things I felt were holding me back from attending a four-year universities. Reasons why I thought I shouldn't move to wherever it is I would want to move. All the obstacles that I could possibly think of in achieving my ultimate goal this year of owning a car.

I wrote it ALL down. Every single thing that I could think of that ever passed through the deepest cavities of my brain and tried to infest it with negativity.

There were tears. A lot of the words got blotched out. But they weren't meant to be read clearly - it was simply the act of writing them all down and trying to rid myself of all of the negativity in my life as much as I could.

The final act:

I walked into my bathroom, and stepped to the "Magnificent Negativity Disposal Machine" (otherwise known as the toilet) and dropped that paper towel right in there. (Now I know they say you shouldn't throw paper towel down there or you'll clog it, but it just so happens that I have a very very strong flusher!)

Then I pulled the latch and watched all the negative energy flush itself down the toilet bowl.

As I walked away, that "Devil" was cussing up a storm on my shoulder while the "Angel" was standing triumphantly. So I just 'flicked' the "Devil" away, and gave a 'pat' to my guardian "Angel".

Getting Back to Basics

I went on a "date" with a lesbian once. S has since become one of the sweetest people I know. She is down-to-earth, street-wise, executive-driven and damn beautiful. There is something about that night, and her encouragement ever since that has helped ease me back into writing mode. So here's thanks to my "would-be-there-if-you-ever-decided-to-convert-to-the-"better"-side" girlfriend and the night of our first "date". But first, let me explain how we got to that beautiful first date at X and O's by telling you how we met:

I met S with the help of D and L. Okay, so they didn't phyiscally introduce us but it was L who said she had extra tickets to go see the Pussycat Dolls and Black Eyed Peas in concert at Merriweather awhile back. I jumped at the chance because hey, it's the Pussycat Dolls and I will have to say that even before S (as she likes to point out) I used to confess to having a small crush on the hotness factor of those girls dancing and singing in ultra sexy outfits (I particularly had my stake out on the black girl...more on why that is at a later date. :-))

It was in the middle of the summer and it was rainy. And of course, being at the Pavilion, and not being allowed to take an umbrella, D, L & I were on our way to getting completely drenched. We quickly found our seats under the pavilion (which were terribly awesome L, thanks!! I could see everything, even with being so short and the guy in front of me being so tall) and sat down to enjoy the show.

Everything was fine until intermission rolled around. I remember turning to D, and then looking over at the side of the pavilion where we were and watching the rain come pouring down across the sides in streams, I turned back to him and said "Omgosh, I can't believe I have to piss at this exact moment."

I ran. Thinking that would help. Haha...who was I kidding? And the funniest of all? Well my white and brown boardshorts, and my brown and pink tank tops, with my white windbreaker over it all...what an awesome outfit. Cute -- had it not been pouring buckets down. Regardless, here I am, standing in this line for the bathroom that must have been five miles long and behind me step these two girls with a Pucca umbrella. They are clearly some sort of Asian, and they are laughing, giggling, and trying to huddle closer to each other. All of a sudden, this woosh of rain comes at me and I shiver and sneeze out loud. The one girl puts her hand on my shoulder and this is how it proceeds:

Girl A: "Awww, honey, are you cold? What's wrong?"

Me: "Nothing...I just don't have an umbrella and I didn't expect it to be raining like this."

Girl A: "Well, you could huddle under ours if you'd like...couldn't she S?"

Girl B(stepping out from the umbrella): "Yea, go for it. I love the rain anyway."

Girl A: "Yeah, she loves the rain. But you look as soaked and wet as I am."

Girl B(coming to Girl A and grabbing one of her ass cheeks): "But I like it when you're soaken wet!"

Oh-my-God. At this point, my best emotion is fear. I felt like I had stepped onto the set of a really bad porno. Besides, both girls were wearing shirts that said "I will not love you long time" in...WHITE.

After finally going through the bathroom line and relieving myself, I walked out of my stall only to have Girl B (now referred to as S) come towards me and grab my phone from my hand.

"Let me give you my phone number so you can call me. And I will go buy you a drink now."

Before I could even muster any words, she grabbed me by the hand and led me out of the bathroom stalls, only to meet a group of about 15 women, all Asian, all wearing the same damn shirt. And all of them staring at me like I was fresh meat.

But S stayed calm and cool. She said later she was pretty drunk, but I couldn't tell. There was something intriguing about her and very trusting, otherwise I wouldn't have let her take my hand like that. When we got up to the concession stand and she went to buy me my beer, the flourescent lights hit her face and she striked me as extremely and naturally beautiful. Once she handed me my beer, she tilted her head to the side, her fingers gripping the edge of the cowboy hat she was wearing, enough for me to glimpse that red bandana underneath, and gave me the slyest, and yet most genuine grin I've ever gotten.

S: "How old are you sweetheart?"

Me: "20..."

S: "You are damn hot for a 20-year old."

Me: "uhhh, thanks..." (drinking beer heavily)

S: " Your name's Emily, right?"

Me: "Yep..."

S (leaning towards me slightly): "I would love to break me off a piece of Emily..."

Ahhh, S...good times, good times. Made for a fun time to explain when I ran back to catch up with D & L and fell in the mud. I think the only thing I could text him when he asked me if I was okay was "Got held back by lesbians...will explain later" and he just responded with ":-)".

Following the Crowd

Thus far, my first New Year's resolution has failed. Or I have failed it. Apparently, I just don't have the drive that I once had to pick up the pen and place it to paper each and every day. It used to be that I couldn't go a day without expressing my deepest and even frivolous feelings in my journal. And now its empty pages sit in the form of an orange composition book strewn across my dresser. I had attempted to engage in conversation with it, mostly by close association. Meaning that something within me had thought that by possessing the journal AT ALL TIMES that I would at one moment or another, be inspired to write in it. However, it didn't work out that way.

Thus, the reason for this blog. For some reason, since I spend most of my time all day at a computer, typing has become the new source of inspiration for me. And after reading such awesome blogs such as BlueRyder and Outside In and Back Again I have been inspired to write my own. Perhaps it'll help ease this old writer's block out from the depths of wherever it went to hide after high school graduation.

I've decided to start this first post out with a series of questions and answers:

Q: So why this blog? Why not the first or second attempts?

A:Maybe I am trying to go along with the whole "third time's a charm..." theme, or maybe I just feel like I would rather fill up my 8-hour work day with more things other than work. Maybe it's a little bit of both. Either way, I'm gonna follow the crowd and write my heart out.

Q: What's with the name? What the heck is "Arirang"?

A: Arirang is the name of a very famous Korean folk song. It has several different versions sung all over the place...but perhaps the one I remember is the one from Seoul (Bonjo Arirang). (Wikipedia has a pretty good article here.) In the song, it talks about the singer crossing the Arirang Pass (mountains located in southeastern Gyeoungsang Province). There is a line that roughly translates to "The man/woman who abandoned me here will not walk even ten li before his/her feet hurt". For me, as a little girl, it made an impact. I could envision myself walking and braving that mountain pass as my birthparents watched me from a distance. I remember when my friend's moms would sing it while they were cooking food, or when I heard Ms. Su hum it as she cut my hair and ignored the bruises on her face, that there was something ridiculously strong about it. That no matter what I faced in my lifetime, or whoever entered and exited my life, that if I could brave that mountain pass alone. I could be the stronger. Just as those women who I first heard singing Arirang were the stronger.

So here it is, my first post. Nothing too extravagant or heart-felt. Just the idle mumblings and life and times (accompanied by bits and pieces of poetry and prose as they decide to appear) of me. And maybe, just maybe, along the way I'll be able to brave and conquer the Arirang.