I will probably never be okay with how it all went down. And it will probably always leave this bitter taste in my mouth whenever I think about it - and me always wondering, what exactly it was that made the final taste so bitter?
There are so much of my feelings that I want to exert upon - and so many of my thoughts that I have kept to myself, mostly because I really haven't found a way to make them make sense outside my mind, but maybe one day: I'll be sitting in my house reading a book or out on the beach with the waves crashing in and I will be able to grab my journal and write down everything I feel and think at this exact moment in ways I never thought I'd be able to express. This is the act of composting. This is my way of spring cleaning for my soul.
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Friday, March 21, 2008
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. =)
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. =)
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
I am hanging on by a thread...
This morning I woke up and felt this nauseating feeling in my stomach. As if my intestines were arguing angrily with the rice I ate the night before - rumbling hard to get the rice the hell off their turf.
And that'd be okay, if it didn't wake me up abruptly at 3 AM - when I hadn't gone to bed until midnight after trying to finish my Chemistry homework. Which by the way, wasn't a successful attempt at all.
There's a quiz tonight on Nomenclature - and I could no more name my stuffed animals when I was younger - much less name ionic and binary compounds. Who am I kidding?
I just keep thinking that if I keep hanging on by this thread - and keep tugging - maybe I'll find the end of the string that leads to the full spool, so I can get my act together. I'm not nervously breaking down or anything, the stress actually helps keep me grounded and centered, in a weird, funky sort of way.
I do hope I can make up for all the points I've lost so far by not being able to complete the damned homework.
And that'd be okay, if it didn't wake me up abruptly at 3 AM - when I hadn't gone to bed until midnight after trying to finish my Chemistry homework. Which by the way, wasn't a successful attempt at all.
There's a quiz tonight on Nomenclature - and I could no more name my stuffed animals when I was younger - much less name ionic and binary compounds. Who am I kidding?
I just keep thinking that if I keep hanging on by this thread - and keep tugging - maybe I'll find the end of the string that leads to the full spool, so I can get my act together. I'm not nervously breaking down or anything, the stress actually helps keep me grounded and centered, in a weird, funky sort of way.
I do hope I can make up for all the points I've lost so far by not being able to complete the damned homework.
Monday, March 3, 2008
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?
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?
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Uhhh...Welcome to Baltimore?
There is something to be said about people who live in a city. And by that I mean, car-less, street walking, metro-taking individuals who brave the dark alleyways each and every night to get to where they've got to go. These are people I call: urban dwellers.
Urban Dwellers take no crap. They are schooled in "Street Smarts 101": they know when to be on guard, when to relax a bit, what metro stop you just don't stop at unless you're with a big group of people or you have two cans of Mase in your messenger bag. They know that to live in a city of any size it becomes a love-hate relationship. And it's definitely not for everyone.
I don't claim to be a full-on urban dweller because I grew up calling home a suburban neighborhood in Towson. But even so, I'm not a stranger to the streets of Baltimore, and more recently not a stranger to the streets of DC either. I'm not saying that Baltimore is my favorite place to be, in fact I have devoted myself quite humbly to the task of leaving Baltimore within the next few years, God willing. But in the same breath, I can tell you that Baltimore is not always a live episode of The Wire either.
Unless...okay, well unless you're not from here. Which is exactly what happened to the new guy at work.
I had been noticing that the corner office as you first walk into our department had been empty for the past week or two. This was extremely unusual, and yet not something completely startling mainly because the person who occupies that office had started just three weeks before.
With all my usual deadlines and goings-on throughout the day, it would slip my mind to ask someone about what had happened to the guy in the corner office. He seemed to have been doing pretty well with his department, and I hadn't heard any bad things about him through the office gossip and occasional "watercooler conversations". So where was he?
It wasn't until maybe well into the second week that I walked into my boss' office and stepped right into the conversation she was having with another one of my coworkers.
"Well, it's just so sad, you know?" she said softly, leaning her head towards my coworker who was sitting in a chair in front of her desk.
"Yes, it's unfortunate," replied my coworker.
"What's so sad?" I asked, after be silent for a whole milli-second, which is long enough, in my opinion, to wait before jumping into a frivolous office gossip conversation.
"You didn't hear?" my boss exclaimed, pushing back into her seat as if this was the biggest news since slice bread and how could no one have told me?
"About what?" I said, nudging her to tell me more as it was obvious she was now bursting at the seams with this unsolicited information.
"About (his name will now be...) Gary. About what happened to him last weekend," she started, and then let her voice drop a whole ten octaves as she pushed herself forward, "He got jumped and mugged in the city and had to go to the hospital."
Now the idea of being jumped in Baltimore is pretty damn plausible. The probability of it happening to anyone in any city is decidedly high. But the fact that it happened to this poor man after only living in Maryland for five whole weeks? Well, that just plain sucked ass.
"I can't get over that," I replied.
"Well, I've heard that he had some broken ribs, a broken arm and they broke his nose and he had to have some reconstructive surgery on his face," she went on.
Chills came over me when I heard that. When late last year we had found out that Kuya had gotten mugged in DC, we were all pretty scared. But he hadn't gotten seriously hurt. He just had his wallet and money taken away. This sounded brutal.
I suddenly felt the urge to apologetic to Gary at my first sight of him whenever he returned. Baltimore is a place I go my hometown, I am not particularly proud of it or anything, but seriously, I felt terrible that this happened to someone who had only been living here for a little over one month.
"That really is horrible," my coworker chimed in, "It sucks that he got so banged up before his health insurance kicked in!"
As horrible as that statement was, it was the truth. And I can't imagine having to have such extensive surgeries in a place that you just moved to, in a hospital you're not familiar with, with no family or friends around, and on top of that, have no way of paying the medical bills.
Once I had learned of Gary's mishap, I thought back on his first few days here and what our first conversation had entailed.
I remember introducing myself, and being excited to know that there'd be another "young person" working here. Gary is only 27 years old, and that makes him only 5 years my senior. In this banking business, that is pretty young.
Gary talked about growing up in some small town in Maine. He knew everyone's name and they knew his. His neighbors were his parents' best friends and life long pals type of deal. He just came from a truly rural/suburban area that was real home town grown.
And then...moved to Baltimore.
Again, not to say this is a bad city in its entirety, but if you look at it in contexts with the comparison to a Maine township, it is a pretty extreme jump.
Gary literally came here with no new friends, and a totally clean slate. And I feel really bad for the guy that his first months here turned out as crappy as they did.
But he has since seemed adjusted, and I keep encouraging him that the whole city of Baltimore isn't that bad, but you just have to pick out the good parts. Just like any other city.
Hopefully he'll take up my offer, and I can take him somewhere we can grab a few drinks and be surrounded by people that will actually give him a better handle on what Baltimore, geesh, what Maryland as a state, has to offer him.
-=EDIT=- Sorry guys I originally started to write this on Feb 11th, and so you can see what a delay that I have in my posts. Free time is definitely hard to come by these days.
Urban Dwellers take no crap. They are schooled in "Street Smarts 101": they know when to be on guard, when to relax a bit, what metro stop you just don't stop at unless you're with a big group of people or you have two cans of Mase in your messenger bag. They know that to live in a city of any size it becomes a love-hate relationship. And it's definitely not for everyone.
I don't claim to be a full-on urban dweller because I grew up calling home a suburban neighborhood in Towson. But even so, I'm not a stranger to the streets of Baltimore, and more recently not a stranger to the streets of DC either. I'm not saying that Baltimore is my favorite place to be, in fact I have devoted myself quite humbly to the task of leaving Baltimore within the next few years, God willing. But in the same breath, I can tell you that Baltimore is not always a live episode of The Wire either.
Unless...okay, well unless you're not from here. Which is exactly what happened to the new guy at work.
I had been noticing that the corner office as you first walk into our department had been empty for the past week or two. This was extremely unusual, and yet not something completely startling mainly because the person who occupies that office had started just three weeks before.
With all my usual deadlines and goings-on throughout the day, it would slip my mind to ask someone about what had happened to the guy in the corner office. He seemed to have been doing pretty well with his department, and I hadn't heard any bad things about him through the office gossip and occasional "watercooler conversations". So where was he?
It wasn't until maybe well into the second week that I walked into my boss' office and stepped right into the conversation she was having with another one of my coworkers.
"Well, it's just so sad, you know?" she said softly, leaning her head towards my coworker who was sitting in a chair in front of her desk.
"Yes, it's unfortunate," replied my coworker.
"What's so sad?" I asked, after be silent for a whole milli-second, which is long enough, in my opinion, to wait before jumping into a frivolous office gossip conversation.
"You didn't hear?" my boss exclaimed, pushing back into her seat as if this was the biggest news since slice bread and how could no one have told me?
"About what?" I said, nudging her to tell me more as it was obvious she was now bursting at the seams with this unsolicited information.
"About (his name will now be...) Gary. About what happened to him last weekend," she started, and then let her voice drop a whole ten octaves as she pushed herself forward, "He got jumped and mugged in the city and had to go to the hospital."
Now the idea of being jumped in Baltimore is pretty damn plausible. The probability of it happening to anyone in any city is decidedly high. But the fact that it happened to this poor man after only living in Maryland for five whole weeks? Well, that just plain sucked ass.
"I can't get over that," I replied.
"Well, I've heard that he had some broken ribs, a broken arm and they broke his nose and he had to have some reconstructive surgery on his face," she went on.
Chills came over me when I heard that. When late last year we had found out that Kuya had gotten mugged in DC, we were all pretty scared. But he hadn't gotten seriously hurt. He just had his wallet and money taken away. This sounded brutal.
I suddenly felt the urge to apologetic to Gary at my first sight of him whenever he returned. Baltimore is a place I go my hometown, I am not particularly proud of it or anything, but seriously, I felt terrible that this happened to someone who had only been living here for a little over one month.
"That really is horrible," my coworker chimed in, "It sucks that he got so banged up before his health insurance kicked in!"
As horrible as that statement was, it was the truth. And I can't imagine having to have such extensive surgeries in a place that you just moved to, in a hospital you're not familiar with, with no family or friends around, and on top of that, have no way of paying the medical bills.
Once I had learned of Gary's mishap, I thought back on his first few days here and what our first conversation had entailed.
I remember introducing myself, and being excited to know that there'd be another "young person" working here. Gary is only 27 years old, and that makes him only 5 years my senior. In this banking business, that is pretty young.
Gary talked about growing up in some small town in Maine. He knew everyone's name and they knew his. His neighbors were his parents' best friends and life long pals type of deal. He just came from a truly rural/suburban area that was real home town grown.
And then...moved to Baltimore.
Again, not to say this is a bad city in its entirety, but if you look at it in contexts with the comparison to a Maine township, it is a pretty extreme jump.
Gary literally came here with no new friends, and a totally clean slate. And I feel really bad for the guy that his first months here turned out as crappy as they did.
But he has since seemed adjusted, and I keep encouraging him that the whole city of Baltimore isn't that bad, but you just have to pick out the good parts. Just like any other city.
Hopefully he'll take up my offer, and I can take him somewhere we can grab a few drinks and be surrounded by people that will actually give him a better handle on what Baltimore, geesh, what Maryland as a state, has to offer him.
-=EDIT=- Sorry guys I originally started to write this on Feb 11th, and so you can see what a delay that I have in my posts. Free time is definitely hard to come by these days.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
ReCoGnIzE! (My Day in DC)
Last week sometime, I was talking with my new female-writer confidant (LP2 is what I'll nickname her, since I already know 1 LP already.) and we had decided quite brilliantly that since we both worked for "governmental jobs" (hers more than mine, to be honest) that allowed us to celebrate the birth of Abraham AND George so luxuriously, it might be fun to check out the new Hip-Hop-infused art exhibit at the National Portrait Gallery in DC. (Seriously, what better way to celebrate the birth of two Presidents than to go back to their political stomping ground?)
I was really looking forward to hanging out with LP2 for several reasons:
1. LP2 has to be one of the most amazing writers I've ever read. Anything she writes about, I just have to read. It's ridiculous, honestly. To be completely embarrassing, I have to admit that I will scroll through the comment sections of Racialicious just to read her comments. Why? Because this woman has the ability to speak her mind in intelligent and graceful ways I can't even imagine. In short, I am LP2's biggest fan. (oh yes, LP2, it's totally true.)
2. Something about becoming closer to LP2 as a person rather than a writer, helped me open myself up as a writer again, surprisingly. Talking with her through emails back and forth and such, really reminded me of how much I miss writing and expressing myself. And how much I've been using so many other forms of communication that haven't been as faithful or as effective as writing has been for me in the past. I am just so excited to finally have a tie into writing community again. I felt like I had been pushed out, mainly voluntarily...okay, mostly voluntarily. By pushed out, I guess I mean, me - slowly over time - pulling away from writing because I felt it kept me from the doing of life. But now after all this doing, I'm starting to feel the only way for me to truly own it, and love it, is to reflect and write. And it's just great to be surrounded by people who get the same satisfaction, like LP2.
3. We were going to see a fricken' art exhibit, for chrissakes! How awesome/fantastical/amazing/brilliant/spectaculicious is that?! I hadn't been to a true art exhibit in years, unless you count that one time that that guy who was really into this scathingly bad art forced me to go to this tattoo-parlor-turned-art-studio with lots of men and women dressed in fancy clothes, drinking cheap champagne out of plastic wine glasses while walking around staring at photos of girls in their underwear with gag balls in their mouths and said "How extraordinary and deep! I'll buy FIVE!" ...so I hadn't really been to an art exhibit at all... in a LONG time.
4. This would ultimately be my (Count it!) 2nd time driving to DC by myself, in the daylight. You know, that little thing called sunshine where you're able to see your hand in front of your face without squinting really hard beyond the laser lights and the darkness and whatever trippy lighting effects you can think of? It was fantastic to be driving, especially on a random day where the weather was perfect 60 degrees outside! I literally rolled my windows down as soon as I hit 295, and turned the air conditioning on because the sun was so warm and delicious. I was excited to finally be getting out of the house, and driving to DC for a quick adventure. Not that I haven't been out of the house at all in the past few months (if you've been reading this and other blogs, you'll notice I have!) but this was just a little different. No familiar faces, no particular event that I was time-constrained to. I just knew eventually LP2 and I would go to the National Portrait and eventually we'd get so annoyed with the growling of our stomachs that we would succumb and gobble food to tell it to shut up.
Once I got into DC off New York Ave, I recognized where I was completely - it seems like anywhere and everywhere that I have spent oodles and oodles of my time has been off of New York Ave. The only thing about heading that way was worrying about the traffic, which wasn't as bad as I had expected it to be - possibly because I kept forgetting that it was a government holiday, and literally everything, save for the galleries and exhibits, on Pennsylvania Avenue was shut down for the day.
I just had to find parking. Ugh. If there is one thing that I have to say that I hate about having a car is getting to the place and then having to roam around for an hour to find parking. Because every one knows that all the cool places; ie: the only places that you and your friends want to go, are located in areas where there is NO PARKING and you have to find parking on some back alley or do "creative" parking - like parking just past the sign that is marked "No Parking ---> This Way Between 4-7 pm" claiming later when you get the ticket, "Well, half of my car was in the safe parking zone, doesn't that count?"
So I drove around. And around. I finally called Oppa out of desperation.
"Oppa, I am on Pennsylvania Avenue and I can't find parking anywhere."
"Uh? It's a holiday, EJ - you should be able to find parking easily. I suggest you try to park around the mall," my brother said over the phone, "How long are you here for? Will you call to have dinner with me and Esther later?"
"I'll try, I don't know how long I'll be here. I am checking out that new art exhibit at the National Portrait Gallery. I'll call you later regardless, though."
After driving around several times in a square-shaped circle, and finding absolutely no free parking spaces, I finally gave in and turned into the nearest "Parking Garage Here" sign I saw. Thankfully it was at the International Trade Center, where they are equipped to deal with idiots like me who for the life of me even though the parking lot probably has fifty-seven signs showing me that I parked on C-2, when I finally go to get back to my car, I walk around aimlessly for fifty minutes, going on every single level and not having a damned clue where I parked.
But this parking lot was awesome. Instead of numbers, it had countries to designate what floor you parked on. How could I forget that I parked on Floor Russia? I could easily forget something arbitrary like C-3 or D-4, but Russia? Hell no. I'll remember that sucker.
I finally met up with LP2 after walking to the wrong damned gallery and having to turn around. There was some kind of mad-hatter accident or something, and halfway along my walk they had to detour across three more blocks just to get to a block I was originally only a few steps away from. Bah.
But ReCoGnIzE! was awesome. One of the most amazing things were the paintings by Kehinde Wiley. Absolutely off-the-CHAIN! Take a portrait of Napoleon, add a little Ice-T to the mix, and Boom! What a masterpiece. The depth of the colors and the shadows, and just the entire composition was breath-taking, and something that I can't wait to go back to and check out again (I am going again in March if anyone is interested).
LP2 and I had a great time, overall. We perused the gift shop, and gave in to temptation by purchasing the photo booklet of the exhibit (It was only $10!!! C'mon!!) and then headed towards Chinatown to pick up some grub.
That was around the time that it started to rain. And LP2, being the street-stepper and "urban-dweller" that she is, came prepared with an umbrella. My stupid ass, had not.
So after grabbing some grub and some MUCH NEEDED intelligent conversation (LP2, you astound me with your little book of what you have to do's and whatnots, you go girl!) we escaped over to Urban Outfitters so I could buy a hat to shield me from the rain.)
While there, we started talking about music. Mainly because when we first walked into the store, LP2 remarked that the singer they had playing in the background sounded like Rachel Yamagata. Which is exactly what I thought to. And then we started to say, I can't believe you know that person, and oh my gosh, yes, I have my MP3 player right here with me, let's stand in front of the aisle and play music for each other despite people walking all around us!!!
Good times, I tell you.
Alas, the day had to come to a close, and LP2 gave me a big hug and off I went to go and try to find the International Trade Center. Remember how I mentioned that I would not forget what floor I parked on? Well, I didn't, I wouldn't have lied to you. But what I did manage to forget, or rather, lose somehow was my parking ticket. And with that, my ability to find my sense of direction as to where I had come from in the first place. Fantastic. I spent an hour just walking in the rain, asking mothers ushering their children under big umbrellas, "Which way to 13th St?" and men who were jogging with their visors on to catch the raindrops, "Do you know how far it is to Pennsylvania Ave from here?" Thank God people in DC tend to be pretty friendly.
Thanks for making my day off an exciting one, LP2, and we'll definitely have to do this again, real soon.
I promise to have more posts up soon, particularly two involving a special person's birthday, and a "terrible schmelting accident".
I was really looking forward to hanging out with LP2 for several reasons:
1. LP2 has to be one of the most amazing writers I've ever read. Anything she writes about, I just have to read. It's ridiculous, honestly. To be completely embarrassing, I have to admit that I will scroll through the comment sections of Racialicious just to read her comments. Why? Because this woman has the ability to speak her mind in intelligent and graceful ways I can't even imagine. In short, I am LP2's biggest fan. (oh yes, LP2, it's totally true.)
2. Something about becoming closer to LP2 as a person rather than a writer, helped me open myself up as a writer again, surprisingly. Talking with her through emails back and forth and such, really reminded me of how much I miss writing and expressing myself. And how much I've been using so many other forms of communication that haven't been as faithful or as effective as writing has been for me in the past. I am just so excited to finally have a tie into writing community again. I felt like I had been pushed out, mainly voluntarily...okay, mostly voluntarily. By pushed out, I guess I mean, me - slowly over time - pulling away from writing because I felt it kept me from the doing of life. But now after all this doing, I'm starting to feel the only way for me to truly own it, and love it, is to reflect and write. And it's just great to be surrounded by people who get the same satisfaction, like LP2.
3. We were going to see a fricken' art exhibit, for chrissakes! How awesome/fantastical/amazing/brilliant/spectaculicious is that?! I hadn't been to a true art exhibit in years, unless you count that one time that that guy who was really into this scathingly bad art forced me to go to this tattoo-parlor-turned-art-studio with lots of men and women dressed in fancy clothes, drinking cheap champagne out of plastic wine glasses while walking around staring at photos of girls in their underwear with gag balls in their mouths and said "How extraordinary and deep! I'll buy FIVE!" ...so I hadn't really been to an art exhibit at all... in a LONG time.
4. This would ultimately be my (Count it!) 2nd time driving to DC by myself, in the daylight. You know, that little thing called sunshine where you're able to see your hand in front of your face without squinting really hard beyond the laser lights and the darkness and whatever trippy lighting effects you can think of? It was fantastic to be driving, especially on a random day where the weather was perfect 60 degrees outside! I literally rolled my windows down as soon as I hit 295, and turned the air conditioning on because the sun was so warm and delicious. I was excited to finally be getting out of the house, and driving to DC for a quick adventure. Not that I haven't been out of the house at all in the past few months (if you've been reading this and other blogs, you'll notice I have!) but this was just a little different. No familiar faces, no particular event that I was time-constrained to. I just knew eventually LP2 and I would go to the National Portrait and eventually we'd get so annoyed with the growling of our stomachs that we would succumb and gobble food to tell it to shut up.
Once I got into DC off New York Ave, I recognized where I was completely - it seems like anywhere and everywhere that I have spent oodles and oodles of my time has been off of New York Ave. The only thing about heading that way was worrying about the traffic, which wasn't as bad as I had expected it to be - possibly because I kept forgetting that it was a government holiday, and literally everything, save for the galleries and exhibits, on Pennsylvania Avenue was shut down for the day.
I just had to find parking. Ugh. If there is one thing that I have to say that I hate about having a car is getting to the place and then having to roam around for an hour to find parking. Because every one knows that all the cool places; ie: the only places that you and your friends want to go, are located in areas where there is NO PARKING and you have to find parking on some back alley or do "creative" parking - like parking just past the sign that is marked "No Parking ---> This Way Between 4-7 pm" claiming later when you get the ticket, "Well, half of my car was in the safe parking zone, doesn't that count?"
So I drove around. And around. I finally called Oppa out of desperation.
"Oppa, I am on Pennsylvania Avenue and I can't find parking anywhere."
"Uh? It's a holiday, EJ - you should be able to find parking easily. I suggest you try to park around the mall," my brother said over the phone, "How long are you here for? Will you call to have dinner with me and Esther later?"
"I'll try, I don't know how long I'll be here. I am checking out that new art exhibit at the National Portrait Gallery. I'll call you later regardless, though."
After driving around several times in a square-shaped circle, and finding absolutely no free parking spaces, I finally gave in and turned into the nearest "Parking Garage Here" sign I saw. Thankfully it was at the International Trade Center, where they are equipped to deal with idiots like me who for the life of me even though the parking lot probably has fifty-seven signs showing me that I parked on C-2, when I finally go to get back to my car, I walk around aimlessly for fifty minutes, going on every single level and not having a damned clue where I parked.
But this parking lot was awesome. Instead of numbers, it had countries to designate what floor you parked on. How could I forget that I parked on Floor Russia? I could easily forget something arbitrary like C-3 or D-4, but Russia? Hell no. I'll remember that sucker.
I finally met up with LP2 after walking to the wrong damned gallery and having to turn around. There was some kind of mad-hatter accident or something, and halfway along my walk they had to detour across three more blocks just to get to a block I was originally only a few steps away from. Bah.
But ReCoGnIzE! was awesome. One of the most amazing things were the paintings by Kehinde Wiley. Absolutely off-the-CHAIN! Take a portrait of Napoleon, add a little Ice-T to the mix, and Boom! What a masterpiece. The depth of the colors and the shadows, and just the entire composition was breath-taking, and something that I can't wait to go back to and check out again (I am going again in March if anyone is interested).
LP2 and I had a great time, overall. We perused the gift shop, and gave in to temptation by purchasing the photo booklet of the exhibit (It was only $10!!! C'mon!!) and then headed towards Chinatown to pick up some grub.
That was around the time that it started to rain. And LP2, being the street-stepper and "urban-dweller" that she is, came prepared with an umbrella. My stupid ass, had not.
So after grabbing some grub and some MUCH NEEDED intelligent conversation (LP2, you astound me with your little book of what you have to do's and whatnots, you go girl!) we escaped over to Urban Outfitters so I could buy a hat to shield me from the rain.)
While there, we started talking about music. Mainly because when we first walked into the store, LP2 remarked that the singer they had playing in the background sounded like Rachel Yamagata. Which is exactly what I thought to. And then we started to say, I can't believe you know that person, and oh my gosh, yes, I have my MP3 player right here with me, let's stand in front of the aisle and play music for each other despite people walking all around us!!!
Good times, I tell you.
Alas, the day had to come to a close, and LP2 gave me a big hug and off I went to go and try to find the International Trade Center. Remember how I mentioned that I would not forget what floor I parked on? Well, I didn't, I wouldn't have lied to you. But what I did manage to forget, or rather, lose somehow was my parking ticket. And with that, my ability to find my sense of direction as to where I had come from in the first place. Fantastic. I spent an hour just walking in the rain, asking mothers ushering their children under big umbrellas, "Which way to 13th St?" and men who were jogging with their visors on to catch the raindrops, "Do you know how far it is to Pennsylvania Ave from here?" Thank God people in DC tend to be pretty friendly.
Thanks for making my day off an exciting one, LP2, and we'll definitely have to do this again, real soon.
I promise to have more posts up soon, particularly two involving a special person's birthday, and a "terrible schmelting accident".
Thursday, February 14, 2008
The Closest Thing
Today is Valentine's Day - or what I like to call - "Hallmark Holiday" Day. You know what I'm talking about, all the guilt of "not loving your lover enough" starts to sink in and you're programmed through subliminal commercials on TV and radio to feel that the only way to rectify your horrible relationship is by thrusting your checkbook into the hands of luring retail owners for large quantities of chocolates, red roses and whatever else is red, overly sweet and disgustingly adorable.
Sounds like fun to me, too. (Sarcasm Alert!)
But alas, I figured I would write about something recent that is the closest thing to the theme of Valentine's Day. (As I speak, I have about three posts sitting in my queue, begging to be finished. Soon, soon, soon my dear half-written darlings.)
On Sunday night, I spent the first half of the evening at Blue Ryder's, being sucked into the vortex that is PS3 all weekend long. Mostly because, when the need to rock is screaming your name, you basically have no choice but to answer the call. So I did what any other bitchin' ass rocker would do - I rocked the fuck out. (Thanks again, guys! ;-))
The only slight problem was that I had promised a date with my brother and sister the same day. I hadn't seen them in months, which is highly unusual, but the main reason for that is I no longer hang out the same way that they do. It has been really difficult for me juggling the feelings that I have had inside for the past two months. I really love my brother and my sister tremendously, but I really cannot stand to be in the club atmosphere for more than two hours at a time anymore. Yet the only time that my brother and sister go out is ...well, at night. Underneath flourescent lighting and laser beams. So I've been torn.
I had been putting the date off each hour, every hour that I felt engrossed in my moonlighting career as a rockstar. That is, until I realized it was almost 6 o' clock at night. And with a slight bittersweetness, I left Blue Ryder's house to head to the DC/VA area for dinner.
As much as halfway there I began to feel the heaviness of my eyelids, I was really quite thrilled. One, because it's a Sunday, and that is my brother and sister's rest day, meaning, they just rest up from their prior engagement (club-going) the night before. Two, because our plan was to go out to dinner and eat. You know, no flourescent lighting. No laser beams. No DnB music plummeling nails into my brain. Just me, my oppa, my unni, a table and food. YAY!
Once I got there, I climbed into the back of Oppa's car and we headed out to Momo Sushi & Cafe in Old Towne Alexandria. Okay, so originally we had plans to head somewhere else for sushi, but they were closed...and boy am I glad!
Mostly because I hadn't ever heard of Momo before, but Oppa insisted that it was by far, the best sushi he had ever tasted and I should really try it out.
I have to say, it was the most amazing sushi that I have ever had. EVER. The taste was so fresh, and so quenching that I couldn't get enough. I am not a particular fan of sashimi but this stuff was sooo good that I tried every type of sushi that we chose off the menu. And their volcano rolls were out of this world!
I really do think that great food correllates with great conversation and also goes along with great company. Momo is quite small, but apparently Oppa and Unni have eaten there a THOUSAND times, because the owner came up to us directly, and said she would give us a table as soon as one opened up while we sat at the sushi bar.
We ate miso soup, and a salad with this bombastic dressing, I have no idea what was in that but it was amazing, whatever it was. And then shrimp tempura before the sushi. All the while we just kept talking and eating, and eating and talking. I really miss being able to do that with them as often.
Unni kept saying all night long how it was great to finally see me as opposed to squinting through the darkness of a club to talk to my silouette.
I told her it was great to finally see them, too. And it was.
It is such a great feeling to be around people where the puzzle pieces finally just fit. Blue Ryder, Oppa, Unni, and everyone else in my life have totally caught me in a place where everything just fits so nicely. Even if my puzzle piece is misshapen sometimes.
Sounds like fun to me, too. (Sarcasm Alert!)
But alas, I figured I would write about something recent that is the closest thing to the theme of Valentine's Day. (As I speak, I have about three posts sitting in my queue, begging to be finished. Soon, soon, soon my dear half-written darlings.)
On Sunday night, I spent the first half of the evening at Blue Ryder's, being sucked into the vortex that is PS3 all weekend long. Mostly because, when the need to rock is screaming your name, you basically have no choice but to answer the call. So I did what any other bitchin' ass rocker would do - I rocked the fuck out. (Thanks again, guys! ;-))
The only slight problem was that I had promised a date with my brother and sister the same day. I hadn't seen them in months, which is highly unusual, but the main reason for that is I no longer hang out the same way that they do. It has been really difficult for me juggling the feelings that I have had inside for the past two months. I really love my brother and my sister tremendously, but I really cannot stand to be in the club atmosphere for more than two hours at a time anymore. Yet the only time that my brother and sister go out is ...well, at night. Underneath flourescent lighting and laser beams. So I've been torn.
I had been putting the date off each hour, every hour that I felt engrossed in my moonlighting career as a rockstar. That is, until I realized it was almost 6 o' clock at night. And with a slight bittersweetness, I left Blue Ryder's house to head to the DC/VA area for dinner.
As much as halfway there I began to feel the heaviness of my eyelids, I was really quite thrilled. One, because it's a Sunday, and that is my brother and sister's rest day, meaning, they just rest up from their prior engagement (club-going) the night before. Two, because our plan was to go out to dinner and eat. You know, no flourescent lighting. No laser beams. No DnB music plummeling nails into my brain. Just me, my oppa, my unni, a table and food. YAY!
Once I got there, I climbed into the back of Oppa's car and we headed out to Momo Sushi & Cafe in Old Towne Alexandria. Okay, so originally we had plans to head somewhere else for sushi, but they were closed...and boy am I glad!
Mostly because I hadn't ever heard of Momo before, but Oppa insisted that it was by far, the best sushi he had ever tasted and I should really try it out.
I have to say, it was the most amazing sushi that I have ever had. EVER. The taste was so fresh, and so quenching that I couldn't get enough. I am not a particular fan of sashimi but this stuff was sooo good that I tried every type of sushi that we chose off the menu. And their volcano rolls were out of this world!
I really do think that great food correllates with great conversation and also goes along with great company. Momo is quite small, but apparently Oppa and Unni have eaten there a THOUSAND times, because the owner came up to us directly, and said she would give us a table as soon as one opened up while we sat at the sushi bar.
We ate miso soup, and a salad with this bombastic dressing, I have no idea what was in that but it was amazing, whatever it was. And then shrimp tempura before the sushi. All the while we just kept talking and eating, and eating and talking. I really miss being able to do that with them as often.
Unni kept saying all night long how it was great to finally see me as opposed to squinting through the darkness of a club to talk to my silouette.
I told her it was great to finally see them, too. And it was.
It is such a great feeling to be around people where the puzzle pieces finally just fit. Blue Ryder, Oppa, Unni, and everyone else in my life have totally caught me in a place where everything just fits so nicely. Even if my puzzle piece is misshapen sometimes.
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