a.m.o.t.w (10/31/08)

All right. Short and sweet.

I finally got my first article for the Daily Pennsylvanian, my school's newspaper, this past week. It came out in print yesterday (as in Thursday), and I was pretty excited. But to be honest, I wasn't too thrilled with my assignment.

Basically, to make a long story short, I am a general assignments reporter (GA) and I don't get to pick my topics, nor am I guaranteed a story each week, as can be seen by the fact that this was my first story. But anyway, it involved me going to Hillel (sort of like the Jewish center on campus) to attend this dinner/q&a for director David Wain (yeah, I had never heard of him until this assignment. But check out his new movie, "Role Models" starting Nov. 7). 

As soon as I walked into the building, I could feel the students there semi-staring at me, going what is this obviously non-Jewish Asian girl doing here? But it became truly awkward when David Wain asked as soon as he stepped up to speak, "Who's not Jewish in here?"

I was one of three people (me, the DP photographer, and some other dude) to raise my hand. I mean, no kidding. I'm Asian. And yes, I know there are Asian Jewish people out there somewhere but I am definitely not one of them. I also think I was the only Asian in that entire building. So I got stared at some more. 

But I have to say...it was an experience. 

a.s.o.t.w (10/28/08)

The Scenario:

The elevator. SO AWKWARD. Especially if you're with people you don't know. And it's a small elevator. You awkwardly stand there in silence, maybe fiddle with your coat button or shift the weight on your legs, but really? What else is there to do? I honestly have to say that I don't like people who like to interrupt our communal awkwardness by talking to me as if they know me. "Nice weather we're having today." "So, where are you from?" "How are you liking Destin so far?" No, I don't want to converse with you. It's okay to smile at a cute baby or to exchange a polite, "Fifth floor, please." But otherwise, this elevator ride is only going to last 40 seconds. Please enjoy the silence in the meantime. And then there are people that like to stand in your corner of the elevator, even if you two are the only two in the elevator. There is plenty of space to have separate personal spaces, so why? And THEN there are people who catch you at your oddest moments in the elevator. T.V. shows and movies make those moments seem romantic or full of exciting tension, but really, all that happens in real life is tripping on the way out or quiet arguments in another language, namely Korean, Chinese, or Spanish.

The Solution:

I know it seems like I'm being contradictory to the title of this blog, but really. Elevator rides are supposed to be simple and sweet. Small talk between co-workers or a student and a professor or two or more students - that's totally legit. But if you don't know who they are, just stay in your own bubble. For college/job interviews, on the way up, it's best not to say much. It's a dog-eat-dog world out there, and chances are, they just want you to choke and fail miserably that day. On vacation, just don a happy smile and hold doors open for whoever wants to get on. And if you really feel like making a difference in your elevator-buddies' lives, solve a Rubik's cube in the time between the door closing on the second floor of a mall and the door opening on the first floor. People go wild.

i fear

...that people don't understand my humor.

...that I will slowly lose contact with my high school friends.

...that I get bored easily.

...that I will eventually get into an argument with my mom about what I want to do in life.

...that I actually don't know who I am.

...that I will become prideful.

...that people tire of me quickly.

...that I will start dropping commitments.

...that I say too much.

...that I will switch up my priorities.

...that I am overanalyzing, as usual.

...that I will definitely suffer from Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD).

...that I try to be someone that I haven't been all my life.

...that you will never understand.

semi-awkward moment of the week (10/25/08)

I realize that I didn't post yesterday, but only because I could not think of a truly defining awkward moment. So I suppose I will recount a strange, semi-awkward moment.

So, on Tuesday, I was eating lunch with a usual group of people, and I found this random guy sitting diagonally across the table from me. I thought he was the friend of someone else at the table, so I was like, okay, cool. But it turned out that he wasn't. Thus, it was a bit awkward at first, but as the lunch progressed, he began to talk about himself. He said he was from Illinois, but not Chicago or Springfield, as most people can stereotypically presume. Then he said that he had gotten into Yale, but decided to come to Penn anyway because he didn't feel like slitting his wrists all the time because of the crazy dullness/stress. We were like, oh, interesting. Then he talked about visiting all these different countries, like China and Sweden, and that he wanted to go to India to see a crazy high-rise mansion built by the fifth richest man in the world. We were like, hm, I see. Then he talked about how he's met the founder of Ikea and been shopping with the Swedish royal family because his cousin's friend's father is somehow friends with them. We were like, oh wow. Then he started mentioning how he's met three out of the ten richest men in the world, like Bill Gates at a condo they were both at, and Oprah because he was at some conference she spoke at, and how so-and-so lives next door to him, and so-and-so lives next door to that person...until eventually, we asked, But wait, didn't you say you lived in Illinois? And he said, oh well, this is in Florida. We have two houses. Uh-huh.

So basically, as soon as he talked about the Swedish royal family, I thought - Is he a compulsive liar? And of course, I was with people who are naturally very trusting and non-cynical, so they continued to say, oh really? Wow, interesting. But I really felt like that was just feeding his will to continue making up bigger and bigger crazy stories. But what can you say? Do you call someone out on something like that? Well, I had to go to a conference with a professor anyway, so I got up and left with my conclusion in mind. But the next time I saw him - he didn't recognize me, thank goodness - he was once again sitting by himself, and it made me wonder...is it loneliness and insecurity that makes people lie like that?

burning candles in the wind

I like metaphors. I speak in metaphors often, which yet again affirms that I am my father's daughter. He used a lot when I was growing up, but his personal favorite was as follows: I am a big jumbo plane that takes a long time to take off, but I will go a long distance. I am not a small propeller plane that takes a short time to take off but only goes a short distance. In essence, he meant that I was a late bloomer bound for greatness. No Mulan flowers for Mr. Ryu; that's too cliched.

So what of the difference between happiness and joy?

We are guaranteed the right to pursue happiness, but who can grant us the right to pursue joy? We don't send happiness to the world on Christmas; we send joy. When I think of happiness, I think of a content smile, but when I think of joy, I think of an uproarious laugh accompanied by dancing and singing and clapping hands. Dictionary.com is very useful; the first definition for the word "happiness," besides the most obvious definition (why they include these, I wish I knew) - "the quality or state of being happy" - is "good fortune; pleasure." Later on, it states "good luck, good fortune, prosperity." For "joy," it says, "the emotion of great delight or happiness caused by something exceptionally good or satisfying." So, we all know good luck and good fortune is very temporary. Joy has the potential to be everlasting.

Happiness is a bite-size cookie. Joy is a giant seven-layered chocolate cake. Happiness is the crunching leaves on the ground. Joy is a never-ending pathway lined with trees orange and red and brown and yellow. Happiness is finding a quarter on the ground. Joy is finding $6 billion. Happiness is holding hands. Joy is a crushing embrace from the one person you have missed terribly. 

Happiness can slip away on a rainy day or with the bad results of an exam. But joy, true joy is when you can feel at peace and be satisfied with yourself and your life despite the hardships, when through your salty tears you can taste a subtle sweetness. You can be a candle burning bright in the wind; you will never go out.

And though I can't exactly say how much or even exactly why, the same way a mother cannot fully express why she loves her child, or why Kobayashi loves hot dogs so much, I have to say that I have never been more joyful in my life before.

And all I can say is, I hope you get curious as to ask why anyway.

awkward scenario of the week (10/21/08)

The Scenario:

Awkward hugs. They're everywhere. 

Firstly, there's the how-well-do-I-know-you? kinds. You may have only known each other two days, or two months, or even two years. But you're not sure if you feel comfortable enough.

Then, there's the same-sex awkwardness. Man hugs, overzealous Asian girls...yeah.

Lastly, there's the type of hug. One-armed shoulder hug, criss-cross arm hug (where one arm goes over and the other arm goes under), pat-on-the-back hug, don't-know-which-side-to-turn-your-head hug. 

The Solution:

On the issue of time: it's up to you and how comfortable you feel. You both have to agree on the level of comfort. Some people just don't like hugging. Other people like hugging everyone. So find a happy medium.

On the issue of gender: Timing is everything. Don't hold on for too long, end of story.

On the type: Just a nice, enveloping hug with BOTH arms either over or under will suffice. Pick a side before you enter the hug so that you guys don't end up knocking heads.

Check out the Free Hugs Campaign video for inspiration: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vr3x_RRJdd4

the owl said: who? (pt. 1)

Is there a discrepancy between who people believe you to be and who you believe yourself to be? 

awkward moment of the week (10/17/08)

Well, it definitely takes talent to trip UP the stairs and fall flat on my face, and I just did that. So yeah. Fortunately, no one was there to witness my amazing gracefulness.

No, but really, this week, I had a really awkward reunion with my old violin teacher. Mr. Kim was my teacher from 4th-6th grade, also known as the period in which I hated playing the violin. I was a slacker when it came to practicing (still am) and every lesson was a torture session. He made me cry a lot, because he was super strict and he made me start from the basics all over again. Mind you, by the time I was in 4th grade, I had already been playing for almost 5 years. But those five years were really easy-going, especially with the teacher I had before Mr. Kim, Ms. Susan, who gave me stickers every week to put on my Suzuki books. I was a fast-learner, so I breezed through the series. However, instead of turning me onto more complex pieces by legit composers, I didn't shed the Suzuki series until my last year with Mr. Kim. As I grew older and became a more advanced violinist, I reflected on that period, and I see now that without Mr. Kim imposing the basics in a strict manner, I would never have made it to the point I am today. I've even written things in creative pieces for English class or just in general about that time period with him. So...I always envisioned a certain reunion, I guess.

Moving back to NJ meant that my brother had to find a new cello teacher. Incidentally, Mr. Kim's wife is a cello teacher, so David decided to study with her. Now that I was in NJ for fall break, I went with him to his lesson, and Mr. Kim happened to be there as well. It was really awkward seeing him again, though, because I wasn't really sure what to say. Hi, it's me? Thanks for what you did 7 years ago? And of course, there's that whole dilemma between, do I speak in Korean or in English? (He's married to a white woman.) And since my mom was there too, there was like a doubled awkwardness as we all looked for something to say. He was a lot different from what I remembered - shorter, with a more amiable face, and he had gained some weight in his face. He didn't say much at all, so there were these slight awkward pauses in between every sentence said. So finally, my mom said we had to leave, and I told him I'd visit during Thanksgiving with my violin, and that was the end of that. It was a wholly unsatisfying reunion, and at the same time, I could see why it was so awkward. It's not like any of my elementary school teachers would remember me in the first place. Meeting people from your past can go either way - really well or really awkwardly. And I guess this was one case of the latter.

awkward scenario of the week (10/14/08)

Because this blog is supposedly centered on the awkwardness of life, and breaking said awkwardness...I've decided to start two series: "awkward scenario of the week" on Tuesdays, which will be sort of a how-to for resolving awkward situations; and "awkward moment of the week" on Fridays, which will recount the most awkward moment from my life (or maybe another person's, depending) that week for your amusement.

So to start off this week, (I know it says yesterday's date because I didn't think of this until an hour ago...)

The Scenario: 

You know like when you're in a public place, say the grocery store or the mall, and you see an acquaintance you don't really know that well? And maybe you see them first, or your eyes meet, and you're not sure if you should say "hi" or not? SO AWKWARD. There are different levels though - like if you're in the same class as them at that moment, or maybe from last year...then it's just sort of a comfort-zone thing. Are you willing to reach out first? And potentially feel stupid if they don't recognize you? And then there are people you haven't seen since like 8th or 9th grade...and you're not sure if they remember you at all. Then it's really a dilemma. Actually, any time you're not sure if they remember you or not is a problem. For example, I remember one time I was going through a drive-thru at Starbucks, and I pulled up to the window, and it was this kid from my freshman language arts class. I immediately recognized him, since I generally recognize most people that I've met (oh, flawless memory of mine), but I wasn't sure if he knew who I was. So I just smiled and got my coffee and drove off. Thank goodness it wasn't the Wendy's incident (which I may talk about at a later time). 

The Solution:

It's hard to say, because it all depends on what kind of person you are. But overall, I think it's a matter of time. If it's someone you've just met, and you wouldn't mind being friends with them, then just say "hi" and reintroduce yourself if they don't quite remember your name. If it's someone in your class either in the present or last year, say "hi" anyway; chances are, they're just going to play along even if they have no idea who you are. Maybe you'll make a new friend along the way. If it's been >3 years since you've last seen each other/spoken to each other, just smile amiably and move on. If you're going to avoid them completely, make sure to do a good job of it. Don't get caught in the act.

Happy Meeting-and-Greetings!

what i love

- knit berets

- starving myself through math recitation to buy myself a pumpkin bagel with pumpkin cream cheese afterwards

- comfortable silence while you're eating with someone

- deliberately pointless arguments

- playing drums on "Maps" from Rock Band

- impromptu hall talks

- organizing my closet

- shopping with my mom

- Ingrid Michaelson

- pleasantly surprising people (this could go both ways)

- watching my brother grow up

- photography

- reading my old writing (especially from when I was 8)

- holding hands

- sleeping

- hearing my dad say lame comments/jokes

- driving on wide Georgian roads

- GCC and my family group

- walking back into the Quad and feeling like it's home.

to be or not to be

I love Sundays not only because of church, or sleeping in, or because my favorite Korean t.v. show is on, but also because that's when Postsecret puts up its new batch of secrets for the week. If you don't know what Postsecret is, you should check it out: http://postsecret.blogspot.com

Basically, this dude Frank decided he wanted to free the world of its skeletons in the closet -those deep dark secrets that have been contorting stomachs and cutting breaths short, or maybe those unspoken confessions of love, those carefully-concealed wounds, the Freudian thoughts that haven't slipped just yet, or even just random silly-funny statements others might find juvenile or crazy. Why? Because some people harbor secrets so insanely constricting that they drive themselves to poisonous thoughts, like committing suicide. 

I'm on fall break until the day after tomorrow, so I came back to New Jersey for a wee bit just to see the fam, eat like a madwoman, and switch out summer-fall clothes for fall-winter clothes. I was in the car, talking to my mom after a shopping trip just like always, and she was like, "Oh yeah. Did you hear about Choi Jin-Shil?" Choi Jin-Shil is a famous actress in Korea, and for some odd reason or another, she always reminded me of my mom, even though they look nothing alike; it could be attributed to the fact that my mom liked watching her dramas a lot. "No, what happened?" "The poor thing committed suicide." My gut sank to my toes. Granted, I did not know her personally in any way, but like I said, she reminded me of my mother, so I almost felt sick. "No way. When?" "Like two weeks ago." Basically, what happened was: there had been rumors circulating that one of her friend's (also a celebrity) husbands had borrowed money from her, fell into huge debt, and was driven to suicide because she kept haggling him about it. Of course, this was not the truth, but after fighting tooth and nail to clear her name, she finally decided to take her own life. 

My mom said, "You know, you'd think that she would have chosen a different path. She's already been through a bunch of hardships, with starving during her childhood because her father had left the family, and even getting a divorce a few years back. Shouldn't she have been a bit stronger about it? Just stop the rumors, stop acting if she didn't like it anymore, pack up and move to the States? People with past troubles should be able to grow and get stronger each time, right?" 

Right? Wrong? Why does a line form between people who are able to grow from their troubles and people who only get one step closer to the tipping point? Where is the tipping point? We joke about "emo" people, Cornell students and their "Suicide Falls", and we casually say, "Omgggg, if I don't get that job, I'm totally going to kill myself" - but what about the people who actually seriously consider this option? Or even follow through? 

To be quite honest, there was a point in senior year where I just got really disillusioned about the life I was leading, about the trivial things, like physics tests and becoming valedictorian and getting into a "good" college, up to fighting with my brother and disappointing my parents and struggling with my faith and the church. I remember freaking out after a really bad test and sitting in my school parking lot in my car and just wanting to drive off into nothing. And all because of minor things like that. Looking back, the fact that this thought even came across my mind is embarrassing. But what about people with real problems? Their pain, frustration, confusion is probably magnified by 100-fold. 

But walking out on your own life should never be the answer. It should never even be AN answer. Life is a miracle, a gift, no matter how you look at it - religiously or non-religiously. I mean really, for a clump of four cells to become a full-fledged human baby by the end of nine months...that's just crazy. There are flowers still to smell, faces to see, music to hear, pumpkin pies to taste, and other lives to touch - why would you want to cut short a life that already is short by default? You know those little ride machines where you stick in a quarter your mom gives you and it moves around for about 3 minutes and then you get out and you're like, "Again, again!" like a freaking Tellytubby? That's life. Sometimes, those rides can be super fun, especially in the beginning, when it begins moving and you're like, whoa. And then maybe towards the end, you realize that it's kind of moving repetitively in the same direction, and you might get bored. But you don't hop off in the middle, because it's a short enough ride as it is, and why would you want to waste that graciously-given quarter? The only difference you have between life and this ride is that when it's done, you can't say, "Again, again!" and potentially receive a new quarter. 

So use your quarter well. Make the most of that ride. Life can get tough, yeah. Life can get tedious, yeah. But don't play God and take your own life. And if you know anyone who could potentially even think something like this...get some help, really. Before they reach the tipping point, and decide that not being would be better. Cuz honestly, there isn't even a question anymore.

the monk in china

So...basically, I started my work-study job on Monday at Comegys (pronounced Cah-mih-gees) Elementary School in West Philadelphia. I'm a tutor-mentor for 4th-6th graders, and I'm also going to start teaching a creative writing class as an "enrichment activity." I'm kind of surprised at myself, because although I used to say I wanted to be a pediatrician and all that fun stuff, I'm not that good with kids. I smile like crazy like Tour Guide Barbie and put on an almost sing-songy voice, but honestly? I'm not really sure if kids like me. I think I like kids. They're brutally honest and a lot smarter than you think they are - better than adults that hide behind their words and don smiles while thinking something completely different.

It was weird going back to an elementary school. I mean, it'd even be weird to go back to Northview, and just feel the smallness of that place. Whenever I visited River Trail Middle, I'd marvel at the fact that it just seemed ten times smaller than what I had thought it was when I actually went there. But yeah, despite the fact that this school is in West Philadelphia (you should see the houses), it's really not too shabby. The crazy amount of stairs/floors kind of reminded me of my own elementary school. The cafeteria was okay. The front office was just like any other front office. But what hit me was when we walked into room 200, and I saw the little patches of desks with those cubby holes, and the posters promoting education, and the black chalkboard. There's actually a difference between seeing chalkboards in my college classrooms and seeing one in that 5th grader room. It just took me way back to the past. 

Why is it that children can see the silver lining and the half-fullness of a glass of water? Withstand any circumstances as long as they have a friend and a few kind words along the way? 

I went to a ghetto elementary school. It was built in 1899, and there was a walkway that connected the old part of the building to the new part of the building. We did not have air-conditioning; in fact, I remember we would bring frozen water bottles to school around late May, early June just so we could keep cool all day. We barely had a playground, and we certainly did not have a separate cafeteria from our gym. In the gym, we had pull-out table-benches that the custodians would have to pull down before lunchtime everyday, and 28-30 little kids would have to squish onto the two benches. There was no lunch line, really. It was more or less two folding tables set into a long row, and we had a choice of "hot", "cold", "pb&j" or "salad". The cold and pb&j lunches would be in a white or brown paper bag, respectively, and salads would be in those plastic carry-out containers. The salads were kind of gross, really - cottage cheese on lettuce, plus a Trix yogurt container squished into the side. The hot lunches were in those take-out paper-cap/foil-body containers that you get from Chinese restaurants, and I'm pretty sure they were the left-overs from the middle school. Fridays were our pizza days, and up until fourth?fifth? grade, we got those microwaveable rectangular pizza slices in plastic wrap. After fourth/fifth grade, we started ordering from Papa John's, but they got it delivered so early, it'd always be cold by the time we ate it. But it was pretty much the best pizza I ever had, that first year. Our librarian was a mean old soul, and our principal looked like Glenn Close from 101 Dalmations. My sixth grade science teacher was literally straight out of Magic School Bus Ms. Frizzle, only she wasn't as cool; actually, I think she was a bit not right in the head. 

But you know what? Both then and now, I believe that I went to the best elementary school ever. My fourth grade teacher, Ms. Tuckfelt, took us out to lunch at the Subway across the street if we gathered up 20 A's. I am not a big fan of Subway these days, but that one lunch, swinging my legs back and forth on that metal chair, talking about who-knows-what with my terrific teacher from Teaneck - I won't ever forget it. I learned Greek mythology, current events, SAT vocabulary, mock trial skills, haikus, and how to evaluate myself with a critical (but not too critical) eye in the Gifted-and-Talented class they had there. Hopscotch was my life in third grade. For the first time in my life, I felt convicted to actually go clean up the soccer field (which was actually a field of dirt and sand) during recess, toting three garbage bags and dragging my two best friends along. I got to buy Christmas presents for my parents and my brother through the little Santa Shop they ran every year. I got to go to school with my brother for the first and last time. I got my one and only award in P.E. for having good push-ups and flexibility like no other. I froze my nose off playing basketball with the guys; I stretched out my vocal chords, imagination, and inherent Korean side pretending to be popstars with my friends. I could learn, do, and be whatever I wanted to. I could not imagine a better childhood.

Because despite the oddball substitutes that couldn't speak English, the haunted bathroom, the lame desks that would wobble back and forth for lack of one foot - I was happy. And thus, I was invincible. 

And this kid that I worked with the other day, I know he believes in his invincibility. He was awfully tired from working on a bunch of conversion (yard to feet, yards to inches, etc.) problems, but we were on the last one. He wasn't really focusing, so I told him to put two fingers on each side of his head and say "Focus" because there's this monk in China, who if he does that, he can solve any math problem in the world. Now, kids these days are really smart. Realistic. So he said, "There ain't no Chinese monk. There ain't no monk." And I said, "No, really, my friend knows him really well." He considered it for a minute - a minute of nervousness on my part - then said, "Well, he can't solve my problem." I paused, wondering if there was something not right at home or at school, but then he smiled and said, "I'm smarter than that fake monk." And he went ahead and solved it, proving his point. 

Now, I don't know what kind of psychological effects that little white lie will have on him, but what I got from it was that children, though they are smart and they know when to doubt, they will rise to the challenge nevertheless. We need some of that as we get older. Sometimes we get so caught up in what's wrong with our lives, what's missing, what we want, and what's ideal, that we forget to appreciate the good stuff. The happiness that lies within us. 

The invincibility. 

why so awkward?

Where should I begin? Well first, I guess I'd have to say that I've always liked writing notes on Facebook, so instead of getting them mixed up in between adolescent rants and random surveys about what I ate for lunch and what random songs on my iPod represent my life, I decided to branch off and do my own thing.

The title - "breaking the awkward silence" - I got it from something my pastor made us do this past Sunday. We had to turn to one another and say, "I'm awkward. Are you?" We all laughed as we did this, but yeah, people can be really awkward. What is it about new acquaintances, or maybe not-so-new ones, that makes us feel like we have to fill in every second of our conversations? I certainly feel that need, so I like to just keep talking so the other person won't be quite as burdened. Of course, with my close friends, we can sit there and not speak for a full thirty minutes and feel like we've said everything we needed to say. That's the mark of true friendship: enthusiastic silence. I guess I'm not sure if "enthusiastic" is the right word - I was looking for the opposite of "indifferent." (Caring, compassionate, concerned, interested - they all didn't seem quite right.) Either way, I don't like awkward silences too much because it makes me worry about the other person more than I worry for myself. And since I have so much to say all the time, there's really no need for me to sit in those situations anyway. So even though I can be awkward in general, and so can you - here I go. Breaking your awkward silences, one obnoxious statement at a time.