November 2016 – Part I

Wednesday, November 2nd
… It’s strange, but I sense some learning curves (or growth spurts, or whatever-) some of my friends are going through. Things that you don’t realize you are in the middle of even though you are up to your neck in it. Freeing yourself from parental expectations struggling to stay vulnerable; recognizing that there will always be certain space between humans that can’t be bridged; learning to live with uncertainty instead of seeking certainty. …

Thursday, November 3rd
… I go to the trees when my head feels too big and time is slithering through my fingers like water. Gazing up at the ancient lives who have witnessed events from the far past and who will live to see the far future. My head shrinks back and I am enveloped by the life bigger and vaster than I could ever be. Smelling in the damp earth, my inner animal stops growling and settles back, content for now. …

Friday, November 4th
I decided to follow my heart and be a writer, but I haven’t been writing.
I knew the road wasn’t going to be suddenly smooth, and I have to make the decision again and again, every day. It’s hard to find the heart, and a lot harder to keep it, because it’s helluva easy to lose it.
The human interaction between fictional characters (movies, books, etc.) – Erich Fromm was spot-on. They are imitations of the real thing, and we turn to them because it’s easier, more accesible, and less risky. But they also don’t linger. These quick bursts of warmth and humor are fleeting and they leave you feeling emptier than before, thus starting and enabling a vicious cycle. …

Saturday, November 5th
… I feel lost. Lost and scared, even though I know what I want to do. The decision to trust my heart was just the first step, perhaps the highest point for a long time to come. I did say I was descending (or ascending, or maybe it’s just straight ahead) towards madness.

Sunday, November 6th
Connection/Disconnection. Lately, that’s all I’ve been thinking about. That precious moment of shared human-ness, striking that space in us that is full of longing for belonging and of the need for connection. …
But also the disconnection – the dissonance in the melody of relationship, the surface of ego demanding spotlight. It’s time to step back, take care of our inner child, and ready ourselves for another meeting on the level of the spirits. …

Monday, November 7th
I am scared. I am scared shitless about the future. … I am afraid of turning out to be a mediocre writer, although I don’t see what’s wrong with that – perhaps it’s the social pressure of finding the dream job right away, the idea of our jobs representing who we are. … I realized that I don’t have many – any? – concrete, tangible fears. I am afraid of abstract things such as the future/uncertainty, and also of not being understood/accepted/loved by other people, but I can’t think of scary experiences in my life – for me, it’s a perpetual, long-term fear, not a moment of fear bursting into a flame and extinguishing itself just as quickly. I don’t want to play the victim card again (but I probably am), but when you have already experienced being an outsider, when you have already gone through several identity crises, perhaps your fear of spiders or operations cease to have such a huge influence on you.
In my melodramatic moments, I fancy myself an orphan – which is a slap in the faces of all the people who really do not have family, or parents who are so bad that being an orphan would be the better option. What I had refused to see, however, was how many people were trying to be my temporary family in small ways. But I never really let them, priding myself over my emotional independence, telling myself that while they were nice, I didn’t need them. Then, being a hypocrite that I am, I bemoan the fact that I am alone with my actual family far away.
Why do we isolate ourselves? Why do we push people away? Why do we punish ourselves?

Tuesday, November 8th
… I was feeling discouraged, and I did what might not have been such a good idea: I called Mom. My security blanket had been ripped off me, I felt hypersensitive and raw all over – like everyone was staring at me & judging me -, so I wanted to slip back to the role of a child and seek the comfort of my mother’s lap. Only she could not provide it anymore. So I start keeping things from her, and from my family. …

Friday, November 11th
… I don’t know how to love people whom I can’t see, touch or hear. I am constantly seeing only parts of their lives, and call me a perfectionist/purist/extremist, but I can’t love like that. I want the physicality of love or nor love at all.
… Is family a structure in which the members need each other or want each other? Is it both? Or neither? Or does it depend on the individual family?
… Maybe I don’t feel confident enough yet to face my family’s opinions. Maybe, one day, I will be able to comfortably share all of myself without worry or fear or anxiety. Until then, I’ll keep my life to myself.

Saturday, November 12th
Behind being torn about the future lies a fountain of feeling inadequate and the lack of my belief in myself. The fear of not knowing myself. Not trusting myself to be strong enough to survive the world outside of the academic bubble.
… I am afraid to trust my words, as if they are an entity to themselves, as if I could mangle them if I touch them. Maybe that’s because they seem to just pour out of me when I enter this zone of beauty – no, of life – and thus seem sacred. It must sound very pretentious to say that my writing seems sacred, but it’s not the really the words themselves; it’s the experience. …

Monday, November 14th
… I think it’s our human need to be understood & accepted that leads us to tell the people in our lives all sorts of things. We want to unload our most selfish, self-indulgent, and shameful thoughts on them, in hopes that they will absolve us from our burden, so that we can be light-hearted again, just like children after having confessed that it was us who has broken that glass jar.
But humans aren’t gods. We aren’t all-accepting, all-forgiving. We are often impatient and pre-occupied with our own lives. Other people unburdening on us feels intrusive –
I know all this and yet – and yet I find myself wanting to revert to being a kid and dump all of my problems on someone else’s shoes. The first person I think of is my mother, of course, perhaps also b/c I’m reading To the Lighthouse for my class and I am fascinated & daunted by Mrs Ramsay. …

December 2016 – Part I

Friday, December 2nd
… Our relationships are fragmented. Friendships aren’t bound to geographical locations anymore. We literally have friends from all over the world, friends whom we see maybe once a year if we are lucky. … We are still able to build on these friendships. Time may chip away at the foundation little by little, but we can renew a coat when we see each other again.
But we are always so busy catching each other up on the major events that have happened. As consequence, I have no one to turn to with the everyday tales – no one to fully share my life with. When I need a warm shelter from an emotional turmoil, I have no immediate number to dial, because first I’d need to renew some intimacy bridges with my friends before I pour out my woe to them.

Tuesday, December 6th
Return to mindfulness, Day Zero. …

Thursday, December 8th
… My body and I have a difficult relationship. At most, I tolerate my body. I have not grown to love it in all of its angles and varieties. I still hate my body in photos. My immediate thought is, no one will want to hug this ugly body.
Bodies are so… messy. So loud, burpy, slick with all sorts of liquids and semi-liquids. Bodies smell, sometimes terribly so. They make all kinds of noises.
But bodies are also wonderfully soft and comforting. Surprisingly agile and adaptive. They are an extension of ourselves, because they are so expressive. They are very intricate and delicately balanced out. The tip of our tongue leans against our palate and teeth to create sounds that have the tremendous power to release us from this agonizing isolation.

Friday, December 9th
… The best thing about the performance was this incredible and instinctive connectedness. As the showtime came nearer, we started to open up more, to rely on each other, to support each other. Audience didn’t really matter, only to the fact that their presence helped to bring us closer. Before, during and immediately after the performance – we were close and connected in ways that differ from the immediate & almost automatic love of family, or the easy and comfortable friendship, or even the quick surge of love between lovers.
Our connection was more instinctive. Intuitive. A smooth flow of bodies and consciousness. There was no judgment, only compassion. No one hid or shied away from the group. It was a big, warm hug, cozier than a sunny wintry morning with a cup of tea and a good book in front of a fireplace, safer than being in my mother’s arms.

Tuesday, December 13th
… Being strong means going through the life being who you are (or who you think you are), trying to not kill your heart but instead trying to feel its every beat. Being strong means allowing your heart to be torn into pieces and putting them back together, and letting that change you. Strength is the humble acknowledgment that we can’t control all of our lives, that unfair things will happen, that by chasing after happiness, we lose the present moment. …

Wednesday, December 14th
What is gender? What does it mean, in this 21st century, to be a woman? A man? By now, these have become personal questions for each of us, since there is no generalizable answer.
I find myself torn between wanting to assume the “traditionally male” behaviors and wanting to keep the integrity of femininity, whatever the fuck that means. Perhaps I should stop labeling/gendering everything I do, and just do whatever strikes my fancy.

Friday, December 16th
… I was afraid to have opinions, because none of them were “fully” informed, and I feared people would criticize me for it. The only thing that has changed is that I have begun to just acknowledge the shortcoming in myself & everyone else, because our opinions are always going to be partial, incomplete, subjective, unfinished.

December 2016 – Part II

Sunday, December 18th
I can already feel it happening. The slipping. The slide into conformity. The strange metamorphosis that takes place inside me at this strange place called airport. …

Tuesday, December 20th
…An oppressive force that kills my creativity and causes me to be (or at least try to be) the Angel of the House. It’s no wonder my sister can’t create anymore. Her time and energy are demanded and allocated already. The scary thing is that this culture? system? makes you want to be the Angel, so you give up your time & energy voluntarily.
… I don’t want to hide who I am, but I am camouflaging already, on auto-pilot. As my grandma went on about finding a husband & etc., I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I have met a person who is making me feel all these tender feelings, and that she’s a girl. …

Wednesday, December 21st (Yule)
… Family is all-consuming – you are a part of the bigger puzzle; each of us has a role to play and burden to share (we all lay out our burdens and divvy up). Opinions to ask for, advices to be sought after, even if you have no intention of heeding them. Even when you are far away, physically, your place is reserved for you. Once you come back, you are expected to slide into your role seamlessly. The only alternative, so I feel, is to alienate yourself from the web so much that you are finally cut off, and the gap you leave behind is filled quickly enough.
There are things that I have to necessarily hide, but these deceptions/half-truths don’t torment me as much anymore. Perhaps because I’ve finally accepted that demanding from my family to accept me unconditionally will create too much of a weight on this fragile web. …

Thursday, December 22nd
… I was thinking about whether ‘angel of the house’ is an appropriate term cross-culture, then I realized that there already is a Korean term for this phenomenon: 착한 여자, or ‘good woman’.’Good woman’ has, in the Western societies, a sexual connotation, but in Korea, ‘착한 여자’ is a woman who neglects herself, denies herself rest and pleasure, and spends all her time and energy on taking care of others’ needs. Critical voices have already commented on the toxicness and impossibility of such an ideal, but the truth (as I see it) is, our [Korean] cultural expectations breed such women. It’s couched in terms such as kindness, discipline, filial obedience, but the result is the same ‘착한 여자’. …

Friday, December 23rd
This is the place where I stopped growing. Each time I come back, no matter how much maturity I have gained in the mean time, I revert back to an 11-yr-old, all irrational irritations & too easily bent under the family pressure (while exerting the same pressure on sb else and so keeping the family “together”).
You are to take up a free-time activity that can be put down at a moment’s notice. Nothing that requires your concentration, for that’s needed somewhere else. Grandma never had the leisure to write any of her thoughts down, so she resorts to speaking. Whenever she lies down to rest, when any of her children/grandchildren are over for a visit, she tells us stories – but more often grievances. There are so many unvoiced stories inside her. …
Sorrow. There is so much sorrow here. Sorrow and guilt. …

Monday, December 26th
… It is funny – almost scary, even – how one becomes attuned to the moods of the others in the same microcosmic community. There was something off about Dad tonight, he didn’t plop himself in front of the TV as usual. Whether he knew it or not, he craved human connection, so he sought it from us – his gezin. And perceiving this, it was impossible to leave this island of community to attend to my own things. …

Tuesday, December 27th
Saints are boring. They certainly aren’t humans. To sacrifice oneself – the body, the mind, the soul, the time – for others is very ego-less, but it also lets one off the hook about developing oneself. …

Friday, December 30th
… It’s a curious culture, ours. Or theirs. Or anyone’s. I think there is a certain advantage to living with their primary family, i.e. the family they are born with, until they found a family of their own. There’s less loneliness, for one. A certain psychological stability. But certainly, there are also disadvantages – not using all the years (20s, 30s, 40s even!) to develop their own identity, to experiment, to find out who they are, to grow used to solitariness (even if they never get married & live with their primary family forever, some day their parents are going to die).
… It still feels like my heart’s being torn, that moment of saying goodbye, the instant of physical separation. The moment when the reconstruction begins, the self dissolves, and my head enters the schizophrenic zone again. …

I am enough, not good

What does it mean to be a good person?

Twice in the last seven days I have heard that I am a “good person”. My first reaction in both instances was to deny it. Inside, I was screaming, You just don’t know all the selfish, indifferent, careless sides of me!

It is dangerous for me to get attached to other people’s evaluations of me. Their praises are like drugs – an instant reward to my system, and after the rush has abated, I crave another. Soon my “good deeds” turn into making other people approve of me by becoming whomever they want to see.

For a long time I thought being good was to be selflessness itself, to devote yourself to other people until your body, mind and soul broke. This was the model of goodness I picked up sub-consciously in my culture. During my teenage years and beyond, I would fall into bouts of deep-seated self-loathing because I couldn’t or wouldn’t be this kind of “good”. I felt inadequate, a waste of space and resources. I still fall back to feeling this way sometimes.

It is easier to hate myself than love myself. Easier to criticize than accept. Better to be miserable than happy and guilty.

Because all I had ever wanted was for my imperfect self to be picked up by other people, and soothed, accepted, and loved by them. By displaying a textbook attachment behavior, I was hoping to receive unconditional love. If I couldn’t get love, I wanted pity, or sympathy, or something. That’s a lot of burden to place on any human being, let alone on fellow thirteen-year-olds.

In the end, when I was swimming in the misery and drowning, I started accepting the idea of being enough. That I was enough, just the way I was right now. I picked up my own screaming inner child, soothed her, held her, and promised her I would be with her. I realized that I was the only one who was fully responsible for taking care of myself, and I was also the best candidate for the job, since the need to wear a mask was considerably weaker.

With this new resolution, the definition of being a “good person” also changed. Now the priority lay in taking care of myself first. If I didn’t, I’d be a burden to others, and it would be unfair of me to expect them to pick up the slack. What this “taking care of oneself” contains is different for everyone and you have to decide for yourself. For me, it translates into taking care of my physical needs – sleep, nutrition, exercise (although I am very flexible with this one, haha), health -, setting a boundary to other people’s needs, learning to recognize when I am stressed out and what to do about it, and forgiving myself for being a human.

I am not a good person. But I am enough the way I am.

I try to treat other people the way I want to be treated; I try to be open-minded and understanding; I remind myself that I can’t know what others are feeling or thinking since I haven’t been in their shoes; I try to be helpful where my help is wanted or welcome.

I think there is such a comfort in helping others. It feels good to be needed, because being needed somewhat confirms that our existence isn’t useless or meaningless. However, I don’t want to help others purely to feel good about myself. That’s a selfish ego-gratification. It’s also not true that some disasters will happen without my help. The only thing I want is to make the world a teeny tiny better place, or at least not to make it worse. But the moment my actions become all about pleasing others, I will lose myself.

I am not an emotional person – at least not anymore. I tend to panic and forget myself when I am overwhelmed by emotions. Maybe that’s why I am wary of human connections, although at the same time I crave it, because my need for connecting with other people is a very human one. Thankfully, I have met great people in my life with whom I can be open and vulnerable each time our paths cross. It’s like a series of connection/merging and disconnection/individualization, and it suits me just fine. A long-term connection is quite another matter, and I am not sure whether I can tolerate it.

fate

Do you believe in fate?
Meant to be. Soul mate. Forever love.
Pretty words – hiding desperate loneliness

Pick any person from your acquaintance
Convince yourself you are meant-to-bes
Evidence will tumble down
Interpretation becomes colored glasses
Repeat and rinse until you’re surrounded by soul mates
What now?

Don’t turn away from love
Love everyone and yourself
Love as a state of being
Not as a goal to be achieved

Free fall
They say love is exhilarating
Yes let yourself fall
Only it’s not your forever love’s arms waiting to catch you
We are all one, I’m you, we are us
Our arms wait to catch you
When warmth envelopes you from behind
You won’t know its face but trust anyway
Trust yourself to fall
Trust yourself to be caught

Do you believe in fate?

remains

Flames, be it big or small
Fascinating
Their dangers are their beauty
Their lethality is our survival

I once laid my hand in the flame
And it welcomed me
So I let myself be embraced in its love and care

The next time I wanted to plunge in
It rejected me with blisters that burst, bled and scabbed over
What’s wrong, my love?
It did not answer

After that I was wary
The wounds wouldn’t heal
Sligthest chill made them bleedAnd flow like my tears

Knowledge gained, fruit consumed;
Once I saw its moodiness and unpredictability
I couldn’t unsee
Every time I approach heavy dread slows me down
Will it welcome me? Will it burn me alive?
Or: Will it extinguish itself, choosing non-existence over me?

So many bright sparks around me
But I’m afraid to step forward
Every burn has a pulse in my veins
Every extinction another blow to my heart
A bloody, beaten, dripping mess

I tried closing my eyes but the flames danced upon my lids
I tried turning my back until loneliness cut through to my core
I tried, countless times, imagining a beautiful spark coming to life in my palms
Each time it died without a trace and left an ever-lasting coldness behind

Make no mistake,
I’ve plenty fires surrounding me
They give me light, lend me their warmth
They comfort me wordlessly over every hurt
I’ve gotten so used to them I forget they exist
I take their hugs for granted
But their presence is no forever-guarantee
They forget, they die, they leave, but they also remain

I forget I am a flame too
I burn brightly to hide my scars
I am the barely visible embers to stay undetected
You might be afraid of me
Will I caress you? Or will I annihilate you without a backward glance?

Everything eventually withers
We all go back to ashes
Dust becomes nothingness
But we all carry each other as scars
We keep each other alive

fingertips(‘) touch

Sleepiness is the sweet embrace
Warmth and softness lure me
Invite me to sink in, into oblivion I go
But I roll out, the day’s waiting for me

A sharp, clean tang
Walking all the way around
A tall, lean shadow
You seem to need my help more than usual
Stretching your stiff joints – twice! –
A couple of inch of flat stomach lined with fine hair
(Oh, yes, I was impressed)
You sure seem to have creaky joints

Your face crinkles into laughter
I really must be a fountain of humor
Law stories make juicy gossip
Though it was a hell of a place for me
Wild gestures, chin on the thermo
You let me talk and talk and talk
And I thank you
And I am sorry

A nervous anticipation
(I’m fine)
A sudden jump in the stomach
I deliberately raise my face
Make eye contact
So you do sit next to another person
(Next to me)
Your long legs fit poorly under the desk
(I’m so grateful for my smallness now)
You talk with your friend next to you
My jumpiness settles down
Comfort spreads over me
(I still sense you)
See, I was right. Your presence doesn’t
Send me into sexual frenzy
You’re just my sedative
(Am I using you?)
I’m good with that
We need no talk, we need no touch
Having you near me is enough
(Then why did I feel the sudden emptiness after you said goodbye?)

Clean blast of cold air clears my head
Beautiful night, happy night
A wish for more but it harm none
Or I musn’t what I wil
Precious memories of connection. The best kind.

thank you, hawthorne

What’s my black veil?
Indifference. Choosiness. Pickiness.
Even politeness.

A shield. A fortress.
A scared individual hiding behind
It’s no symbol, no bold truth
There might be no black crapes in front of my face
But there is a black bundle huddling inside my chest

I keep drawing the line
Venture outside, only to scurry back
Is it pride I’m trying to save? Is it worth this?
Awkwardness betweeen people. A charity case. Unnecessary tension.
I hate that more than being ignored, I suppose
So I hide, I fade, I disappear

Such hard surface
No soil for trust to grow in
A diverted gaze
At least the earth can’t reject me

Not everything means anything
Sometimes nothing means something
So far fate hasn’t shown its face
But I have so many fateful connections

Disconnection. Now. Here.
Connection. Then. There.
Is distance keeping me safe? Or is it dehumanizing me?
Can I truly survive on my own?

Terror creeps in
Unlike any other kind
Elusive like a fog
Deadly as poison
It’s sure to leave its marks

Should I embrace the slow death?
Or fight against it tooth and nail?
Humans needs are insatiable
Fulfill one and another springs up
A greedy monster leaving nothing but emptiness

So tired today
Too tired for this fight
I keep picking with myself

Why do I still need others’ validation?
If I show I’m laughing
When I toss my hair just-so
Is it all a show?

Whom am I trying to convince anyway?

A battle against myself
There’s no win, there’s no lose
I keep running myself to ground
A bloody, dusty fragments of Se;f