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Wednesday, December 1, 2010

Enochlophobia

You know when you have to push through a big crowd? You want to just close your eyes, clench your fists, and ram right on through, but can't because you need a strategy? Every second spent stalling or calculating the next step you're filled to the brim with anxiety as you eagerly await the next possible moment to thrust yourself forward again? You chance a few glares, a harsh word or two, a stubbed toe, a spilled cup, whatever. And you chance brushing up uncomfortably close to someone along the way? But you gotta keep moving or else you'll be STUCK in a place you don't want to be? You sacrifice some of the fleeting highs that come with stopping to mingle or enjoy all that's abuzz...just for the sake of getting. the. hell. out? Because you feel like you're suffocating? Because you want to be in a space you can call your own and breathe?

I feel like that in life right now. But there is no crowd. There are no people involved. It's just me against a bunch of intangible forces. How unsexy is that.

But in a way ("glass half full" moment coming right up), everyone with a dream or passion to be anything even remotely resembling a dynamo in life SHOULD (ironically) have enochlophobia, or fear of crowds. I read something along these lines somewhere: if you want to lead the orchestra, at one point you have to turn your back on the crowds.

Friday, August 6, 2010

Weird day.

Today was a weird day. It was full of pangs.

Main Entry: 1pang
Pronunciation: \ˈpaŋ\

Function: noun
Etymology: origin unknown
Date: 15th century
1 : a brief piercing spasm of pain
2 : a sharp attack of mental anguish
Pang #1. It is dark, and I'm wrestling with Sleep in my mind. My nighttime ruminations create a fortress so tall--so impenetrable, that those zzZ's have a hard time pinning me down. I'm about to admit defeat when I am startled silly at 1:00am by the ring of my phone. I've received junk email from my old friend's Yahoo account. It must have been hacked. Nothing alarming right? Wrong. This friend took her own life four months ago. What's worse? The subject line:

Hello.
The hairs on my spine stand at attention. I pinch myself. I know there's no way she could have sent it, but I have to admit: for a fleeting moment, a tiny part of me felt hope, eagerness. I half-imagined the gibberish in the rest of the email rearrange into loving words of reassurance. This has got to be a sick joke, I think. It has become harder to sleep. Sigh.

Pang #2. I woke up to the worst bout of joint pain I've had since March. I curse my body and decide to spend the rest of the day trying to relieve the stiffness. I try an epsom salt bath, yoga, and Aleve. None work, so I finally drag my sister out to go on a light hike with me. We make a few stops first.

I've just paid the cashier at Stop #3. The little one and I head straight for the exit...and straight into Shitty Run-In With Heartless Lady And Her Elderly Mother. Basically, my sister made a run for the exit while the door was slightly ajar, brushing gently past Elderly Mother. Heartless Lady throws fit because my sister didn't hold the door open for her mother. Heartless Lady deliberately complains loudly for us to hear as we walk towards the parking lot. An unbearable minute passes...we are almost at our cars now. She does not stop complaining to her mother about what a manner-less child my sister is. So I confront her:
"Um. Excuse me. I'm sorry. but my sister is mentally challenged and doesn't understand the situation. Social cues like holding the door for others don't come easy for her because she is autistic. Do you think you could you stop talking about her like that?"
Heartless Lady is pissed. "Miss, I was talking to my mother. Not you. This is between me and my mother. Why are you butting into our conversation."

"I'm not. You were speaking loudly for us to hear, and it was very rude. Trust me, she didn't mean it. Please stop."
"That does not excuse your sister from holding the door for elders. Or you could have stopped her from running out like that. And you know that I can have a conversation about it with my mother if I want, right?"

"She didn't know better. And I can't control her. It's not that big of a d---"
Heartless Lady cuts me off coldly. "Then you shouldn't bring her out. If you can't control her, what are you doing out with her? If she has behavioral issues, she belongs at home." She shakes her head disapprovingly and walks away.
Speechless. I'm so offended, so outraged...that I don't even notice the tears falling. People are so backwards sometimes. Anyways, what a sight we must have been: Girl holding groceries, crying in between a nail salon and a candy store at 3pm in a suburban strip mall. Can't forget the aloof young girl beside her, patting her chest and making neighing noises. Sigh.

Pang #3. After collecting myself, Sis and I head to bluff top trails in PV, near the Terranea Resort. With neatly manicured lawns, gorgeous oceanfront cliffs, vacationing families, trails heading down to the beach...I figured it'd be a perfect way to get my mind off the negativity and grease my hinges. But as soon as we hit the main trail I see a freshly created memorial for a lady who jumped off the cliff, exactly one month ago.

Unbelievable. Of all the beautiful sights to see, I am led to this--visions of another stint on earth abandoned. Charles Hansen Towne's words from 1922 dance back to life again:
"When he went blundering back to God
His songs half written, his work half done,
Who knows what paths his bruised feet trod,
What hills of peace or pain he won?

I hope God smiled and took his hand,
And said, "Poor truant, passionate fool!
Life's book is hard to understand:
Why couldst thou not remain at school?"
Then, a visitor. A guy not much older than I was came to visit the memorial. He stared long and hard into the ocean ahead. I left to give him space, but for a second, I had this urge to approach him. We were strangers, but we must share a similar pain. We had to---I mean, after all, we shared real estate on Bereavement Blvd. But why didn't I? Could have been a moment of mutual comfort, however brief. Sigh.

Pang #4. I drove home feeling off-kilter. My mind was stuffed to the brim with thoughts. I cursed to myself realizing that my joints were in no better condition than they were in the morning. When I pulled in to my driveway, a group of girls from the eating disorder treatment home next door were piling into a van. Maybe an outing? Either way, more thoughts of her, and of a potential healing that didn't occur. Of my unfinished therapy. Another pang. Sigh.

Today was a weird day. You know, those feeling days. It reminded me of all the time I have spent clawing hard at my surroundings and deep within me to try to find a strength I don't have, but pretended to have. Along with the overall unreliability of positivity and hope. I don't like days like today.

There must be a reason why God tends to massage bruises like this. So I'm patiently tuning in to the airwaves. And tomorrow, I will reenter the normal world of California summer sun + weekend laziness. In other words, tomorrow will be better.

Friday, January 1, 2010

나의 2010

마음 넓은 사람들과 뜯깊은 추억을 만들기.
쓸때없는 걱정거리는 쉽게쉽게 내쫓기.
안이나 밖이나 생각과 행동으로 인해 더욱 빛나는 사람되기.
소리만 내지말고 열심히 듣기.
아쉬움 없이 살기.

Friday, June 12, 2009

Diamonds in the Dust

My sister had her 18th birthday party. Wow. 18 already? I'm wiping tears of fear and joy away as I wonder what life--no, God--has in store for her. It worries me tremendously and because I am currently working at a regional center, I'm constantly thinking about "life with a person with a developmental disability" in all its legal, emotional, clinical, psychological, sociological, and economical guts and glory. As such, the weight of the responsibility is slowly kicking in. Times like this I wish I had a friend who was in a similar position so we could divulge our innermost heartaches and qualms without feeling self-conscious. That person would understand how it knocks the wind out of you when you least expect it (and when you thought goodness by now you must be used to it) and lingers like a thunderous brass gong ringing tirelessly inside your chest. Who needs no explanation to understand how it feels to be permanently awash in tides of  heightened sensitivity and compassion...all because of this painstaking relationship you have with someone who will forever remain oblivious to all that brews around them. 

Celebrating her 18th birthday this year is an especially joyous occasion....and that is because my sister had a rough year. Actually, our entire little pod of a family had a rough year. After a frustrating, turbulent few months of strange fainting spells that turned out to be mini-strokes, my sister was diagnosed with Moyamoya disease, an extremely rare (and by rare I mean one case in millions rare) progressive condition marked by cloggage in the two of the most important arteries in your body: the ones sending blood to your brain. Strokes, seizures, mental decline, hemorrhages, loss of muscle control and death are all some of the sure consequences for those with moyamoya, and there's really no cure. Revascularization surgery, however, significantly reduces the likelihood of any such problems and indeed, surgery we did do--immediately. and in Korea...which is why I was in the motherland for a bit. 

A couple months ago, my sister's future--our family's future--dimmed significantly and every minute became nervewrecking, but by the grace of God and his strange, miraculous ways, she bounced back and is now doing better. By a last-minute stroke of fate, she didn't have to shave her head, either. Thank heavens. She is obsessed with her locks. My insides are aflutter nonstop now, especially when I think about the devastation that first struck me. I live for my sister, proudly and willingly. I feel a powerful urge to walk in a direction that will better the lives of her and others like her and ensure security for the both of us, so that we will live out the last of our permanently entangled lives together in peace. But news of her initial diagnosis shattered all of that and I literally felt hopeless, unmotivated, and sorry. Sorry that it was her, as opposed to anyone else in the family not already dealing with a multitude of obstacles to a fulfilling existence. Moyamoya is so rare that few medical professionals even knew what it was. No one had answers for us, which frightened us terribly. We anticipated anything and prayed hard. Very hard. It was all the more difficult because there was a whole added layer of complexity and heartbreak that I know isn't understood universally. I had a really hard time connecting with anyone to the level that I needed to feel solaced. And that loneliness, with all the other craptasticness of life and failed friendships sprinkled on top, continues to pang inside of me...but who cares. A light has been cast again on a shadowy future and that is all that counts for now.  Today, June 13th is a day to be remembered as the day that marks yet another challenging year quietly conquered by my family. 

Tears and Cheers. 

Sunday, March 22, 2009

1000 words to help you paint a picture

She flips her hair using her neck to admire her own "long, billowing" hair. It never gets past the base of her neck, but she has faith that one day it will indeed be long *somehow*

She loves to have the palms of her hands scratched at night. They are rough and callused because of it. Many many years of it.

She talks in questions. Even when she's writing greeting cards, her punctuation mark of choice is the question mark. Hello? Happy Birthday? I love you? Andrea?

She hates being the last in line when walking in a public space. She is always worming her way up to in front of the rest of the family, working hard exceed our pace while constantly looking back to make sure we're still there.

She is a mic hog. Don't ever go to karaoke with her.

...but she is a great singer. Listen to her sing when you have the chance. Go with her.

She always, always, ALWAYS sees the best in people. Always. She is 1000% blind to others' flaws. It's truly admirable.

She draws people funny, using circles and ovals for each limb, the torso, and the face.

She is infinitely lovable. God truly blessed her with the gift to warm hearts and draw people towards her.

...So when we go to the mall and such, there always seems to be someone from her high school or her church who recognizes her and goes out of their way to say hi.

She is still scared of flushing the toilet.

She thinks cars have feelings. One time she felt sad that my mom's car would spend the night out in the driveway, where it gets "cold and lonely"

She is predictably irritable...most of the time. The other 15% of the time it's a guessing game.

She loves food. She likes to look up cooking videos on Youtube.

She hates watching American TV. Only Korean satellite broadcast channels. Variety shows are her favorite!

She says weird things. Like "your hair looks like an ice cream cone!"

She recently started watching her own weight. It was cute at first and now it is funny and odd. Poor girl.

She will always give her signature temper tantrum for 15 minutes before changing her mind when it's time to go out. We know how to time it now; we just wait for her to come back 'round.

She loves to point it out very loudly (using her finger) when someone farts. "You farted! Gross!" When you're in public, it's mortifying. (Not that it's happened to me...)

She enjoys copying the children's bible, word for word, in neat little lines.

She loves to watch the same show/movie over and over...play the same video game over and over. As a result, there was one time when I had memorized (like, seriously memorized) quite a few movies (i.e. Mulan, Sound of Music, Finding Nemo...)

She likes puppies, but if it's small, she'll smoosh it between her hands and cuddle it SO hard that it'll get annoyed of her.

She loves tofu. More than any other person in the world...I can bet on that.

When she was a a toddler, she put a fat Washington-state sized slug in her mouth thinking it was chocolate. My aunt luckily caught her.

She imitates a lot of the things I do. It's flattering, sisterly, and humbling all at once.

She can't sleep if my mom hasn't come to her bedside to pray together. And she prefers English.

She also took up hook-stitching or whatever it is. She taught me how to do it at least three times and I still don't know how to do it. She feels proud that she knows how to do something I don't know. I like it that way.

She loves to ride the bike. We grew up in a cul-de-sac and currently live in a house with one. She will spend hours and hours just riding back and forth.

She likes to dance in public. She shakes her booty, twiddles her fingers in the air, and does neck isolations. As she likes to call it, she's dancing like an "octopus." It's rather embarrassing.

She spurts out Korean here and there. It's hilarious.

She recently developed the habit of calling you, saying whatever she wants, and then hanging up on you mid-conversation. It happens at least three times a day. For every member of our family.

She likes to lock herself in her room and listen to Celine Dion for hours. And dance, uninterrupted.

She thinks ten $1 bills is worth more than one $10 bill.

She loves to touch soft things, like fur...or my hair.

She is so clever that she thought to hide stuff in her trash can! Where no one can look.

She has an art teacher she adores...often times more than my mother. The art teacher moved to Korea.

She gets teary-eyed thinking about her art teacher.

When I used to get in trouble and have to sit on my knees and keep my hands up as a punishment (yes, Korean style), she would voluntarily join to defend me -->

She makes us proud by doing the simplest of things, like brushing her teeth on her own, or microwaving and cutting her own food. We often laugh about it, but I know the pride is genuine. ''

She isn't a shopaholic, unlike the rest of our family. When we offer to buy her clothes, she says "No, it's okay. I have too many clothes." Looks as if we all have something to learn from her.

She never complains about pain or discomfort. Ever.

...so it makes us even more sad not knowing if she's hiding it to keep us from being alarmed.

She has an impressive (selective) memory. It often reveals how much weight she gives to the smallest of situations, and reminds us how truly valuable each moment is.

She gives us something to work for--a purpose that keeps us grounded day by day. I've made so many mistakes and lost many friends, but she continuously makes me a better person.

She lives in the moment. What seems ephemeral to us means the world to her, one fleeting moment at a time.

She deserves the world and more.

Wednesday, March 18, 2009

Waves of Longing

To this day, I am utterly shaken by the stillness that exists between us.