i'm spoiled. this isn't a news, and it definitely isn't earth-shattering, but lately i've been learning, in fuller detail, the extent to which i secretly wish the entire universe revolved around me. it's never easy to come to the realization, as a youngest sibling - the baby - that maybe all of those assertions made by child psychologists (and eldest siblings) are right.
for years we deny any possibility of our selfishness, neediness, dependency on everyone else in the family, in favor of rougher, tougher light.
we aren't pampered and soft, we say, and we certainly aren't self-absorbed or offered special allowances.
but we totally were.
are.
at least, i was and am.
looking back, i know that none of the Toro girls managed to survive childhood with our parents completely unscathed.
there were consistencies in all of our upbringings: the shouting, the insecurities, the high bars. if anything, we were brought up to fill in those voids that went unchecked in our mother's own childhood.
and if there's one thing about unfilled voids, it's that some things just don't fit, and try as you might, you can never really force them to without ripping pieces apart.
but i don't pretend to completely relate to the strife my sisters endured.
true, i'm still wildly insecure about a number of really arbitrary and minute things: i still experience severe anxiety episodes and my trichotillomania was never completely cured. but i still fared way better than my sisters did.
i had the benefit of being the youngest. the privilege. the kind of thing that you never realize when you're growing up and going through the motions of dumbshitty adolescence. the kind of thing that, in all your spoiledness, neediness, self-absorption, you take for granted.
the eldest Toro girl was the experiment, really. our parents, very young and very clueless and idealistic and desperate, didn't know what they were doing. and, on top of all of this, they were out of place. always out of place, as they were always on the move.
finally, our mother managed to escape Korea, but it was only to find a place that was anything but welcoming or accommodating to one-half of a mixed-race, young, immigrant couple.
and she floundered.
and our father didn't know how to cope: the denial of his own ethnic background, and any implications of his own potential Otherness, which he thought he'd pulled off for the entirety of his youth, was finally facing him head-on. suddenly, he was Different.
at least, more Different than he was prior to his hurried marriage.
so they were naive, and unprepared for much else besides the wedding night.
so much so that our mother's very first pregnancy ended in an abortion.
the second pregnancy came only very shortly afterward, though, and little time prepared for almost no improvement in their situation.
and Olivia was born.
and they weren't ready.
and Olivia suffered.
more deeply than anyone could ever imagine.
and when Annie came along, a couple of years later, they were financially in a slightly better place, and they had a little more experience.
and there were newer issues.
new pains.
slightly different pains.
and Annie suffered, too.
and Olivia and Annie, together, were put through another kind if hell, though i suppose it was slightly more tolerable than the last.
but nothing could completely erase the anguish our mother was hiding from everyone: the kind that managed to manifest itself in the quieter corners of every Toro's life.
she wouldn't scream about the language barrier she was forced to confront, daily, and she didn't hit for the emptiness she felt because of unrealized dreams; instead, she would make a raucous over the smaller things, in ways that were beyond a child's comprehension.
almost four years later, when things were a little more stable, i came along.
i was quiet from birth, which was lucky.
i never asked for much, and i rarely cried - staying silent was something that seemed to pay off for the earlier years.
nobody questioned it.
with all the business that came with moving and settling down, over and over again, the only real concerns had to do with the things that could stay consistently managed: not so much on people and friends, but more on our music, swimming, and academics.
if we managed to keep the three essentials under control, then all of the other superfluous things would fall into place, too.
but i was spoiled.
really, i had to deal with much of the same restrictions as my sisters for the first decade or so, but things changed.
even i noticed.
who knows what might've incited the shift: it could've been the call from an elementary school teacher who was worried because i hadn't spoken a word to anyone in six months, or the clear increase in trichotillomania.
in the end, i tend to think it had more to do with the fact that, finally, i got the chance to stay and grow up, at least partially, in one place.
as Olivia and Annie both only had a few years left before college, it wasn't a new experience for them: they spent as much time in Virginia as they had everywhere else we've lived.
so we settled down a bit.
the same expectations were there, but i had a new sense of being grounded.
i had a place i could escape to, even when things got bad.
and my parents had fewer worries to occupy them.
with a steadier hand, they could hone in on other aspects of my life that had previously gone unnoticed.
i got to make a more permanent group of friends, and i felt safe.
slowly but surely, i opened up to people and let myself get close.
granted, i still had certain insecurities that more or less stemmed from fear of my own mother, on top of other things, but i had a home.
and my parents had a home, too.
and, being the only kid left in this home, i reaped the benefits.
and nowadays, after leaving for college, i'm coming to terms with other ways in which i'm spoiled.
my mother was robbed of her dreams.
my father dealt with much of the same, but, given his gender and locality, was afforded more freedom and ultimately found what he was looking for.
so they never stifled my own dreams.
sure, there were subtle hints dropped here and there, for my own good, i suppose, but now i'm at my dream school, and i'm out, and i'm happy.
my pipe dream of being a comedy writer - which is probably shared by billions - still isn't unrealistic.
i'm an investment, they told me, and they're just waiting for the return.
and i'm happy.
it took awhile to get here, and it wasn't easy, but i'm here.
and i'm happy.
Monday, November 23, 2009
Monday, November 2, 2009
hoofah!
yes, hoofah.
why?
it's been ages since my last post.
how long?
a number that's much higher than i'm able to count t0.
how come?
so many things to do.
and learning, learning, learning:
anywho, that's where i'm at at the moment. well, there and underneath a massive pile of homework i'm ignoring right now.
which i should probably get to.
k, bye.
why?
it's been ages since my last post.
how long?
a number that's much higher than i'm able to count t0.
how come?
so many things to do.
and learning, learning, learning:
1. i'm gonna do it. comedy, i mean. yes. writing. i'm shit at it, but i'm less shitty at it than i am at other things.
like math.
or taking care of old people.
2. i'm wildly immature. it's true. and i'm hoping the fact that i'm more aware of this will help me to finally grow up.
all there is to do now is get over my fear of growing up.
fearofoldnessphobia.
which, incidentally, is tied to my fear of Depends.
3. on top of the whole immaturity thing, i need to work out my relationship issues.
honestly, i don't know what the heck is wrong with me.
so many wonderful people - all of whom are clearly out of my league - come into my life and i end up panicking and letting them slip away, or not letting things develop in the first place.
i don't know what's wrong with me.
i think it has something to do with the fact that i'm pretty sure that someday they'll realize they're too good for me and'll end up leaving me anyway.
and sometimes i think i'm too picky.
i'm still ridiculously inexperienced and therefore naive and too expectant of first love experiences.
or any kind of love experience.
i'm always subconsciously looking for that initial spark, and if it's not there then i immediately give up.
and this is no good because sometimes i wonder if i just don't let myself feel that spark.
anywho, i've got issues to work out.
maybe being more assertive'll force me out of my own head.
4. i think my comedy schtick'll have something to do with my cluelessness. lately i've been trying to think of ways to write a routine or sketch of some kind that's laden with innuendo that's doubly hilarious because the actual speaker is unaware of it all.
work in progress.
tough.
but it's the kind of tough that i think i'll actually enjoy.
5. i miss swimming. i really do. sometimes i still wonder if it's too late to make something out of it. i never thought i'd miss morning practices and dryland and competition, but i do. i need to get back into it.
6. i also miss music. tomorrow i'm going to cut my nails and suck it up and practice. maybe. when everyone's out of the house or i manage to sneak into the USC music halls like i did during my freshman and sophomore years.
7. i've been swearing a lot lately. i need to stop. i might invest in a swear jar, and at the end of every week i'll take the jar out on the town and give its contents to the first hobo i meet.
though, this is even more incentive to increase my swearing.
...i've never actually understood the purpose and effectiveness of swear jars.
anywho, that's where i'm at at the moment. well, there and underneath a massive pile of homework i'm ignoring right now.
which i should probably get to.
k, bye.
Friday, September 25, 2009
Jennifer's Body
i saw Jennifer's Body last night.
i was told to go in without expectations.
it wasn't difficult, as i was secretly worried because i'd read quite a few negative reviews of the film.
my own reaction? epic.
why can't movies like this be advertised and produced more often?
All Woman Movies.
the kind where, in feminist speak, women take back their name and write (and attempt to re-draft) their own identity.
seriously.
this movie starred and was written and directed by nothing but women.
and it had a positive message about relationships and body image.
it's the kind of movie that gives me hope. the industry is finally expanding, and it's finally becoming cool to be different, in a way.
who knows what started it, but now, sometimes, PC is becoming as marketable as sex.
"good girls" like Taylor Swift and awkward but lovable dorks like Michael Cera are taking the entertainment industry by storm.
it's a sad fact that individuality is becoming commodified, but, at the same time, you gotta love the fact that movies like Jennifer's Body are finally seeing the light of day.
it's all inevitable, really, what with things like YouTube that give people the power to choose and craft their own work and have a ready and willing audience.
and blogging paves the way for good writers, like Cody, to develop their own voice and build a fan base and get their work published and produced - unique voices laden with original thoughts and humor that previously went unheard.
granted, i can see why someone might give the movie a negative review.
people've started to pick on Cody's chosen vernacular and therefore completely disregard the real meat of what her characters say and how they behave.
i suppose they think Cody's trying too hard to be clever and hip, when, really, it's all just a discourse about the inherent absurdity of adolescence.
no, we might not be THAT ridiculous at that age, but there's no harm in poking fun and laughing at ourselves or our pasts.
and, honestly, sometimes Cody really isn't that far off, anyhow.
also, sugarcoating the pill's been a part of the film industry since practically its inception - it's Cody's way of saying, "This is serious stuff - real emotions - but let's not forget that there can be some humor and fun in this, too."
it's pitch-perfect.
Cody's fascination with the female body is also really interesting and awesome.
with Juno, the main character, a teenage girl in the throes of hormones and young love, copes with emotional needs with the most intimate physical action.
the result? 9 months of endless bodily changes that directly corresponds to profound emotional and mental growth.
more than that, the way Juno always subtly and not-so-subtly dealt with her own insecurities - especially those tied to her own image/body (i.e. when she adjusts her hipster skirt before seeing Mark and Paulie, and the way her classmates react to her body as she walks down the hall in school) - was always so spot-on that there were times when i might've gotten a little weepy and nostalgic.
in her latest flick, Cody again emphasizes the importance of Body in girl culture and ideology.
the way Jennifer purges after she eats a boy, and it is later revealed that she uses laxatives to stay skinny, all point to this Hott Girl's secret insecurities - the kind that most high school Hott Girls probably feel and are completely aware of.
the title itself is a big reminder to the audience about what the film is actually about.
this girl who has this body - that she knows to use like a weapon - and needs boys to strengthen it.
she needs boys, literally, to revitalize her body: a metaphor for the real reason why girls strive and starve stay skinny and attractive (that is, it isn't for their own health).
it's why Jennifer's biggest prize is Chip, who's the one boy in school who, even with all of her efforts to be the most desirable girl in school, prefers her best friend Needy.
(but this all also presents a really interesting dilemma because it can be read a different way: the fact that when she manages to successfully lure her prey into her trap by using her sexuality only to tell Colin that she needs him to be terrified so that she can consume him might suggest that Jennifer is, in fact, some form of an extremist feminist maneater (pun intended!).
though, maybe not quite a feminist.
maybe one of those faux-feminists, like Samantha on Sex and the City, who's actually a female chauvinist pig.)
and then comes Needy, the archetypal best friend character who idolizes the hott girl but remains in the shadows of everyone's minds when Jennifer enters the room.
her name is loosely veiled symbolism in the beginning, but, in the end, becomes ironic.
she's the one with the steady boyfriend even though she wears glasses and dorky clothes.
she only becomes self-conscious about her looks when Jennifer's involved.
and she never needs to alter her own self-representation in order to be happy or snag a boyfriend.
unlike so many other teen movies nowadays, where the positive message allegedly lies in the fact that any girl can be beautiful, or that girls can and should reflect their inner beauty in their outer beauty, Chip, like Paulie Bleaker, accepts his girl just the way she is.
even when she's wearing what's supposed to be a totally heinous prom dress.
and it's this security that drives Jennifer over the edge and motivates her to go after Chip.
she needs to know that she somehow holds some kind of power of Needy - that Chip prefers her just because she's invested so much time and energy and starvation into being hott.
but, bless him, Chip refuses.
granted, he ultimately dies for it, but it's a hero's death at least.
::sigh::
someday, Tina Fey and Diablo Cody will merge to form one super human who will forever alter the female image.
and, well, kick ass.
...someday.
i was told to go in without expectations.
it wasn't difficult, as i was secretly worried because i'd read quite a few negative reviews of the film.
my own reaction? epic.
why can't movies like this be advertised and produced more often?
All Woman Movies.
the kind where, in feminist speak, women take back their name and write (and attempt to re-draft) their own identity.
seriously.
this movie starred and was written and directed by nothing but women.
and it had a positive message about relationships and body image.
it's the kind of movie that gives me hope. the industry is finally expanding, and it's finally becoming cool to be different, in a way.
who knows what started it, but now, sometimes, PC is becoming as marketable as sex.
"good girls" like Taylor Swift and awkward but lovable dorks like Michael Cera are taking the entertainment industry by storm.
it's a sad fact that individuality is becoming commodified, but, at the same time, you gotta love the fact that movies like Jennifer's Body are finally seeing the light of day.
it's all inevitable, really, what with things like YouTube that give people the power to choose and craft their own work and have a ready and willing audience.
and blogging paves the way for good writers, like Cody, to develop their own voice and build a fan base and get their work published and produced - unique voices laden with original thoughts and humor that previously went unheard.
granted, i can see why someone might give the movie a negative review.
people've started to pick on Cody's chosen vernacular and therefore completely disregard the real meat of what her characters say and how they behave.
i suppose they think Cody's trying too hard to be clever and hip, when, really, it's all just a discourse about the inherent absurdity of adolescence.
no, we might not be THAT ridiculous at that age, but there's no harm in poking fun and laughing at ourselves or our pasts.
and, honestly, sometimes Cody really isn't that far off, anyhow.
also, sugarcoating the pill's been a part of the film industry since practically its inception - it's Cody's way of saying, "This is serious stuff - real emotions - but let's not forget that there can be some humor and fun in this, too."
it's pitch-perfect.
Cody's fascination with the female body is also really interesting and awesome.
with Juno, the main character, a teenage girl in the throes of hormones and young love, copes with emotional needs with the most intimate physical action.
the result? 9 months of endless bodily changes that directly corresponds to profound emotional and mental growth.
more than that, the way Juno always subtly and not-so-subtly dealt with her own insecurities - especially those tied to her own image/body (i.e. when she adjusts her hipster skirt before seeing Mark and Paulie, and the way her classmates react to her body as she walks down the hall in school) - was always so spot-on that there were times when i might've gotten a little weepy and nostalgic.
in her latest flick, Cody again emphasizes the importance of Body in girl culture and ideology.
the way Jennifer purges after she eats a boy, and it is later revealed that she uses laxatives to stay skinny, all point to this Hott Girl's secret insecurities - the kind that most high school Hott Girls probably feel and are completely aware of.
the title itself is a big reminder to the audience about what the film is actually about.
this girl who has this body - that she knows to use like a weapon - and needs boys to strengthen it.
she needs boys, literally, to revitalize her body: a metaphor for the real reason why girls strive and starve stay skinny and attractive (that is, it isn't for their own health).
it's why Jennifer's biggest prize is Chip, who's the one boy in school who, even with all of her efforts to be the most desirable girl in school, prefers her best friend Needy.
(but this all also presents a really interesting dilemma because it can be read a different way: the fact that when she manages to successfully lure her prey into her trap by using her sexuality only to tell Colin that she needs him to be terrified so that she can consume him might suggest that Jennifer is, in fact, some form of an extremist feminist maneater (pun intended!).
though, maybe not quite a feminist.
maybe one of those faux-feminists, like Samantha on Sex and the City, who's actually a female chauvinist pig.)
and then comes Needy, the archetypal best friend character who idolizes the hott girl but remains in the shadows of everyone's minds when Jennifer enters the room.
her name is loosely veiled symbolism in the beginning, but, in the end, becomes ironic.
she's the one with the steady boyfriend even though she wears glasses and dorky clothes.
she only becomes self-conscious about her looks when Jennifer's involved.
and she never needs to alter her own self-representation in order to be happy or snag a boyfriend.
unlike so many other teen movies nowadays, where the positive message allegedly lies in the fact that any girl can be beautiful, or that girls can and should reflect their inner beauty in their outer beauty, Chip, like Paulie Bleaker, accepts his girl just the way she is.
even when she's wearing what's supposed to be a totally heinous prom dress.
and it's this security that drives Jennifer over the edge and motivates her to go after Chip.
she needs to know that she somehow holds some kind of power of Needy - that Chip prefers her just because she's invested so much time and energy and starvation into being hott.
but, bless him, Chip refuses.
granted, he ultimately dies for it, but it's a hero's death at least.
::sigh::
someday, Tina Fey and Diablo Cody will merge to form one super human who will forever alter the female image.
and, well, kick ass.
...someday.
Monday, September 21, 2009
Lucky Penny - a poem.
my one clear talent: self-deprecation.
am i ashamed?
meh, maybe a little.
but, honestly, no one fucks up like i do.
case in point: my car accident (on duty) on Saturday night that ended my month-long career as a USC Campus Cruiser - which makes this the second job i've managed to lose in a matter of a couple of months.
awesome.
all in all, i'd been having a pretty effed up couple of weeks, often resorting to old coping methods that have never let me down (but only because i deny the negative effects of large quantities of junk food, sleeping an obscene number of hours, avoiding all responsibilities at all costs, and laughing aloud when, really, i was crying on the inside).
yes, everything was under control.
(as it's been awhile, i probably owe you a short recap of my awesome couple of weeks:
1. got a 30% on a reading pop quiz in my Lit. class because i read the wrong pages.
yes.
a 30.
that just about ties with my lowest ever grade, which was a geography quiz in the 6th grade.
i vowed never to get that low ever again.
i lied.
2 - 3. i got the flu, which developed into a sinus infection.
missed classes (including improv) for several days straight.
4. again, i got into a car accident that was entirely my fault and i consequently lost my job.
5. my old paranoia has returned as i'm almost fairly certain i wasn't born to lead.
6. plans to clean my room fell through as, yet again, my depression managed to incapacitate me.
7-9. more personal reasons.
sorry.
too personal.)
from here, i suspect that you're probably thinking 2 things:
1. "But, Vickie, all of these things are your own doing! You're a dumbshit! Get yourself together!"
and you're probably right.
all my fault.
but is it all REALLY my fault if i was born without much needed common sense and resilience?
wah wah wah annoying self-pity wah wah.
my apologies.
2. "Chin up! Be optimistic! Stop your crazy biznatching and whining!"
also right.
and to this, i bring up The Lucky Penny.
i've never been one to invest my sometimes wanting sack of optimism in a small, nearly worthless piece of copper; but today, in an effort to snap myself out of my annoyingly down state, i've decided to turn to age-old superstition and allow my entire happiness to depend on just 1 cent.
yes, all i ask for is 1 cent of happiness and luck.
1 cent.
not too much.
and if all goes well, i might move on to more sense.
er, cents.
i might end up making my own.
yes, today when i was delivering a letter cross-campus for the office Bigot who i love to work for, and i saw that tiniest of shimmers on the ground some 10 feet in front of me, my heart skipped a little.
hoping no one else had made this discovery, i quickened my pace a bit and prayed that Lincoln would be looking up at me.
and he was.
secretly more excited than i should have been, i picked it up.
i could feel the winds of change around me.
the start of a lucky streak, at last.
finally, hope.
all of my hope and luck in this miniscule, seemingly meaningless piece of copper.
the One Penny.
i almost punched the air in triumph before i remembered that i was in public.
i even composed a poem to show my appreciation:
am i ashamed?
meh, maybe a little.
but, honestly, no one fucks up like i do.
case in point: my car accident (on duty) on Saturday night that ended my month-long career as a USC Campus Cruiser - which makes this the second job i've managed to lose in a matter of a couple of months.
awesome.
all in all, i'd been having a pretty effed up couple of weeks, often resorting to old coping methods that have never let me down (but only because i deny the negative effects of large quantities of junk food, sleeping an obscene number of hours, avoiding all responsibilities at all costs, and laughing aloud when, really, i was crying on the inside).
yes, everything was under control.
(as it's been awhile, i probably owe you a short recap of my awesome couple of weeks:
1. got a 30% on a reading pop quiz in my Lit. class because i read the wrong pages.
yes.
a 30.
that just about ties with my lowest ever grade, which was a geography quiz in the 6th grade.
i vowed never to get that low ever again.
i lied.
2 - 3. i got the flu, which developed into a sinus infection.
missed classes (including improv) for several days straight.
4. again, i got into a car accident that was entirely my fault and i consequently lost my job.
5. my old paranoia has returned as i'm almost fairly certain i wasn't born to lead.
6. plans to clean my room fell through as, yet again, my depression managed to incapacitate me.
7-9. more personal reasons.
sorry.
too personal.)
from here, i suspect that you're probably thinking 2 things:
1. "But, Vickie, all of these things are your own doing! You're a dumbshit! Get yourself together!"
and you're probably right.
all my fault.
but is it all REALLY my fault if i was born without much needed common sense and resilience?
wah wah wah annoying self-pity wah wah.
my apologies.
2. "Chin up! Be optimistic! Stop your crazy biznatching and whining!"
also right.
and to this, i bring up The Lucky Penny.
i've never been one to invest my sometimes wanting sack of optimism in a small, nearly worthless piece of copper; but today, in an effort to snap myself out of my annoyingly down state, i've decided to turn to age-old superstition and allow my entire happiness to depend on just 1 cent.
yes, all i ask for is 1 cent of happiness and luck.
1 cent.
not too much.
and if all goes well, i might move on to more sense.
er, cents.
i might end up making my own.
yes, today when i was delivering a letter cross-campus for the office Bigot who i love to work for, and i saw that tiniest of shimmers on the ground some 10 feet in front of me, my heart skipped a little.
hoping no one else had made this discovery, i quickened my pace a bit and prayed that Lincoln would be looking up at me.
and he was.
secretly more excited than i should have been, i picked it up.
i could feel the winds of change around me.
the start of a lucky streak, at last.
finally, hope.
all of my hope and luck in this miniscule, seemingly meaningless piece of copper.
the One Penny.
i almost punched the air in triumph before i remembered that i was in public.
i even composed a poem to show my appreciation:
Lucky Penny
Lucky penny, lucky penny
Oh how you give me hope.
Your little shimmer on the ground
Pushed from my mind to tope.
I picked you up, in a hurry
To secure a little luck;
Because as of late, to be frank,
I've been a little fucked.
Lucky penny, lucky penny
Your head and tail so true,
"In God we trust," in you I trust,
I'll turn to gold from blue.
Lucky penny, lucky penny
Oh how you give me hope.
Your little shimmer on the ground
Pushed from my mind to tope.
I picked you up, in a hurry
To secure a little luck;
Because as of late, to be frank,
I've been a little fucked.
Lucky penny, lucky penny
Your head and tail so true,
"In God we trust," in you I trust,
I'll turn to gold from blue.
is this the proper length of a poem?
whatever.
i don't care.
it comes from the heart, and that's all that matters.
yes.
today is a new day.
thank you, Lucky Penny.
i think i'll name you Phillip.
whatever.
i don't care.
it comes from the heart, and that's all that matters.
yes.
today is a new day.
thank you, Lucky Penny.
i think i'll name you Phillip.
Monday, August 31, 2009
ideas! ideas! ideas! and PMS.
had the worst day at improv last night.
just couldn't get out of my head.
the worst part of it? my PMS/period is over, so there's no scapegoat.
(and i'm sure you wanted to know that. seriously, though. as much as women hate PMS and Mother Nature's unfailing drive to torment women and remind them of their womanhood and the real purpose of their unused, spinster eggs, PMS is always a great excuse for unabashedly serving people their just desserts.
but don't openly assume that we're PMSing, either.
that's about the only thing about women that i've come to fully understand and respect.)
that and my PMS might be going by a different name now.
and, until "PMS" grows a pair [ovaries, cojones - whichever you prefer] and finally decides to confront me (or, at least, take it), i'm just going to have to accept too-large quantities of chocolate as a regular part of my diet, Alanis, Janis, Patti, Joni, and other angry/moody/loud women as the current soundtrack for my life, and considering writing a sequel to Poor Poor Jimmie.
however, i digress.
the main point of this post is to outline new resolutions i've made for myself.
it's not exhaustive:
1. tell that one person that i'm sorry i panicked and backed out so randomly and quietly. start over. maybe by groveling.
2. be more unapologetic about my antics and [less weird] neuroses.
3. no more self-deprecation [unless it's in the service of comedy].
4. stop thinking so much. seriously. it's annoying.
5. be more frugal. that poster of Chunk doing the Truffle Shuffle really wasn't all that necessary.
6. okay. maybe it was.
7. i'm laughing just thinking about it.
8. stop thinking about PMS and don't let him get to you. definitely not worth it.
9. write, write, write. but don't try so hard.
10. be proactive.
it's already shaping up to be a really great year, i think.
plenty of stuff to keep me busy and happy.
and making money's always nice.
and new friends.
new interests.
newer and healthier habits.
good stuff.
feeling inspired.
oh-so inspired.
proof?
here are some story ideas i've been coming up with.
(but don't steal them. don't forget that i'm currently in a permanent state of PMS.):
1. shy, awkward girl meets equally shy, awkward boy.
go out on first shy, awkward outing.
bond in ways that would make Jack and Rose jealous.
(like my dad, i only like that movie for the special effects.)
but, to no fault of their own, they're both gay.
haha, God - nice one.
so they're gaybies together; both trying to find their niches in this big, gay world.
one les-bro, one fruit-fly.
but always mistaken for a couple.
they help each other out in finding a date to a big, gay prom (or something of the sort) and hilarity ensues.
their names might sound something like Lyle and Nicky.
(still to be decided.)
2. protagonist comes out as trans F to M in college, after finally escaping that conservative, rural town and the rule of his equally conservative and somewhat backward parents.
they excommunicate him for several years, during his transition period.
in the meantime, he struggles as a starving artist/performer type.
when he returns home to prep for his dad's final days, at the urge of his mother - who might be suffering from some degenerative disease or other and needs his help as both of his older, more successful sisters are far too overwhelmed to do so - after a 4 year silence, he's forced to confront the skeletons in his closet.
one night, inundated by the prospects of facing all of those skeletons at once, he goes out to a bar by himself.
there, he runs into another skeleton: his childhood best friend and secret love of his life, who he promised himself he'd never speak to or think about again.
as he's changed his name and, obviously, his appearance, his ex-best friend - who's attempting to escape her friends' belligerence - doesn't recognize him.
at a loss for words at her sudden appearance, but eager, nonetheless, to somehow be close to her, he sits and listens as she explains to him that she feels like she's known him before, but is also currently participating in a personal social experiment where she attempts to build significant relationships through beliefs and behaviors rather than personal histories.
she's inexplicably drawn to him and asks if they can meet again.
he considers telling her the complete truth - about how they really already knew one another - but, when he finally opens his mouth to do so, she cuts him off and reminds him of her social experiment.
he doesn't resist.
they meet, and keep meeting.
fall in love.
they never have sex - especially after one particularly painful and awkward near-sexual encounter in her apartment.
she somehow learns the truth (still have to figure this part out) and panics.
i still need to work out the ending.
as depressing as this one sounds, i've already jotted down a number of really potentially hilarious scenes that can balance it out.
namely, through the protagonist's mother.
3. this one's an idea for a TV show, inspired by the Tim Fite song, "Big Mistake."
the protagonist, a young-ish woman who was recently involved in a drunk driving accident, isn't dead.
but isn't completely alive, either.
she's in the in-between. a coma.
but she's not "inactive."
instead, her "spirit" (or something or other) is put into another body.
she's inserted into a different life where she has full access to her family, loved ones, and "enemies/acquaintances" - but they can't recognize her.
instead, she befriends others who are like herself, as they all manage to find one another in the in-between.
their task?
to correct (or at least acknowledge) the one big mistake they made in their lives thus far, so they can come to.
but if they fail - because there is an antagonist (who else, besides Death himself/herself?) who is hell-bent (wordplay!) on foiling their plans - they "move on."
a comedy.
and that's all i've got for now, but i really think it's more than enough.
gotta get to working.
also, any feedback would be great! anywho.
this is an odd and sudden way to end a blog.
Monday, August 24, 2009
(90 some odd) days of summer: holy jeebus. wtf was i thinking?
i'm petty.
and immature.
and self-absorbed and chock full of self-pity.
clearly.
sometimes i wonder if these are irreversible.
i can hear myself say ridiculous, less-than-kosher things during regular conversation and immediately feel the oftentimes negative juju that emanates from my unfortunate listeners.
i can't even use certain words properly.
like kosher.
sometimes i can stop myself before anything truly harmful can dribble out of my impulsive pie-hole that all too often goes unchecked.
other times, i'm forced to make due with the bull shit that manages to escape and profusely apologize to my listeners (and myself, inwardly) for the things i unintentionally force them to listen to.
when i tell stories, i sound something like a broken record player.
always the same ones, over and over again.
i hear myself tell them, beg myself to stop, but end up spewing out less-than-favorable comments and jokes and stories anyhow.
it's hopeless, really.
and i'm not the cute kind of neurotic, where i wear too fluffy slippers as everyday shoes, or brush my teeth 1o times before meeting someone, or take pictures of random leaves in the street.
i'm the kind that doesn't get properly angry at appropriate times so that i can manage it well and deal with whatever's going on.
instead, i bottle up the feelings i get from deserving moments and blow up for the most random, small events that should and would normally go unnoticed by any really sane person.
but i'm learning.
and i think this past summer (which, as of today, is officially over) was a really great time to recuperate and process all of the new things i've experienced, thought, felt, and witnessed.
turning 20, which, really, apart from finally putting an end to the teen years and, theoretically, all of that angst and self-absorption, doesn't do much besides getting you thinking.
any average teenager (or, at least, any teenager like myself) managed to sit through a good 6 or 7 years of her life wallowing in self-pity.
"Wahhh, I'm petty and immature. Wahhhh."
but we don't really do anything about it.
we were as annoying as we were masochistic.
there's something so alluring about suffering when you're that age. especially for our generation, where people actually compete over how much emotional baggage they carry, and, therefore, how much more of "life" they've seen.
how much more "real" and "hard" and "interesting" they are.
it isn't really until you hit that 20 mark that you look back and think, "holy Jeebus, wtf was i thinking?"
holy Jeebus.
wtf was i thinking?
it's about flippin' time, too, that i come around.
i mean, i'd be lying if i said that this summer didn't sting a little bit, with all of that new knowledge.
i'd hate to think that i'd lost a friend in the process, but, at the same time, i wonder if it was really worth it?
so dependent, was i, on the openness of other people that i did everything i could to cling to every friendship i ever made.
and one slipped through the cracks.
i blamed myself for it - that is, my pettiness and immaturity - and resolved to mend the broken ties and start over.
i told myself that i understood why this person wanted to "un-friend" me and remove me from their life altogether.
how worthwhile am i, really?
worthy?
valuable?
the fact that i seemed so expendable, because of all of my vices and flaws, really made sense to me.
but in the process of being unceremoniously booted out of someone's life i managed to meet and make some new friends.
the kind of friends i thanked my lucky stars for.
i couldn't believe that they'd want to spend even just a few minutes with me, day in and day out.
after all, i was petty and immature and overly self-deprecating and altogether, indubitably, irritating.
but they put up with me, and i was too grateful (particularly after that previous close friendship seemed to be on the rocks) to question my all too rare good fortune.
and i turned 20.
and got to thinking.
somehow, these new people - one or two, or several in particular - seemed to see something valuable and worthwhile in me.
at least, enough to actually wanna hang out with me and [drunkenly] tell me that i'm his best friend.
maybe, i thought, incredulously, there's just a little inkling of something to me.
and, for the first time in my life, i resolved to find out exactly what it could be.
i was inspired, i suppose (sappily enough), to finally go about and find and do the things i've always been afraid to try.
i signed up for an improv class (which extended to 2 additional improv classes) and found, surprisingly enough, that i didn't just enjoy it, but i might actually want to pursue it.
i applied for leadership positions in organizations that really mean a lot to me.
i started writing more and, more than that, letting other people read and critique my work.
i came up with so many ideas for stories and projects.
i started telling more painful stories and talking about darker aspects of myself that, before this wave of inspiration found me, went untapped and buried way deep down.
all in all, i was finally and completely opening up to people.
because maybe, just maybe, these parts of myself were worthy of an audience.
and if not, they'd reject me.
but they didn't.
and i found that my experiment - which i fully expected to fail - was a success.
and i loved my new friends and new community and overall new life.
the improbable goals that i set for myself, though still a reach, at least seem worth a shot.
but even when i found all of this happiness, there was still a piece of me that felt slightly hurt.
i still couldn't get over the possible loss of a friend.
so i revisited the events that led our friendship astray, as i was finally armed with the insight and self-worth that would undoubtedly let me see things a little clearer.
and i found that the severe guilt that i'd experienced for a prolonged period of time - and that i did everything my power to remedy, to no real reciprocation because, clearly, i was the only one at fault - had changed.
i didn't feel completely guilty about everything that happened.
it was just hurt.
like coming out of a bad break-up and finally seeing all of the harsh reality that was so obscured by what i thought was real love.
and this isn't to say that i doubt that he and i were close and really cared for each other.
i still care about him very much - wholly and sincerely.
but what hurts was how easily he was willing to remove me from his life after something of a really petty issue.
at least, an issue that seems very petty now, after being the one thing that managed to absolutely consume all of my thoughts and worries.
another source of self-doubt and self-deprecation.
the ease with which he clicked that tiny "delete" button on facebook was a death sentence in his eyes.
i wasn't worthy.
the only way i can interpret this action, following just one email message explaining the first time he did this (because, yes, he did it twice) is that i was the expendable friend.
i revolved around him.
served his needs.
and failed him.
so he got rid of me.
because it was just that easy.
because i had no other value.
and if you're reading this, and you know who you are, i'm done apologizing for what happened because, honestly, i don't think i ever really needed to feel guilty about it in the first place.
what i will apologize for is how quickly this friendship seemed to fall apart because, again, i still care about you very much, and i wish that we can fix things and start over.
but i'm not going to compromise my own self-worth for it.
it has to go both ways.
i'm not saying that things could ever go back to the way they were, as we seem to be pretty different people now, but i'd hate to go on feeling that anxiety that hits me every time you walk into a room.
it's unfortunate that an untrue rumor was the one needle that broke the camel's back, or however that saying goes.
and it's unfortunate that, rather than coming to me to talk about it, you chose to, yet again, remove me from your life because you think that i'm unworthy.
but i really hope that things change for the better because, really, i finally feel like i have.
that is, changed for the better.
a 90 day vacation hardly seems like sufficient time to make big changes, but, at this point, nothing really surprises me anymore.
i'm so grateful those heinous teenage years that were so chock full of self-absorption and untended angst and self-pity are over with and i can finally identify these problems with myself and my relationships and mend them as best i can.
if there's one thing i want to promise myself for the coming school year, it's that i make more of an effort to be unapologetic.
just be pure, unadulterated Vickie.
scary.
i don't know who i should feel more sorry for (my friends, or unsuspecting strangers), but i'm okay with making mistakes and learning from them now.
it was a good summer.
and i'm happy.
and immature.
and self-absorbed and chock full of self-pity.
clearly.
sometimes i wonder if these are irreversible.
i can hear myself say ridiculous, less-than-kosher things during regular conversation and immediately feel the oftentimes negative juju that emanates from my unfortunate listeners.
i can't even use certain words properly.
like kosher.
sometimes i can stop myself before anything truly harmful can dribble out of my impulsive pie-hole that all too often goes unchecked.
other times, i'm forced to make due with the bull shit that manages to escape and profusely apologize to my listeners (and myself, inwardly) for the things i unintentionally force them to listen to.
when i tell stories, i sound something like a broken record player.
always the same ones, over and over again.
i hear myself tell them, beg myself to stop, but end up spewing out less-than-favorable comments and jokes and stories anyhow.
it's hopeless, really.
and i'm not the cute kind of neurotic, where i wear too fluffy slippers as everyday shoes, or brush my teeth 1o times before meeting someone, or take pictures of random leaves in the street.
i'm the kind that doesn't get properly angry at appropriate times so that i can manage it well and deal with whatever's going on.
instead, i bottle up the feelings i get from deserving moments and blow up for the most random, small events that should and would normally go unnoticed by any really sane person.
but i'm learning.
and i think this past summer (which, as of today, is officially over) was a really great time to recuperate and process all of the new things i've experienced, thought, felt, and witnessed.
turning 20, which, really, apart from finally putting an end to the teen years and, theoretically, all of that angst and self-absorption, doesn't do much besides getting you thinking.
any average teenager (or, at least, any teenager like myself) managed to sit through a good 6 or 7 years of her life wallowing in self-pity.
"Wahhh, I'm petty and immature. Wahhhh."
but we don't really do anything about it.
we were as annoying as we were masochistic.
there's something so alluring about suffering when you're that age. especially for our generation, where people actually compete over how much emotional baggage they carry, and, therefore, how much more of "life" they've seen.
how much more "real" and "hard" and "interesting" they are.
it isn't really until you hit that 20 mark that you look back and think, "holy Jeebus, wtf was i thinking?"
holy Jeebus.
wtf was i thinking?
it's about flippin' time, too, that i come around.
i mean, i'd be lying if i said that this summer didn't sting a little bit, with all of that new knowledge.
i'd hate to think that i'd lost a friend in the process, but, at the same time, i wonder if it was really worth it?
so dependent, was i, on the openness of other people that i did everything i could to cling to every friendship i ever made.
and one slipped through the cracks.
i blamed myself for it - that is, my pettiness and immaturity - and resolved to mend the broken ties and start over.
i told myself that i understood why this person wanted to "un-friend" me and remove me from their life altogether.
how worthwhile am i, really?
worthy?
valuable?
the fact that i seemed so expendable, because of all of my vices and flaws, really made sense to me.
but in the process of being unceremoniously booted out of someone's life i managed to meet and make some new friends.
the kind of friends i thanked my lucky stars for.
i couldn't believe that they'd want to spend even just a few minutes with me, day in and day out.
after all, i was petty and immature and overly self-deprecating and altogether, indubitably, irritating.
but they put up with me, and i was too grateful (particularly after that previous close friendship seemed to be on the rocks) to question my all too rare good fortune.
and i turned 20.
and got to thinking.
somehow, these new people - one or two, or several in particular - seemed to see something valuable and worthwhile in me.
at least, enough to actually wanna hang out with me and [drunkenly] tell me that i'm his best friend.
maybe, i thought, incredulously, there's just a little inkling of something to me.
and, for the first time in my life, i resolved to find out exactly what it could be.
i was inspired, i suppose (sappily enough), to finally go about and find and do the things i've always been afraid to try.
i signed up for an improv class (which extended to 2 additional improv classes) and found, surprisingly enough, that i didn't just enjoy it, but i might actually want to pursue it.
i applied for leadership positions in organizations that really mean a lot to me.
i started writing more and, more than that, letting other people read and critique my work.
i came up with so many ideas for stories and projects.
i started telling more painful stories and talking about darker aspects of myself that, before this wave of inspiration found me, went untapped and buried way deep down.
all in all, i was finally and completely opening up to people.
because maybe, just maybe, these parts of myself were worthy of an audience.
and if not, they'd reject me.
but they didn't.
and i found that my experiment - which i fully expected to fail - was a success.
and i loved my new friends and new community and overall new life.
the improbable goals that i set for myself, though still a reach, at least seem worth a shot.
but even when i found all of this happiness, there was still a piece of me that felt slightly hurt.
i still couldn't get over the possible loss of a friend.
so i revisited the events that led our friendship astray, as i was finally armed with the insight and self-worth that would undoubtedly let me see things a little clearer.
and i found that the severe guilt that i'd experienced for a prolonged period of time - and that i did everything my power to remedy, to no real reciprocation because, clearly, i was the only one at fault - had changed.
i didn't feel completely guilty about everything that happened.
it was just hurt.
like coming out of a bad break-up and finally seeing all of the harsh reality that was so obscured by what i thought was real love.
and this isn't to say that i doubt that he and i were close and really cared for each other.
i still care about him very much - wholly and sincerely.
but what hurts was how easily he was willing to remove me from his life after something of a really petty issue.
at least, an issue that seems very petty now, after being the one thing that managed to absolutely consume all of my thoughts and worries.
another source of self-doubt and self-deprecation.
the ease with which he clicked that tiny "delete" button on facebook was a death sentence in his eyes.
i wasn't worthy.
the only way i can interpret this action, following just one email message explaining the first time he did this (because, yes, he did it twice) is that i was the expendable friend.
i revolved around him.
served his needs.
and failed him.
so he got rid of me.
because it was just that easy.
because i had no other value.
and if you're reading this, and you know who you are, i'm done apologizing for what happened because, honestly, i don't think i ever really needed to feel guilty about it in the first place.
what i will apologize for is how quickly this friendship seemed to fall apart because, again, i still care about you very much, and i wish that we can fix things and start over.
but i'm not going to compromise my own self-worth for it.
it has to go both ways.
i'm not saying that things could ever go back to the way they were, as we seem to be pretty different people now, but i'd hate to go on feeling that anxiety that hits me every time you walk into a room.
it's unfortunate that an untrue rumor was the one needle that broke the camel's back, or however that saying goes.
and it's unfortunate that, rather than coming to me to talk about it, you chose to, yet again, remove me from your life because you think that i'm unworthy.
but i really hope that things change for the better because, really, i finally feel like i have.
that is, changed for the better.
a 90 day vacation hardly seems like sufficient time to make big changes, but, at this point, nothing really surprises me anymore.
i'm so grateful those heinous teenage years that were so chock full of self-absorption and untended angst and self-pity are over with and i can finally identify these problems with myself and my relationships and mend them as best i can.
if there's one thing i want to promise myself for the coming school year, it's that i make more of an effort to be unapologetic.
just be pure, unadulterated Vickie.
scary.
i don't know who i should feel more sorry for (my friends, or unsuspecting strangers), but i'm okay with making mistakes and learning from them now.
it was a good summer.
and i'm happy.
Friday, July 31, 2009
geeking out: part 2
4. Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire
the action is great, as is the mystery. the graveyard scene, in particular, was really great.
most of all, apart from bringing Voldemort "back to life," it's the first time death is faced head-on - which finishes the task the third book set in motion (that is, of making the series darker, and using the swiftness and finality of death as important themes).
death begins to play a more active role in shaping Harry's character, as well as the rest of his story. he's forced to grow up a little faster than some of his friends and starts to accept his fate.
the themes of fear and darkness that are introduced in PoA are further dissected. that being said, Rowling makes it a point to address death head-on - unlike many a children book i've read.
"love as the conqueror of evil" is reiterated and put to the test: the Priori Incantatem scene always makes me a little weepy.
and the characters, as they deal with adolescence and impending adulthood, all start to show a lot more depth and definition.
5. Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix
i actually kind of hated a lot of this book the very first time i read it.
Harry's teenage angst was taken to a whole new level and his woes and self-absorption - both of which are typical to most teenagers - just about drove me up the wall.
honestly, who is THAT whiny?
looking back, though, and rereading it from a slightly more mature point of view, i find that the book does have a lot of value.
when i first read it i was around 15 or 16 and downright denied any notion of my own dealings with being so whiny and annoying. i was definitely a little self-righteous.
so now, when i go back and read the fifth installment, i really appreciate Rowling's deep understanding of that particular stage in life. she really hits the nail on the head, and you really begin to sympathize with Harry - even though Hermione totally stole the show.
in that same vein, again, Hermione kicks ass. i knew from the previous four books that i had a crush on her, but after reading the fifth one i knew it was true love.
she was always the best kind of role model. the quiet type who occasionally opens up a major can of whoop ass.
while most alleged teenage girl role models open up maybe a small can of diet whoop ass, Hermione takes no prisoners.
whenever she stands up to Umbridge in such subtle yet awesome ways - like the scene where she tells Umbridge that she's read the entire book - i wish there were more women like her out there, and that i had half her courage and no-BS attitude.
moreover, i suppose the most obvious purpose of the book is to introduce this idea of imminent doom, where no one is safe.
the characters are becoming adults, and are at the forefront of a new rebellion. they all start to reach deep down inside themselves to discover the things they really care about and who they really are.
it's really a great segway into the rest of the series.
6. Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince
much like the fifth book, this one took another read to grow on me.
the first time around, i couldn't help but get the feeling that it worked something like a really dramatic line graph type thing (note that i'm no math whiz), where there was a definite incline in terms of romance, happiness, and humor - right before Dumbledore's death, which caused the line to plummet.
it just goes to show, i suppose, that death strikes anyone at anytime. moreover, in showing the way Harry attempts to chase down Dumbledore's assassins, Rowling leaves no doubt in anyone's mind that Harry, though magical, is still very much human.
and when the line between love and hate is blurred - that is, when something we love dearly is suddenly and unceremoniously taken away and we immediately turn that overwhelming sense of love into hatred towards the thing that caused that pain - no one is completely impervious to the lure of revenge.
this is also the book where Snape is finally taking a forefront. he was always one of my favorite characters, starting with PoA, but this sequel really cemented those feelings.
he's really the deepest character of the series (that is, next to Harry and Dumbledore, as we find out later) and emphasizes Rowling's feelings about both the innerturmoil of everyone who faces love and loss and the inherent good in everyone.
how, even if we veer away from the right path from time to time, we can always come back if we're willing to remember and use our knowledge of love, and the suffering that sometimes (oftentimes) stems from it.
also, when everyone was debating Snape's loyalty, i got to say, "I told ya so."
it's never wrong to have faith in people.
and it's never naive.
WWJD is a lot like WWDD.
7. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows
holy Jeebus. so good. probably my second favorite, right behind the third installment.
the trio are finally adults, but nonetheless vulnerable to the follies and temptations and feelings of ordinary muggles.
Snape's death, and the final chapters that describe Harry's walk towards his own end, are enough to make me grateful to have been part of this series for so long.
Snape becomes a symbol of the effects and power of love, and the capacity in anyone to change for the better.
he's human, but that doesn't just mean that he's inherently evil or prone to temptation.
i mean, we are, but that doesn't mean that we can't recognize our wrongdoing and redeem ourselves.
Snape's redemption is one of the greatest highlights of the entire series.
there's good in everyone, and everyone deserves second, third, fourth chances.
i can't even properly or justly describe the power that scene has on me whenever i read it.
all of Rowling's themes - of love, hate, death, fear/inner demons, humanity - come together completely, and Harry faces the greatest challenge of his life.
but it's not necessarily defeating Voldemort that lingers as the overarching, impending trial of the book.
really, it's all about using those things that Dumbledore taught him - that is, less about the memories and the horcruxes, and more about the importance of love, hate, fearing fear above all else, and trusting the good in everyone (including, and especially, oneself) - in becoming the person he was always meant to be.
and the person he was meant to be? not the vanquisher of Voldemort and evil, but the symbol of hope in humanity - that is, the symbol for the undying presence and power of love in the face of death and despair.
here was this boy we saw grow into a man; a boy who faced more hardships than anyone ever really should, and was given more responsibility and weight and power than people of his age should be made to bear.
this boy who had every opportunity and reason to lose faith in the world and all of its trials and the people who inhabit it.
this boy who had every right to refuse the burdens he was left with.
but he didn't.
so the courage Rowling takes apart and examines so thoroughly throughout the series has less to do with the Daring and Noble kind.
it's not about jumping into the fray and destroying evil.
it's more about fighting yourself - as you tend to be your own worst enemy.
all in all, these books aren't light children fare.
and i'm not saying that the books should be held on such a high pedestal as The Bible.
all i'm saying is that we could all learn a thing or two from Harry and his friends.
okay.
open nerdiness: done.
the action is great, as is the mystery. the graveyard scene, in particular, was really great.
most of all, apart from bringing Voldemort "back to life," it's the first time death is faced head-on - which finishes the task the third book set in motion (that is, of making the series darker, and using the swiftness and finality of death as important themes).
death begins to play a more active role in shaping Harry's character, as well as the rest of his story. he's forced to grow up a little faster than some of his friends and starts to accept his fate.
the themes of fear and darkness that are introduced in PoA are further dissected. that being said, Rowling makes it a point to address death head-on - unlike many a children book i've read.
"love as the conqueror of evil" is reiterated and put to the test: the Priori Incantatem scene always makes me a little weepy.
and the characters, as they deal with adolescence and impending adulthood, all start to show a lot more depth and definition.
5. Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix
i actually kind of hated a lot of this book the very first time i read it.
Harry's teenage angst was taken to a whole new level and his woes and self-absorption - both of which are typical to most teenagers - just about drove me up the wall.
honestly, who is THAT whiny?
looking back, though, and rereading it from a slightly more mature point of view, i find that the book does have a lot of value.
when i first read it i was around 15 or 16 and downright denied any notion of my own dealings with being so whiny and annoying. i was definitely a little self-righteous.
so now, when i go back and read the fifth installment, i really appreciate Rowling's deep understanding of that particular stage in life. she really hits the nail on the head, and you really begin to sympathize with Harry - even though Hermione totally stole the show.
in that same vein, again, Hermione kicks ass. i knew from the previous four books that i had a crush on her, but after reading the fifth one i knew it was true love.
she was always the best kind of role model. the quiet type who occasionally opens up a major can of whoop ass.
while most alleged teenage girl role models open up maybe a small can of diet whoop ass, Hermione takes no prisoners.
whenever she stands up to Umbridge in such subtle yet awesome ways - like the scene where she tells Umbridge that she's read the entire book - i wish there were more women like her out there, and that i had half her courage and no-BS attitude.
moreover, i suppose the most obvious purpose of the book is to introduce this idea of imminent doom, where no one is safe.
the characters are becoming adults, and are at the forefront of a new rebellion. they all start to reach deep down inside themselves to discover the things they really care about and who they really are.
it's really a great segway into the rest of the series.
6. Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince
much like the fifth book, this one took another read to grow on me.
the first time around, i couldn't help but get the feeling that it worked something like a really dramatic line graph type thing (note that i'm no math whiz), where there was a definite incline in terms of romance, happiness, and humor - right before Dumbledore's death, which caused the line to plummet.
it just goes to show, i suppose, that death strikes anyone at anytime. moreover, in showing the way Harry attempts to chase down Dumbledore's assassins, Rowling leaves no doubt in anyone's mind that Harry, though magical, is still very much human.
and when the line between love and hate is blurred - that is, when something we love dearly is suddenly and unceremoniously taken away and we immediately turn that overwhelming sense of love into hatred towards the thing that caused that pain - no one is completely impervious to the lure of revenge.
this is also the book where Snape is finally taking a forefront. he was always one of my favorite characters, starting with PoA, but this sequel really cemented those feelings.
he's really the deepest character of the series (that is, next to Harry and Dumbledore, as we find out later) and emphasizes Rowling's feelings about both the innerturmoil of everyone who faces love and loss and the inherent good in everyone.
how, even if we veer away from the right path from time to time, we can always come back if we're willing to remember and use our knowledge of love, and the suffering that sometimes (oftentimes) stems from it.
also, when everyone was debating Snape's loyalty, i got to say, "I told ya so."
it's never wrong to have faith in people.
and it's never naive.
WWJD is a lot like WWDD.
7. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows
holy Jeebus. so good. probably my second favorite, right behind the third installment.
the trio are finally adults, but nonetheless vulnerable to the follies and temptations and feelings of ordinary muggles.
Snape's death, and the final chapters that describe Harry's walk towards his own end, are enough to make me grateful to have been part of this series for so long.
Snape becomes a symbol of the effects and power of love, and the capacity in anyone to change for the better.
he's human, but that doesn't just mean that he's inherently evil or prone to temptation.
i mean, we are, but that doesn't mean that we can't recognize our wrongdoing and redeem ourselves.
Snape's redemption is one of the greatest highlights of the entire series.
there's good in everyone, and everyone deserves second, third, fourth chances.
i can't even properly or justly describe the power that scene has on me whenever i read it.
all of Rowling's themes - of love, hate, death, fear/inner demons, humanity - come together completely, and Harry faces the greatest challenge of his life.
but it's not necessarily defeating Voldemort that lingers as the overarching, impending trial of the book.
really, it's all about using those things that Dumbledore taught him - that is, less about the memories and the horcruxes, and more about the importance of love, hate, fearing fear above all else, and trusting the good in everyone (including, and especially, oneself) - in becoming the person he was always meant to be.
and the person he was meant to be? not the vanquisher of Voldemort and evil, but the symbol of hope in humanity - that is, the symbol for the undying presence and power of love in the face of death and despair.
here was this boy we saw grow into a man; a boy who faced more hardships than anyone ever really should, and was given more responsibility and weight and power than people of his age should be made to bear.
this boy who had every opportunity and reason to lose faith in the world and all of its trials and the people who inhabit it.
this boy who had every right to refuse the burdens he was left with.
but he didn't.
so the courage Rowling takes apart and examines so thoroughly throughout the series has less to do with the Daring and Noble kind.
it's not about jumping into the fray and destroying evil.
it's more about fighting yourself - as you tend to be your own worst enemy.
all in all, these books aren't light children fare.
and i'm not saying that the books should be held on such a high pedestal as The Bible.
all i'm saying is that we could all learn a thing or two from Harry and his friends.
okay.
open nerdiness: done.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
geeking out: part 1
i'm a Harry Potter nerd.
this isn't news.
...just a plain fact i'm sure anyone who knows me can attest to.
technically, i grew up with him: the first time i read the very first book i was just about to enter 6th grade (at age 11), and the final book came out just after i graduated from high school.
perfect.
the sad part of all of this is that, once the final book came out, Harry Potter releases became rarer events, and mugglenet.com's news flow was vastly reduced.
i know because i checked.
if i could answer the ice-breaking question of, "What's your favorite holiday?" with, "The final weeks leading up to a Harry Potter release," i totally would.
they're so exciting and fraught with tension and you're given free license to be as openly nerdy as you wish.
for a few short weeks you're reminded that you're not the only weenie on the face of the planet.
or the biggest.
(people who dress up give me the heebie jeebies.)
but more than that, it gives me an excuse to follow through with an age-old ritual of mine: re-reading the books that lead up to either the newest book release, or the newest film adaptation.
and i'm given the opportunity to relive all of the special moments that made me fall in love with each of the books in the first place.
it always irks me when people write the books off as lighter fare, or exclusively children's fiction, or nerdy fantasy (or a bible for Satanic witchcraft).
as i got to grow up with Harry, Ron, and Hermione, the books took on a totally different meaning; often capturing the very essence, not only of growing up, but what it means to grow up, and what it means to be, well, a muggle.
as, again, i'm still geeking out over the release of the sixth film, i decided to devote a post to the books that have, oddly enough, formed much of the foundations of my view on life:
1. Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's [Philosopher's] Stone
the writing for this one - style-wise, at least - isn't particularly special. the pacing for the beginning of the book is a little uneven, and often jerks around to capture somewhat miniscule - but magical and entertaining - aspects of the magical universe, and glossing over potentially significant events and tilts.
i picked the book up reluctantly, after a friend of mine urged me to put down my typical historical fiction and try something new and, in their words, "awwesoommmee."
i was under the impression that it was, as other people said, a kid's book.
and, again, the beginning part - though it managed to grab a little bit of my attention - didn't do much to impress.
but i remember the exact moment/passage that made me fall in love with the series forever.
the chapter about The Mirror of Erised, even to this day, manages to touch me more than a great deal of other books i've read.
here was this young wizard who was blessed with all of the gifts and vices of the typical mythical hero: he was an orphan who was brought up in a place to which he didn't belong; he unknowingly possessed other-worldly power; he knew nothing of his past until cues eventually came along to direct him; he was given a task that he alone had to complete; he was a reluctant hero who accepted his destiny and ultimately reigned victorious.
he could do magic, and finally existed in a world where magic was not only spectacle, but also commonplace (which, really, added to the real "wonder" of Rowling's universe).
more importantly, he could do magic, and had been through overwhelming strife the likes of which no one should have to suffer, and all he wanted was something as human and as real and as simple (to grasp, at least) as love. unconditional love.
not that it didn't have its merits.
moreover, it worked to put in a few more subtle hints and strengthen the relationships of the characters with one another.
only in its second year, the characters have already started to grow and evolve.
and the story begins to really begin its discussion about death, and therefore starts to get darker.
reading this one, mainly because of the Chamber scene, made me feel a little grown up, because you get the sense of impending doom and danger, and the feeling that it might be a little too grown-up for kids.
this isn't news.
...just a plain fact i'm sure anyone who knows me can attest to.
technically, i grew up with him: the first time i read the very first book i was just about to enter 6th grade (at age 11), and the final book came out just after i graduated from high school.
perfect.
the sad part of all of this is that, once the final book came out, Harry Potter releases became rarer events, and mugglenet.com's news flow was vastly reduced.
i know because i checked.
if i could answer the ice-breaking question of, "What's your favorite holiday?" with, "The final weeks leading up to a Harry Potter release," i totally would.
they're so exciting and fraught with tension and you're given free license to be as openly nerdy as you wish.
for a few short weeks you're reminded that you're not the only weenie on the face of the planet.
or the biggest.
(people who dress up give me the heebie jeebies.)
but more than that, it gives me an excuse to follow through with an age-old ritual of mine: re-reading the books that lead up to either the newest book release, or the newest film adaptation.
and i'm given the opportunity to relive all of the special moments that made me fall in love with each of the books in the first place.
it always irks me when people write the books off as lighter fare, or exclusively children's fiction, or nerdy fantasy (or a bible for Satanic witchcraft).
as i got to grow up with Harry, Ron, and Hermione, the books took on a totally different meaning; often capturing the very essence, not only of growing up, but what it means to grow up, and what it means to be, well, a muggle.
as, again, i'm still geeking out over the release of the sixth film, i decided to devote a post to the books that have, oddly enough, formed much of the foundations of my view on life:
1. Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's [Philosopher's] Stone
the writing for this one - style-wise, at least - isn't particularly special. the pacing for the beginning of the book is a little uneven, and often jerks around to capture somewhat miniscule - but magical and entertaining - aspects of the magical universe, and glossing over potentially significant events and tilts.
i picked the book up reluctantly, after a friend of mine urged me to put down my typical historical fiction and try something new and, in their words, "awwesoommmee."
i was under the impression that it was, as other people said, a kid's book.
and, again, the beginning part - though it managed to grab a little bit of my attention - didn't do much to impress.
but i remember the exact moment/passage that made me fall in love with the series forever.
the chapter about The Mirror of Erised, even to this day, manages to touch me more than a great deal of other books i've read.
here was this young wizard who was blessed with all of the gifts and vices of the typical mythical hero: he was an orphan who was brought up in a place to which he didn't belong; he unknowingly possessed other-worldly power; he knew nothing of his past until cues eventually came along to direct him; he was given a task that he alone had to complete; he was a reluctant hero who accepted his destiny and ultimately reigned victorious.
he could do magic, and finally existed in a world where magic was not only spectacle, but also commonplace (which, really, added to the real "wonder" of Rowling's universe).
more importantly, he could do magic, and had been through overwhelming strife the likes of which no one should have to suffer, and all he wanted was something as human and as real and as simple (to grasp, at least) as love. unconditional love.
it was the Erised scene, i think, that really set the tone and theme for the entire series.
and that made me, admittedly, a little misty-eyed.
and, again, made me fall in love.
2. Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets
if i had to choose a book to be omitted from the series - as much as i love all of the books - it would have to be this one.
which is strange for me to admit, as, shortly after reading it, it was one of my favorite books for a little while.
and that made me, admittedly, a little misty-eyed.
and, again, made me fall in love.
2. Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets
if i had to choose a book to be omitted from the series - as much as i love all of the books - it would have to be this one.
which is strange for me to admit, as, shortly after reading it, it was one of my favorite books for a little while.
not that it didn't have its merits.
if the first book set the overall theme (of the power of love in the balance of good and evil), the second book managed to really ground Rowling's humor as a running tone and style in the series.
moreover, it worked to put in a few more subtle hints and strengthen the relationships of the characters with one another.
only in its second year, the characters have already started to grow and evolve.
and the story begins to really begin its discussion about death, and therefore starts to get darker.
reading this one, mainly because of the Chamber scene, made me feel a little grown up, because you get the sense of impending doom and danger, and the feeling that it might be a little too grown-up for kids.
3. Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban
when people ask, “yeah, but…which one’s your favorite?” this is the usually the one i start to talk about.
many of the people i’ve talked to claim that this is one of their lesser favorite ones, and that only the last three or four of the series are really worth noting, because the story finally starts to take shape.
but i disagree.
the third book is where we finally see Harry begin to battle his inner demon, at no better a time than when he hits the typical age of raging hormones, angst, loneliness, and fear.
it’s a much darker, more significant turn than its predecessors.
there isn’t as much action – Voldemort’s presence is made only by mention, and he seems to be more or less absent from the deepest themes of the book - but, to me at least, it was always much scarier and much more suspenseful than the first two.
inner demons and fear (of fear, itself) can be just as chilling as basilisks and death.
boggarts, simply enough, represent our worst fears, and force us to depend on our sense of humor – or our ability to see the light in everything – to conquer those fears.
the dementors, really, are more than just creepy hooded things with bad skin (honestly, we see enough of those at Hot Topic); their power lies in the idea that they bring about the very things we deeply fear, regret, and repress, just so we can manage from day to day.
they force us to relive the very dark parts of ourselves that normally go unnoticed, hidden away or staunched by our need for hope and our capacity for love.
the Patronus Charm is unique to the person who conjures it because we each rely on different sources of hope, happiness, and love: just as the power of the dementor varies with each person because each of us holds different fears and traumas.
so this one, i think, resonates so deeply because it’s so much more personal. you learn, through Harry, not to fear single entities of being (that is, Voldemort).
you learn that there are scarier things, within yourself, that often go overlooked or left alone and ignored.
you really appreciate how much Rowling understands (and must remember) the shittiness of the growing up process, and all of the mixed emotions and fears that go along with it.
the magic is still fantastic, but the feelings and overall theme are grounded in reality.
you really begin to connect with all of the characters, especially Harry, and, maybe, a little bit of yourself.
and that's the real magic of Harry Potter.
the power of fear that can only be overcome by love.
the books that always force me to look a little bit closer at myself and teach without really lecturing are the ones that i tend to favor.
lastly, this is the one where the tone of the series makes the final shift into darkness, where all of the pieces (with the Marauders and Snape and Lily) start to take shape and fall into place.
from here on out it's a real journey, and Harry really starts to mature.
and it came at a perfect time, and was perfectly captured.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
career choices
being half Asian, the list of career choices for my sisters and me, growing up, was limited.
what did our mother have in mind for us?
only what any good Korean mom hopes for (and forces upon) her children:
Doctor
Lawyer
Architect
Engineer
Millionaire's Wife
Doctor
that being said, most Korean moms try to feign unconditional support for independence and perseverance.
that is, up until the independent child becomes too independent and therefore also unruly and naive and, potentially, a failure in all aspects of life.
let's face it, most Asian babies are brought into the world for 2 reasons: the first, to maintain and further the Asian influence in the world; the second, to make enough money (by becoming a renowned doctor) so as to take care of the Asian parents when they're old and useless.
the others are accidents.
Mommy (that is, Mama Toro) is no exception.
when my sisters and i were growing up, our parents (Mommy, especially, as our dad was more or less a bit absent during our early years) instilled in us the very powerful and true ideas that, when we grow up, being females and ethnic minorities, we would have to overcome a great deal of strife in order to fulfill our dreams and goals.
and we should never let anything hold us back.
and we should do exactly what makes us successful in all senses of the word, particularly happiness, as she was robbed of the opportunities and encouragement to do so herself.
as amazing as that sounds, though (and as grateful as i am for that kind of upbringing), secretly our mother thought that any right-minded individual with that kind of encouragement would want to enter an Asian friendly career like the ones mentioned above.
who, with the right brains, talent, fortitude, and Asianness wouldn't want to be a doctor/architect/engineer/
what did our mother have in mind for us?
only what any good Korean mom hopes for (and forces upon) her children:
Doctor
Lawyer
Architect
Engineer
Millionaire's Wife
Doctor
that being said, most Korean moms try to feign unconditional support for independence and perseverance.
that is, up until the independent child becomes too independent and therefore also unruly and naive and, potentially, a failure in all aspects of life.
let's face it, most Asian babies are brought into the world for 2 reasons: the first, to maintain and further the Asian influence in the world; the second, to make enough money (by becoming a renowned doctor) so as to take care of the Asian parents when they're old and useless.
the others are accidents.
Mommy (that is, Mama Toro) is no exception.
when my sisters and i were growing up, our parents (Mommy, especially, as our dad was more or less a bit absent during our early years) instilled in us the very powerful and true ideas that, when we grow up, being females and ethnic minorities, we would have to overcome a great deal of strife in order to fulfill our dreams and goals.
and we should never let anything hold us back.
and we should do exactly what makes us successful in all senses of the word, particularly happiness, as she was robbed of the opportunities and encouragement to do so herself.
as amazing as that sounds, though (and as grateful as i am for that kind of upbringing), secretly our mother thought that any right-minded individual with that kind of encouragement would want to enter an Asian friendly career like the ones mentioned above.
who, with the right brains, talent, fortitude, and Asianness wouldn't want to be a doctor/architect/engineer/
lawyer/millionaire of some kind?
granted, Olivia was on the lawyer track for about 22 years of her life, much to Mommy's delight.
4.0+ since the womb, accepted into the most selective liberal arts college on scholarship (which was not a minority scholarship, as some suggested), accepted into every one of the top 5 law schools in the country, Olivia was never one to disappoint.
she only ever wanted to be a lawyer, or the first female president.
until she spent some time in law school and discovered that her passions lay more in the field of hands-on community service.
and she's happy now.
Annie's series of career choices was more eclectic. of the same intelligence and natural talent as Olivia, though without, perhaps, as strong an interest in academia, Annie's career choices never really followed a trend, although they did all more or less suit certain aspects of her character.
first, Annie, as an enforcer, wanted to be a cop.
then, probably in an attempt to better please our mother, she wanted to be a doctor.
then an architect.
then, when she got into a top university, Annie briefly showed interest in neurology, right before switching to International Studies.
now she happily teaches English in Japan.
but while my sisters spent brief stints in Mommy's good graces, looking back, i don't think i ever genuinely fit the mold.
my first career choice, at the age of 4, was cab driver, as i'd just seen the episode of the Muppet Babies where the babies go to the moon in a taxi.
which i suppose means that i actually wanted to be an astronaut.
that and, even then, i liked the idea of handling cash.
this dream lasted a good year or so.
that is, up until my family responded well to my earliest imitations of chickens and the like, and my parents, jokingly, told me that i should think about comedy.
jokingly, because i'm sure it wasn't what my mother had in mind.
especially as, during a big talk, i confessed to wanting to be "just like Ellen someday."
the next day, my mother gave me her old college math and science textbooks and educated me on the important contributions made by doctors and engineers the world over.
so i dabbled a little bit.
i fell in love with my LEGOs: the only unisex toys of which my mother ever really approved.
i even claimed that all i really wanted to do was be an aerospace engineer.
but it was all a lie.
particularly after comedy managed to get me out of a few scrapes and, as i realize now, helped me survive some of the worst years of my life.
i came home from school once, a little put out. my dad took notice and asked what was bothering me. i told him that kids liked to tease me about my walk, which resembled something of a waddle.
"Waddle?! One of the best comedians in history waddled!"
"Really?"
"Yeah! His name was Charlie Chaplin."
and as soon as the rented VHS of The Gold Rush started to play, with my dad anxiously awaiting my response in the background, i fell in love.
it was too late, then.
my heart was taken.
as i would discover and practice while growing up, finding the funny in everything is no mean feat.
...and oh-so necessary.
i suppose some people would laugh if i called comedy my "craft" or my "art."
many make the mistake of associating comedy with joke-telling or obnoxiously making an ass of oneself or of others.
but genuine, memorable comedy doesn't rely on simple gags or humiliation.
at least, it shouldn't.
but the kind that people latch onto, and the kind that really means something and lasts is grounded in sincerity and - cheesily enough - humanity.
one of the most important rules of comedy is that the funniest things are funny because they're true, and because they're true, chances are it's because so many people in the audience have experienced it themselves.
we like things that we can connect to, even if we can't understand how or why it means so much.
granted, i'm not gonna lie: i can get a good laugh out of a guy getting hit in the crotch or something.
but it doesn't resonate as much as, say, someone dealing with the throes of unrequited love - something i'm all too familiar with - and turning it into something lighthearted and easier to deal and cope with.
it takes a lot of astuteness to really pull off that kind of comedy - that is, the kind that can, literally, turn a frown upside-down.
it takes a great level of reasoning as well as optimism and perseverance to pull that off.
sometimes, it even requires a certain level of courage and awareness - of both one's surroundings and of oneself.
and, most importantly of all, it necessitates a deep understanding of people and looking beyond one's own self-absorbed bubble.
i don't flatter myself by assuming that i possess these qualities - any at all.
but i know that i strive to at least come close someday.
and that's the kind of comedy i want to write and do.
the kind that inspires hope as well as laughter.
the kind that people connect to and remember whenever the going gets tough.
and i think that all of that can be just as important in our world - especially with the current climate - as curing diseases or owning an estate.
laughter's the best medicine, anyhow.
granted, Olivia was on the lawyer track for about 22 years of her life, much to Mommy's delight.
4.0+ since the womb, accepted into the most selective liberal arts college on scholarship (which was not a minority scholarship, as some suggested), accepted into every one of the top 5 law schools in the country, Olivia was never one to disappoint.
she only ever wanted to be a lawyer, or the first female president.
until she spent some time in law school and discovered that her passions lay more in the field of hands-on community service.
and she's happy now.
Annie's series of career choices was more eclectic. of the same intelligence and natural talent as Olivia, though without, perhaps, as strong an interest in academia, Annie's career choices never really followed a trend, although they did all more or less suit certain aspects of her character.
first, Annie, as an enforcer, wanted to be a cop.
then, probably in an attempt to better please our mother, she wanted to be a doctor.
then an architect.
then, when she got into a top university, Annie briefly showed interest in neurology, right before switching to International Studies.
now she happily teaches English in Japan.
but while my sisters spent brief stints in Mommy's good graces, looking back, i don't think i ever genuinely fit the mold.
my first career choice, at the age of 4, was cab driver, as i'd just seen the episode of the Muppet Babies where the babies go to the moon in a taxi.
which i suppose means that i actually wanted to be an astronaut.
that and, even then, i liked the idea of handling cash.
this dream lasted a good year or so.
that is, up until my family responded well to my earliest imitations of chickens and the like, and my parents, jokingly, told me that i should think about comedy.
jokingly, because i'm sure it wasn't what my mother had in mind.
especially as, during a big talk, i confessed to wanting to be "just like Ellen someday."
the next day, my mother gave me her old college math and science textbooks and educated me on the important contributions made by doctors and engineers the world over.
so i dabbled a little bit.
i fell in love with my LEGOs: the only unisex toys of which my mother ever really approved.
i even claimed that all i really wanted to do was be an aerospace engineer.
but it was all a lie.
particularly after comedy managed to get me out of a few scrapes and, as i realize now, helped me survive some of the worst years of my life.
i came home from school once, a little put out. my dad took notice and asked what was bothering me. i told him that kids liked to tease me about my walk, which resembled something of a waddle.
"Waddle?! One of the best comedians in history waddled!"
"Really?"
"Yeah! His name was Charlie Chaplin."
and as soon as the rented VHS of The Gold Rush started to play, with my dad anxiously awaiting my response in the background, i fell in love.
it was too late, then.
my heart was taken.
as i would discover and practice while growing up, finding the funny in everything is no mean feat.
...and oh-so necessary.
i suppose some people would laugh if i called comedy my "craft" or my "art."
many make the mistake of associating comedy with joke-telling or obnoxiously making an ass of oneself or of others.
but genuine, memorable comedy doesn't rely on simple gags or humiliation.
at least, it shouldn't.
but the kind that people latch onto, and the kind that really means something and lasts is grounded in sincerity and - cheesily enough - humanity.
one of the most important rules of comedy is that the funniest things are funny because they're true, and because they're true, chances are it's because so many people in the audience have experienced it themselves.
we like things that we can connect to, even if we can't understand how or why it means so much.
granted, i'm not gonna lie: i can get a good laugh out of a guy getting hit in the crotch or something.
but it doesn't resonate as much as, say, someone dealing with the throes of unrequited love - something i'm all too familiar with - and turning it into something lighthearted and easier to deal and cope with.
it takes a lot of astuteness to really pull off that kind of comedy - that is, the kind that can, literally, turn a frown upside-down.
it takes a great level of reasoning as well as optimism and perseverance to pull that off.
sometimes, it even requires a certain level of courage and awareness - of both one's surroundings and of oneself.
and, most importantly of all, it necessitates a deep understanding of people and looking beyond one's own self-absorbed bubble.
i don't flatter myself by assuming that i possess these qualities - any at all.
but i know that i strive to at least come close someday.
and that's the kind of comedy i want to write and do.
the kind that inspires hope as well as laughter.
the kind that people connect to and remember whenever the going gets tough.
and i think that all of that can be just as important in our world - especially with the current climate - as curing diseases or owning an estate.
laughter's the best medicine, anyhow.
Monday, July 6, 2009
hyphenate
I've never really felt more Korean than Dominican, just as I've never felt more Dominican than Korean, or more American than either Korean or Dominican.
I can't recite the Korean anthem or recount important historical Dominican events.
I don't own a chogori or dance the merengue.
The only Korean I know I learned because of my mother's road rage, and I only learned Spanish when my family moved around because of Army assignments.
But I can tell you about the stares I've gotten from random passersby.
The inevitable question of, "What are you?" that comes along more often than, "Who are you?"
I can tell you stories in the various accents I grew up around while poorly pronouncing the names of Korean and Dominican dishes.
If anything, it's been a long, confusing journey in terms of reaching an understanding about my background and our family's history: it's taken a long time to come to the conclusion that I'm an absolute hyphenate.
I'm not exclusively Korean and I'm not exclusively Dominican.
I can't even be exclusively American because, as a first generation immigrant on both sides of my family, I'm sure that my American experience is different from that of my typical neighbor.
I am, then - along with my sisters - more accurately, Korean-Dominican-American:
So there are moments, whenever I spend time with my grandparents, when I sometimes seize the opportunity to hear more about our past.
If there's one thing the Kims and the Toros share, it's their emphasis on the importance of storytelling.
And, as immigrants, who can blame them? It's the stories that keep our diversity and culture alive.
Stories, really, are all we - or my ancestors - have.
My Korean grandmother, in particular, has always had the best stories.
Once, when I was 16, and we were visiting my half-Korean cousins - with whom our grandmother lived - my aunt, mother, cousins, and grandmother and I were watching the epic Korean War film Tae Guk Gi, the old woman turned to me.
She told me that, when the war broke out, she was just my age.
There was chaos: families, including her own, were ripped apart; the North Koreans and Chinese were ruthless; she was young and lost, and there seemed to be little hope.
Her small farming village being vulnerable, and her family, which was uncommonly close-knit and progressive (as our great-grandfather went against all tradition and left all of his property in my grandmother's name, rather than the next male heir) she and her mother - who were undeniably close - were separated.
Grandma was marched along like a prisoner, facing abuse, death, and starvation.
She was young and alone.
She decided to escape.
One night, when it was dark and the guards were tired and inattentive, she decided to break ranks.
As she ran through the dark alleyways of the anonymous nearby city, she could hear the dogs barking not too far behind, and the voices of the guards and the gunshots they threatened her with.
When suddenly a random door in an alley was thrown open, and a welcoming hand took her in and hid her.
Come morning, she felt that she should leave, should another crowd of Red soldiers pass through, she couldn't endanger the people who helped her.
Not long after, she found a Colombian military camp.
She spent the remainder of the war learning Spanish and doing laundry, happily out of danger.
But she still missed her mother.
When she finally managed to return home, at the end of the war, she sprinted for her family's farm to look for her.
But she wasn't there.
So halmony* went into the village, searching high and low for our great-grandmother.
For hours she looked, fruitlessly.
Finally, she asked someone.
"Your mother?" the man asked, "Park?"
Halmony nodded, desperate, hoping there was a happy ending.
But the man's face fell, and he recounted the legend that became of her mother.
After great-grandmother finally managed to return to the village, the first thing she did was search for my grandmother.
For hours.
Days.
But, somehow, she wasn't back yet.
But she couldn't believe that my grandmother was dead, no matter what the others tried to tell her.
She knew, in her heart, that my grandmother was still alive.
She just had to wait.
So, every day, our great-grandmother would go and wait at the train station.
For hours.
Every day.
Never losing faith.
Nothing else in the world could stop her.
"...But, your mother," the man concluded, "after all that waiting...She died of a broken heart."
It's sad to me that our generation might not know stories like this.
That, instead of quiet triumphs in the face of a violent, close war, we face battles with one another, often forgetting where we came from: that, though our histories are different, we were brought here searching for much of the same ending.
We forget about stories like the one my grandmother had to tell: stories of love and closeness.
Legends are harder to come by nowadays, I suppose.
But I find a little solace in the fact that we can still try to continue the telling of these kinds of stories.
That these old stories can still be passed along so long as there are people who will listen and people who remember.
We just have to remember sometimes.
*halmony is the affectionate Korean word for "grandmother." not one member of the triad any more significant than another, as I've tried, and continue to try, to become better acquainted with the parts of me that brought my family histories here.
I can't recite the Korean anthem or recount important historical Dominican events.
I don't own a chogori or dance the merengue.
The only Korean I know I learned because of my mother's road rage, and I only learned Spanish when my family moved around because of Army assignments.
But I can tell you about the stares I've gotten from random passersby.
The inevitable question of, "What are you?" that comes along more often than, "Who are you?"
I can tell you stories in the various accents I grew up around while poorly pronouncing the names of Korean and Dominican dishes.
If anything, it's been a long, confusing journey in terms of reaching an understanding about my background and our family's history: it's taken a long time to come to the conclusion that I'm an absolute hyphenate.
I'm not exclusively Korean and I'm not exclusively Dominican.
I can't even be exclusively American because, as a first generation immigrant on both sides of my family, I'm sure that my American experience is different from that of my typical neighbor.
I am, then - along with my sisters - more accurately, Korean-Dominican-American:
So there are moments, whenever I spend time with my grandparents, when I sometimes seize the opportunity to hear more about our past.
If there's one thing the Kims and the Toros share, it's their emphasis on the importance of storytelling.
And, as immigrants, who can blame them? It's the stories that keep our diversity and culture alive.
Stories, really, are all we - or my ancestors - have.
My Korean grandmother, in particular, has always had the best stories.
Once, when I was 16, and we were visiting my half-Korean cousins - with whom our grandmother lived - my aunt, mother, cousins, and grandmother and I were watching the epic Korean War film Tae Guk Gi, the old woman turned to me.
She told me that, when the war broke out, she was just my age.
There was chaos: families, including her own, were ripped apart; the North Koreans and Chinese were ruthless; she was young and lost, and there seemed to be little hope.
Her small farming village being vulnerable, and her family, which was uncommonly close-knit and progressive (as our great-grandfather went against all tradition and left all of his property in my grandmother's name, rather than the next male heir) she and her mother - who were undeniably close - were separated.
Grandma was marched along like a prisoner, facing abuse, death, and starvation.
She was young and alone.
She decided to escape.
One night, when it was dark and the guards were tired and inattentive, she decided to break ranks.
As she ran through the dark alleyways of the anonymous nearby city, she could hear the dogs barking not too far behind, and the voices of the guards and the gunshots they threatened her with.
When suddenly a random door in an alley was thrown open, and a welcoming hand took her in and hid her.
Come morning, she felt that she should leave, should another crowd of Red soldiers pass through, she couldn't endanger the people who helped her.
Not long after, she found a Colombian military camp.
She spent the remainder of the war learning Spanish and doing laundry, happily out of danger.
But she still missed her mother.
When she finally managed to return home, at the end of the war, she sprinted for her family's farm to look for her.
But she wasn't there.
So halmony* went into the village, searching high and low for our great-grandmother.
For hours she looked, fruitlessly.
Finally, she asked someone.
"Your mother?" the man asked, "Park?"
Halmony nodded, desperate, hoping there was a happy ending.
But the man's face fell, and he recounted the legend that became of her mother.
After great-grandmother finally managed to return to the village, the first thing she did was search for my grandmother.
For hours.
Days.
But, somehow, she wasn't back yet.
But she couldn't believe that my grandmother was dead, no matter what the others tried to tell her.
She knew, in her heart, that my grandmother was still alive.
She just had to wait.
So, every day, our great-grandmother would go and wait at the train station.
For hours.
Every day.
Never losing faith.
Nothing else in the world could stop her.
"...But, your mother," the man concluded, "after all that waiting...She died of a broken heart."
It's sad to me that our generation might not know stories like this.
That, instead of quiet triumphs in the face of a violent, close war, we face battles with one another, often forgetting where we came from: that, though our histories are different, we were brought here searching for much of the same ending.
We forget about stories like the one my grandmother had to tell: stories of love and closeness.
Legends are harder to come by nowadays, I suppose.
But I find a little solace in the fact that we can still try to continue the telling of these kinds of stories.
That these old stories can still be passed along so long as there are people who will listen and people who remember.
We just have to remember sometimes.
*halmony is the affectionate Korean word for "grandmother." not one member of the triad any more significant than another, as I've tried, and continue to try, to become better acquainted with the parts of me that brought my family histories here.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
office musings
right. so i work with a relatively old woman who, up until this point, has been on my good side.
for the most part, i'd sort of accepted her as a feisty old woman with a lot of spunk and character, but, today, i couldn't help but feel that she's more or less fallen out of my good graces.
why?
well, with nothing to do today, i was reading a Harry Potter book.
she came by and asked what i was reading, so i showed her the cover and told her.
"Ya know, I've never understood the appeal of that stuff haha I mean, my kids and my grandkids love them, and they told me that if I gave them a shot I'd like 'em, but whenever I see that stuff on TV all I can think of is witchcraft! Just witchcraft!"
and she went on a little more, finally delving into the fact that she thinks my generation is at risk because the morality of her own generation has gone out the window.
nobody gives religion as much credit as they should anymore, she says.
i was okay with this speech. Lord knows i've heard it a fair few times from old people, so i figured it was more or less expected.
but then she kept going on with a new topic.
"And ya know what else I don't get? These jails! I mean, so the men prisons are ALL men, right? And no women. And the women prisons are ALL women, and no men. So I'm thinking, why the heck are these places so stocked up with condoms? And why is this okay? No one thinks it's wrong. I mean, think about it, right? ALL men and ALL women? What else do you think is going on there? And NOBODY thinks it's wrong. And I'm asking, 'Why the HECK is MY tax money being taken by the government to BUY these condoms and SUPPORT that kind of thing.
I'm old-fashioned now - nobody gives me or people who think the same way as me as much credit anymore.
I believe in the old stuff, where I don't want my tax money to go to that kind of thing. Where I don't understand how 6th graders're getting pregnant and these parents nowadays're letting their kids just watch violent movies and play violent video games.
I mean, right? Thank GOD my kids're all grown up and raised already. It's terrifying to think that kids're gonna grow up with these kinds of things.
And to think that all those things're alright?
Marriage is for sex and having children and it's for a man and a woman.
I don't understand people who just have sex outside of marriage or have babies without getting married.
Right?
But if I say these things out loud, then I'M just judgmental, right?
It doesn't make sense."
you wanna know why you're considered judgmental, you old windbag?
because you fail to recognize the changing times. call the newer generation ignorant of old morals and values if you want, but you're just as guilty - if not moreso - of being ignorant of [necessary and inevitable] change.
i can understand wanting to let things stay the way they are, for the sake of stability, but hot damn, you'd think all those years under your belt'd be proportional to your alleged wisdom.
first off, Harry Potter is about more than witchcraft. if you read it and didn't judge a book by its cover, you might discover that that is chock full of the morals you and your beloved Bible so faithfully support and preach.
secondly, if you want the HIV epidemic to continue to spread, just because of your adamant objection to homosexuality and your need to hold onto a few extra dollars, go ahead: get that blood on your hands.
i think people of your age and mindset forget that there is one institution that has, arguably, been around longer than the Bible or any religious institution (that is, an institution that not only preceded Christianity, but also formed the foundation of it): love.
love is a big word, though. over time, it's been abused, misunderstood, and has evolved, incessantly, since its inception - whenever that may have been.
it encompasses a lot of things that we may often take for granted: human decency, compassion, loyalty, and faith.
the Bible isn't about the rights and wrongs of humanity, and, even though it outlines the many flaws of the human race, it doesn't hold said race in contempt.
if anything, it honors the one thing that seems to set humanity apart from all of God's other creations: our capacity to love.
that's all.
that's all religion should be about.
and that's all that should be in mind when deciding between right and wrong.
do we let convicted, confined criminals copulate with fatal consequences? let them die and offer no charity or compassion or, in the very least, guidance?
is it really wise to simply attempt to prevent the inevitable? rather than adjust to change so as to provide better safety?
no, because even Jesus gave those who wronged second, third, fourth chances.
moreover, knowing full well that these individuals might head back out into society, how can we sit idly by and allow for their "indiscretions" to spread to innocent passersby?
how can we put our neighbors at risk?
in any context?
how can we let them starve, deteriorate with disease, or allow them to make ill conceived and poorly informed decisions?
and how can we prevent our neighbors from partaking in the one God-given gift that defines our humanity?
how can you tell someone that their love is wrong?
love is a big word, not because it should be restricted or contained or feared, but because, simply enough, it doesn't discriminate.
it's human.
it's flawed.
it's inevitable.
it's necessary for harmony and unwavering faith in whatever you choose to believe.
and that's the only morality we need - that is, the kind that isn't defined by too-long lists of dos and don'ts; rather, the kind that allows for indiscriminate and unconditional love.
so, thank you, old lady, for saying all of those things to and right in front of me, knowing full well that i'm involved with the LGBT community.
thank you for disregarding any notions of human decency and consideration so as to banter on with your hurtful bigotry.
i regret not being brave enough to stand up to you and needing this job.
but i'm grateful for the fact that, God willing, i've got another 60 some odd years to go before my moral compass goes to pot.
and, of course, before i need Depends, too.
for the most part, i'd sort of accepted her as a feisty old woman with a lot of spunk and character, but, today, i couldn't help but feel that she's more or less fallen out of my good graces.
why?
well, with nothing to do today, i was reading a Harry Potter book.
she came by and asked what i was reading, so i showed her the cover and told her.
"Ya know, I've never understood the appeal of that stuff haha I mean, my kids and my grandkids love them, and they told me that if I gave them a shot I'd like 'em, but whenever I see that stuff on TV all I can think of is witchcraft! Just witchcraft!"
and she went on a little more, finally delving into the fact that she thinks my generation is at risk because the morality of her own generation has gone out the window.
nobody gives religion as much credit as they should anymore, she says.
i was okay with this speech. Lord knows i've heard it a fair few times from old people, so i figured it was more or less expected.
but then she kept going on with a new topic.
"And ya know what else I don't get? These jails! I mean, so the men prisons are ALL men, right? And no women. And the women prisons are ALL women, and no men. So I'm thinking, why the heck are these places so stocked up with condoms? And why is this okay? No one thinks it's wrong. I mean, think about it, right? ALL men and ALL women? What else do you think is going on there? And NOBODY thinks it's wrong. And I'm asking, 'Why the HECK is MY tax money being taken by the government to BUY these condoms and SUPPORT that kind of thing.
I'm old-fashioned now - nobody gives me or people who think the same way as me as much credit anymore.
I believe in the old stuff, where I don't want my tax money to go to that kind of thing. Where I don't understand how 6th graders're getting pregnant and these parents nowadays're letting their kids just watch violent movies and play violent video games.
I mean, right? Thank GOD my kids're all grown up and raised already. It's terrifying to think that kids're gonna grow up with these kinds of things.
And to think that all those things're alright?
Marriage is for sex and having children and it's for a man and a woman.
I don't understand people who just have sex outside of marriage or have babies without getting married.
Right?
But if I say these things out loud, then I'M just judgmental, right?
It doesn't make sense."
you wanna know why you're considered judgmental, you old windbag?
because you fail to recognize the changing times. call the newer generation ignorant of old morals and values if you want, but you're just as guilty - if not moreso - of being ignorant of [necessary and inevitable] change.
i can understand wanting to let things stay the way they are, for the sake of stability, but hot damn, you'd think all those years under your belt'd be proportional to your alleged wisdom.
first off, Harry Potter is about more than witchcraft. if you read it and didn't judge a book by its cover, you might discover that that is chock full of the morals you and your beloved Bible so faithfully support and preach.
secondly, if you want the HIV epidemic to continue to spread, just because of your adamant objection to homosexuality and your need to hold onto a few extra dollars, go ahead: get that blood on your hands.
i think people of your age and mindset forget that there is one institution that has, arguably, been around longer than the Bible or any religious institution (that is, an institution that not only preceded Christianity, but also formed the foundation of it): love.
love is a big word, though. over time, it's been abused, misunderstood, and has evolved, incessantly, since its inception - whenever that may have been.
it encompasses a lot of things that we may often take for granted: human decency, compassion, loyalty, and faith.
the Bible isn't about the rights and wrongs of humanity, and, even though it outlines the many flaws of the human race, it doesn't hold said race in contempt.
if anything, it honors the one thing that seems to set humanity apart from all of God's other creations: our capacity to love.
that's all.
that's all religion should be about.
and that's all that should be in mind when deciding between right and wrong.
do we let convicted, confined criminals copulate with fatal consequences? let them die and offer no charity or compassion or, in the very least, guidance?
is it really wise to simply attempt to prevent the inevitable? rather than adjust to change so as to provide better safety?
no, because even Jesus gave those who wronged second, third, fourth chances.
moreover, knowing full well that these individuals might head back out into society, how can we sit idly by and allow for their "indiscretions" to spread to innocent passersby?
how can we put our neighbors at risk?
in any context?
how can we let them starve, deteriorate with disease, or allow them to make ill conceived and poorly informed decisions?
and how can we prevent our neighbors from partaking in the one God-given gift that defines our humanity?
how can you tell someone that their love is wrong?
love is a big word, not because it should be restricted or contained or feared, but because, simply enough, it doesn't discriminate.
it's human.
it's flawed.
it's inevitable.
it's necessary for harmony and unwavering faith in whatever you choose to believe.
and that's the only morality we need - that is, the kind that isn't defined by too-long lists of dos and don'ts; rather, the kind that allows for indiscriminate and unconditional love.
so, thank you, old lady, for saying all of those things to and right in front of me, knowing full well that i'm involved with the LGBT community.
thank you for disregarding any notions of human decency and consideration so as to banter on with your hurtful bigotry.
i regret not being brave enough to stand up to you and needing this job.
but i'm grateful for the fact that, God willing, i've got another 60 some odd years to go before my moral compass goes to pot.
and, of course, before i need Depends, too.
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Red with passion, or the heart wants what it wants.
i confessed to a friend a little while back that i hold a soft spot for redheads.
she was disgusted, and proceeded to harangue me for my Ginger Love by informing me, in so many words, that redheads are nothing more or less than the spawn of Satan.
"Red with evil."
but i disagree.
although i can't necessarily describe a concrete reason as to why i harbor special feelings for redheads (that is, apart from the fact that they're nearly always cheerful and bubbly and, to some extent, awkward), i know for a certain fact that they're not the earthly embodiment of the devil.
everybody needs love from somebody.
Gingers need love, too.
and i'm here to give it to them.
that being said, so as to continue the previous post, this second list is devoted to the Gingers of My Heart (again, in no particular order):
1. Amy Adams
from Enchanted to Sunshine Cleaning, i just love her. she seems so down to earth and friendly and adorable.
2. Kate Winslet
i. love. her. always have, always will. true love lasts a lifetime. she's my #1 special lady. i actually don't even know why i didn't list her as number 1 here. probably because, given our true connection, numbers - and everything else in this world - are unimportant.
creepy?
good.
3. Jenny Lewis
actress and musician and singer and beautiful and awesome.
4. Alyson Hannigan
granted, i'm probably more attracted to her smile than anything else, and she now plays a brunette on "How I Met Your Mother," but still. and that's all i've gotta say: "but still."
5. Isla Fisher
crazy. and crazy hilarious and awesome.
6. Christina Hendricks
um. hott. that is all.
and, of course, not included in this list but whom i still wholeheartedly admire: Lucille Ball and Katherine Hepburn.
see? Gingers aren't all bad.
i mean, i'm not saying that i'm exclusively attracted to redheads...
i'm just saying that they deserve a shot, too.
and i'm widening my options.
the heart wants what it wants.
now excuse me while i drool.
she was disgusted, and proceeded to harangue me for my Ginger Love by informing me, in so many words, that redheads are nothing more or less than the spawn of Satan.
"Red with evil."
but i disagree.
although i can't necessarily describe a concrete reason as to why i harbor special feelings for redheads (that is, apart from the fact that they're nearly always cheerful and bubbly and, to some extent, awkward), i know for a certain fact that they're not the earthly embodiment of the devil.
everybody needs love from somebody.
Gingers need love, too.
and i'm here to give it to them.
that being said, so as to continue the previous post, this second list is devoted to the Gingers of My Heart (again, in no particular order):
1. Amy Adams
from Enchanted to Sunshine Cleaning, i just love her. she seems so down to earth and friendly and adorable.
2. Kate Winslet
i. love. her. always have, always will. true love lasts a lifetime. she's my #1 special lady. i actually don't even know why i didn't list her as number 1 here. probably because, given our true connection, numbers - and everything else in this world - are unimportant.
creepy?
good.
3. Jenny Lewis
actress and musician and singer and beautiful and awesome.
4. Alyson Hannigan
granted, i'm probably more attracted to her smile than anything else, and she now plays a brunette on "How I Met Your Mother," but still. and that's all i've gotta say: "but still."
5. Isla Fisher
crazy. and crazy hilarious and awesome.
6. Christina Hendricks
um. hott. that is all.
and, of course, not included in this list but whom i still wholeheartedly admire: Lucille Ball and Katherine Hepburn.
see? Gingers aren't all bad.
i mean, i'm not saying that i'm exclusively attracted to redheads...
i'm just saying that they deserve a shot, too.
and i'm widening my options.
the heart wants what it wants.
now excuse me while i drool.
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