Friday, July 31, 2009
geeking out: part 2
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
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.
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.
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
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/
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 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.