i read the screenplay for this movie in the Intro. to Screenwriting class i took about two semesters ago. i couldn't believe that it was the same movie as the one i'd seen in the trailers, as all of them advertised the movie as a complete comedy.
granted, as i read the script i did enjoy the funny moments (like the whole throwing the flower aside so as not to give Margo false hope thing), however, for the most part, i found myself more moved than tickled. even as i just read the script i knew that there was something more to the story than boy gets fake girl, boy loses fake girl, boy gets real girl and they live happily ever after.
at its core the story is actually about a guy who, having lost the one person who was supposed to be the source of unconditional love and human connection in his life, and blaming himself for that loss, pushes anyone who has the potential to be close away so as to avoid further complications following yet another devastating disconnection.
the event that triggers his sudden desperation for complete transformation to hermit is the pregnancy of his sister-in-law, whom he actually adores. as his own mother died during childbirth, the cause for his insecurity - which ultimately manifests itself in the form of a lifeless, life-size "female" doll that fits his exact specifications (like not being able to get pregnant/give birth or feel pain) - is the fact that he's so afraid of the same horrible thing happening to his brother's family.
before i managed to see it, the friends of mine who already had advised me that it was "just really, really awkward." after watching it, i knew that they were right in most respects - there's no avoiding the fact that certain scenes (like Lars's dancing at the party) were a little cringe-worthy, but, for the most part, i couldn't help but relate to Lars just about the entire time.
i'm not going to be melodramatic and suggest that i had it any worse than he did: i've never had to suffer the real loss of a parent or sibling. but i will say that, in a way, that might have something to do with the fact that i couldn't lose something that i never really felt i had in the first place.
but here is where it gets strange for me: that, though i did see a lot of myself in Lars, the other person i saw in him was my own mother.
she never had it easy. our grandfather, a traditional Korean man who warned her that the only way he'd pay for her college education was if she studied to be either a nurse or a teacher - rather than an artist as she wanted - and who wasn't afraid to use old Korean disciplinary methods, was never the kind of father our mom really needed or wanted.
so, instead of losing a mother, like Lars, she lost her dreams - a loss that is arguably as traumatizing as the former.
when she married my dad, he was supposed to be her way out of that life. and he did get her out of Korea and bring her to the US, but, much to her dismay, she still found herself wanting.
she was far away from home. she had to learn how to effectively communicate with people in English. she had to fulfill her wifely duties of maintaining the house and raising a family under a tight budget and with a more or less absent husband.
and she had to do all of that while dealing with my dad's infidelity.
i've never been one to buy into a cheater's excuses. a affair is, ultimately, one of the most inconsiderate, hurtful, selfish things one person can do to another. i've often wondered how and why our mom was able to stick with our dad for so long after finding out about those incidents, but then i remember her entrapment.
Lars both doesn't know how to and can't be with a real woman (or people in general) because he's afraid he might hurt her somehow; our mom couldn't break away from our dad and be on her own because she didn't know how to communicate and survive on her own, and because the first person who really showed her any sign of love betrayed her.
as my sisters and i grew up, our mom did her best, in her own way (that is, the only way she knew), to instill in us the feeling that someday we would do whatever we wanted and not be confined to the social laws that trapped women (like herself).
i'm not defending her actions, because i don't think anything really can excuse a lot of the things she did to my sisters and myself. my sisters and i have often talked about how we all wish none of us ends up like her. we've even gone so far as to say that, though we'd like to have kids, we wonder if it would be in the kids' best interests. like Lars, like our mother, we're afraid of ourselves and what kind of pain our limited knowledge of appropriate behavior might bring to the people we care about.
none of us had a decent model for human interaction.
so, again, this isn't a defense for our mom, but, having seen the movie and seeing Lars in both my mother and myself, i can't help but think that i have a better understanding of where we're both coming from. oftentimes, our actions rely solely on that with which we're familiar - nobody really consciously tries to be bad, but we tend to behave in the best way we know.
our own mother, brought up with abuse and disappointed hopes, continued those cycles when she had her own kids - cycles which worsened under the even more disappointing circumstances.
in turn, my sisters and i were given a special vantage points - those of being born a generation later and thus being better able to identify and [somewhat] cope with the situation, and having sisters who felt the same way. unlike our mom, we had something of an escape to look forward to.
so, when we were growing up, our mom continued the cycle of abuse - which is why i never felt much of a connection with her when i was younger. i didn't want to. the one person who was supposed to be the source of affection and confidence provided neither of those things, so i always had trouble relating to her or seeing her as my mother. so, even though my sisters and i were brought up with slightly better circumstances, this didn't mean that we didn't have to suffer for it first.
i developed a multitude of "problems;" among them OCD, anxiety, and depression. but, most importantly of all, i closed myself in.
when you're in elementary school and all of those puppet shows visit, preaching morals and good behavior, you're told from the onset that, unless consciously avoided and "defeated," abuse goes on in cycles, as the abused often turn the tables when their time comes around. in response, i made the conscious effort to avoid hurting other people as my mother had hurt my sisters and me.
i did manage to make friends in school and everything, but, for the most part, i also managed to hide under the guise of someone who was comfortable with herself and others and could make people laugh, usually by way of impersonating the root of my insecurities.
but even if i did manage to make people laugh, or make friends, i never really let people too close. i may have given my friends the illusion that we were close, or that i was completely open with them, but, for the most part, i always made the conscious decision to hide the bits and pieces of myself that i felt might potentially do some damage.
in a way, i guess, my mom stories became what the safety blanket (that is, a piece of the one person with whom he wished he'd had a connection) in the movie is to Lars: something that was always there when i needed to somehow relate to other people, and acted as a crutch when i felt inadequate.
Lars doesn't wallow in self-pity. throughout the film i got the feeling that, in some way, even though he wasn't able to verbalize it, Lars was at least somewhat aware of the reason behind is social awkwardness - but he was never willing to talk to someone about it or use it as an excuse. he just was, and he tried to hide it by way of adopting a "fake person." i was never my true self with other people.
but, eventually, like Lars, when i was finally able to accept my "condition," although i still do suffer plenty of social awkwardness with people i meet, i've finally opened up to the people who've already been part of my life (including both of my parents) - and i'm learning how to open up to the new ones.
Lars and Margo, in a way, are symbols of hope for me, so, even though i'll admit the film had its share of awkward situations, i couldn't help but see myself in him. granted, i know it won't be an overnight change (that is, my capacity for interacting extravertedly with new people), and i definitely have a ways to go before i can completely make it through a conversation without making an ass of myself. but i also know that there is a chance of recovery and hope for close human interaction. my fear of my being with someone and potentially unconsciously hurting them is dissipating and i can always look ahead and on the bright side.
"Day Too Soon" - Sia
"Big Mistake" - Tim Fite
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
hello, goodbye anxiety
hello. hey. heyyy. yo. bonjour?
there're lots of ways to say "hi" to someone; lots of ways to greet a familiar face or make a good first impression.
in a lot of ways, there's a lot riding on that initial "hi"; it can serve as the basis of a new relationship or spark some kind of tension; it can comfort someone in his/her time of need or imply just the right level of authority; it can be the first of many memories to come.
whenever i approach someone for the first time (rather, whenever i'm approached by someone for the first time), i can't help but think about all the weight tied to my "hi." when i sense a necessary greeting getting closer (that is, when i see someone slowly making their way towards me), all i can do is try to will myself to avoid or hide my inherent awkwardness with the hopes of maybe convincing this new person that i'm anything but awkward.
or nerdy.
or weird.
or wildly uncomfortable.
so i pre-game (or try to), and try to envision the perfect "hello" with which i plan to blow this person's mind.
oh man, i tell myself, they're gonna think i'm so cool.
because, at least, according to my subconscious (which, of course, is the subconscious of someone who enjoys making obscure Harry Potter references and watching things like Ken Burns' The Civil War in her free time), silent pep talks merit "cool" status.
but then i notice that the person i'm determined to impress with my awesome is, in fact, getting closer - a fact that's, unfortunately, directly proportional to my growing anxiety and forgetfulness.
the icy hott "hello" that i'd so carefully choreographed - the one with the smooooth handshake, the even smoooother "hey," and the nonchalant grin - goes out the window and i find myself desperately scrambling around for the scraps of what was to be the new, cool Vickie.
and, while i was blanking out and trying to remember everything i'd practiced, there they are and, in the words of Christina Aguilera, suddenly it's hard to breathe.
now and then i get insecure...
from all the pain...
i'm so ashamed...
...and i can't remember the rest, and i realize that i only just managed to prevent myself from singing the few lines of "Beautiful" i know aloud instead of returning the greeting the person (who's now standing right in front of me) just extended.
and my super-cool "hello" becomes something more of a high-pitched squawk followed by an awkward handshake or spastic wave and, for the majority of the rest of the conversation, i'm forced to subconsciously relive and overanalyze the horror that was my typical, nerdy "hello" and wonder if the other person cottoned on to said nerdiness.
worse still is the fact that, once i finally manage to come to terms with the proverbial spilled milk, i have to start thinking about the impending "good-bye."
if hellos are important because they're the first impression you make on someone else, good-byes are important because they're the last, most recent memory or mark the other person will have of you when you part ways.
so i go through the whole anxious planning cycle all over again, with much of the same results, and i wonder if i'll ever succeed in out-growing my awkwardness.
that being said, there're definitely times when i completely abhor my social-ineptness, but there're also moments when i convince myself that there're even worse things to worry about.
recently, someone i was close to for a number of years (starting in 6th grade and lasting through 10th) died in a car accident.
i'm not one who's openly afraid of death and all that it implies: i'm well aware of the fact that it's a natural cycle, blah blah blah, and that "the other side" isn't something to fear or oppose.
what i have trouble coping with is the idea that, well, one moment someone you've known, cared about, talked to, laughed with - someone who's existed and grown and had personality and thoughts and feelings - could suddenly just (physically, at least) cease to exist. they're gone, forever.
and you never even got to say, "good-bye."
and you wish you had, regardless of how nerdy or awkward it may have been.
looking back, i can't even remember what our final good-bye was like.
when she transferred to a different high school, and i moved to Mexico, things just sort of drifted into a sad, detached, "see you when i see you" kind of relationship and, apart from the occasional "hey" on myspace or facebook, our friendship basically disintegrated.
after i found out that she had died, i immediately regretted not keeping in touch with her as much as i probably should've done. i wished that we'd said proper "good-byes" before we'd gone our separate ways.
but in the long run, i've come to think that maybe the good-bye we did manage to make was as it should've been.
there's something more romantic in thinking that our last "good-bye" was nothing special because neither of us suspected that it was to be, in fact, our very last "good-bye" - that we expected there to be many more "hellos" and "good-byes" to follow, so there was no need to make a big deal out of that particular one.
we were optimistically looking ahead.
i guess some people would consider that "taking a moment for granted" or "that every good-bye should be a special good-bye" because you never know which one'll be your last.
but i don't like thinking about finalities, or in terms of finalities.
finalities are so pessimistic - looking towards the end of something instead of the next-time.
i can't live that way.
my hellos and good-byes're plenty loaded and troublesome, thanks, without considering something as morbid and heartbreaking as death.
i miss her, and i wish we'd had more time together, but i don't regret the way we said "good-bye." she was a wonderful and beautiful person, and i'm grateful for the time we did manage to have together, and there was nothing wrong with assuming that we'd see each other again.
so i'm going to try to worry less about my hellos and good-byes from now on.
granted, i know my awkwardness and social skills need some help, but i'm working on it.
it's way more meaningful, i think, to always hope for a next time.
Some music:
1. "Beautiful," Christina Aguilera
just because i alluded to it. i may or may not love this song a little too much.
2. "Come Here," Kath Bloom
this video is really, really, really cheesy, but it's also the only one on youtube that has the entire song. this is one of the most romantic songs i've ever heard, and in the movie Before Sunrise it's in one of the most romantic scenes i've ever secretly enjoyed. and it kind of hits close to home. about the whole "timid" thing, i mean.
3. "Slow Show," The National
speaking of being timid and anxious...
Sunday, January 4, 2009
re-inauguration and R-E-S-P-E-C-T (of the "self" variety)
Man.
Reading old blog posts is like finding unpleasantly cheesy, trite, and painful childhood diary entries.
Seriously.
Save for a few of the more personal entries (and even those can trigger slightly cringeworthy effects), I gotta say: I have been one sap-tastic blogger.
Moreover, I've been horribly unreliable and unoriginal.
What I've decided is that I'm way too easily distracted and scatter-brained (*using this word makes me feel like a 70+-year-old*) to come up with and stick to a set blog theme. Also, trying so hard to sound clever and witty and deep has never been my strong-suit. I think I'd fare better by writing in my own "voice" - or, at least, figuring out exactly what my voice sounds like.
So here's the deal: I'm making it one of my New Year Resolutions (apart from the resolution to make and stay true to Resolutions) to post at least one blog thing a week. Another blog-related resolution is that I'm going to be myself.
My wifey Jose (who's actually a guy and therefore not really a sexual object in my life and therefore not actually my wifey (God has a weird sense of humor and decided to put my soul-mate in a gay man's body)) and I made a pact at the onset of Winter Break: to do everything possible to build up the confidence in ourselves to be ourselves.
For me, this includes getting healthy (and having a healthier body image), dressing in clothing that I feel suit my style (pun!), and, most importantly, speaking for myself. Basically, it's all about self-respect. But no worries: I promise I'm not going to turn back into sap-tastic Vickie. Granted, I'm probably going to keep on writing about some personal things, but I'm going to do it on and in my own terms.
So here goes.
...
Again.
But for real this time.
Leaving on a good note (just some music I've been obsessing over for the past couple of weeks or so):
1. "Mona Lisa" - Nat "King" Cole
There's just something about his voice that makes me melt. That and this song is just so beautiful in so many ways. I'm not saying I'm a Mona Lisa, but who can listen to this song and not relate to it in some way?
2. "Postcards from Far Away" - Coldplay
I've always been in love with the piano. I'm both eminently jealous of and easily in love with anyone who can play it well - particularly with pieces like this one. It's short and sweet, but totally engrossing. When I'm at school, listening to it makes me homesick for the brown, fall leaves of VA. And when I'm home, it's just a nice way to sit back, relax, and take a moment to think.
3. "Can You Tell" - Ra Ra Riot
Ra Ra Riot's quickly becoming one of my favorite bands - mainly because I'm partial to bands that use stringed instruments apart from the guitar. Also, this song is so catchy and poppy and pretty much says everything that needs to be said about being way too awkward, shy, and inarticulate to tell that special someone exactly how you feel or show him/her exactly who you are - something I may or may not know a lot about. Okay. Maybe a lot.
Also, I like their moves.
4. "Saturday" - Chris Garneau
This man writes some of the most heartbreaking songs you'll ever hear. On the same token, he can also write some really romantic songs. This is one of those songs that can touch you on both levels.
Monday, November 24, 2008
on a good note! ...pun!
so i've been looking through my previous blog posts and i've come to realize that the overall theme thus far appears to have been written by Sad Sally. to make it up to the few of you who might actually be reading along, and to live up to the blog's name, i've decided to post something a little less intense and a little more enjoyable.
also, possibly self-incriminating...
this is a meme both of my older sisters did and tagged me in. and the prayers to keep my guilty pleasures secret begin...
Step 1: Put your music player on random.
Step 2: Post the first line from the first 25 songs that play, no matter how embarrassing the song.
Step 3: Post and let everyone you know guess what song and artist the lines come from.
Step 4: Strike out the songs when someone guesses correctly (No lyric hunting! That is cheating!)
1. remember the weight of the world
2. i woke up and wished that i was dead
3. so at my show on monday i was hoping someday you'd be on your way to better things
4. all around me are familiar faces
5. if you're having girl problems i feel bad for you, son
6. play this song for its first minute one, then go to the next harlot
7. what a dream i had, pressed in organdy...
8. you chat to me like we connect
9. all the pines that shiver in the park
10. all we've been given by those who came before...
11. nan, you're a window shopper
12. i can turn the greyest sky blue
13. i see you down on the frontline
14. let's go to the park, i wanna kiss you underneath the stars
15. at last, my love has come along
16. come with me, my love, to the sea
17. when i left you alone to fight your battles of long winters and hotels...
18. tengo la camisa negra
19. it's the time of the season
20. i've got a song on my mind; i've been singing it all day
21. today is gonna be the day that they're gonna throw it back to you
22. slow down; lately lives are moving too fast
23. i had seven faces
24. everything that keeps me together is falling apart
25. as i walk along i wonder...
i'm tagging anyone who's bored enough to want to do all of this. so doooo it.
also, possibly self-incriminating...
this is a meme both of my older sisters did and tagged me in. and the prayers to keep my guilty pleasures secret begin...
Step 1: Put your music player on random.
Step 2: Post the first line from the first 25 songs that play, no matter how embarrassing the song.
Step 3: Post and let everyone you know guess what song and artist the lines come from.
Step 4: Strike out the songs when someone guesses correctly (No lyric hunting! That is cheating!)
1. remember the weight of the world
2. i woke up and wished that i was dead
3. so at my show on monday i was hoping someday you'd be on your way to better things
4. all around me are familiar faces
5. if you're having girl problems i feel bad for you, son
6. play this song for its first minute one, then go to the next harlot
7. what a dream i had, pressed in organdy...
8. you chat to me like we connect
9. all the pines that shiver in the park
10. all we've been given by those who came before...
11. nan, you're a window shopper
12. i can turn the greyest sky blue
13. i see you down on the frontline
14. let's go to the park, i wanna kiss you underneath the stars
15. at last, my love has come along
16. come with me, my love, to the sea
17. when i left you alone to fight your battles of long winters and hotels...
18. tengo la camisa negra
19. it's the time of the season
20. i've got a song on my mind; i've been singing it all day
21. today is gonna be the day that they're gonna throw it back to you
22. slow down; lately lives are moving too fast
23. i had seven faces
24. everything that keeps me together is falling apart
25. as i walk along i wonder...
i'm tagging anyone who's bored enough to want to do all of this. so doooo it.
Sunday, October 26, 2008
If I Had Spoken Out, or Korean Moms and Dah Gays, or Never Able to Say "I Love You"
"Remember when I was little and you thought I was a lesbian?"
There are two qualities that are arguably the most important when it comes to being able to communicate with others: tact and a willingness to openly explore previously uncharted nebulae of thoughts and feelings.
Unfortunately, due to reasons that have yet to be decided by the nature vs. nurture debate, and as evidenced by the poorly masked aims of the aforementioned question, I happen to lack both.
Throughout the past 19 years there have been a number of situations in which I have found myself where I have desperately wished that my role models for self-expression were not the tight-mouthed, fly-swatter-armed Korean mother and the self-fashioned macho, army officer father; the clenching of the stomach, the uncomfortable awareness of the awkward placements and erratic motions of my limbs, and the sudden disconnect that occurs between my mind and clumsy tongue are all too familiar feelings when it comes to telling someone about something slightly less superficial than typical, arbitrary banter.
So when my mother and I were walking through the woods behind our house, and our usual, meager attempts at conversation were out-paced by very pregnant pauses, I had no choice but to finally acknowledge both my inherent and/or learned flaws as a communicator and a voice that had somehow managed to survive the sporadic, subconscious purges of unwanted and unwarranted thoughts and feelings.
Just tell her now, it said, There's no point in waiting. It's not like the clouds'll open up when it's finally time to talk about it. This kind of secret isn't the kind that gets easier to tell over time. Don't think too much. Just blurt it out.
I had just enough time to heave an anxious sigh before hurrying to catch up to my mom's step and suddenly spout, "Mommy-remember-when-I-was-little-and-you-thought-I-was-a-lesbian?"
A slight pause before the reply.
"Mhm," she said, "Because you wah such a tomboy. But I knew you would grow out ob it, because yoh granmuddah was dah same way befoh she grew out ob it, too."
Crap.
"Right. Well..." I wasn't sure how to finish, "I don't think I...grew...out of it."
Another pause.
Crap. Too vague. You'll probably have to explain it now. Crap. Why did you have to go and say something anyhow?
"What do you mean?" she said slowly.
"Well...I mean...I don't think I grew out of it."
Another unbearable pause as her face folded into an indiscernible expression. There was definitely a small curl in her lip. Was it a bemused curl? Amused? Surprised? Suspicious?
"You mean you, heh, attracted to, heh, women?"
All four. And then some.
Wait, is this a trick question?
"Well...yeah. I mean, yes. I am."
The longest, quietest half hour of my life followed.
"Well," she resumed, finally, "I guess you at that age where ees okay to experiment."
Oh, God.
My tongue now catnip, and my guts, or what remained of them, now thrown unceremoniously into my vault of unmentionable and buried feelings, I let those be the last words of the discussion. Well, the last words before the random and less-than-comforting, "What would you like foh dinnah?"
For the next several days I was led to believe that discussion pertaining to my sexuality was either complete or unimportant - neither of which was at all reassuring.
On the third day or so following my brief, albeit traumatizing coming out, my mother put those insecurities to rest.
She caught me in the hallway, just as I was about to go to bed.
"Beekie," she said, in a soft voice - the likes of which I hadn't heard since I was very little - "Sit. Le's talk. I'b had a lot on my mind dah past couple of days, so I couldn't really registah what you...said to me...dat day. So, le's talk."
I slowly turned and caught myself against the wall. With utmost focus, I managed to bend one leg, and then the other; lower myself to the ground, put one leg over the other; place my arms at my sides in a sort of practiced pose of what was to be perceived as "casual." It was hardly comfortable, and I was suddenly too aware of the strange placement of my fingers, elbows, head, feet. Everything seemed to get in the way.
She sat down, too, on the opposite wall, considering me with the kind of wary eyes that usually preceded a trying line of questioning.
Several moments passed. Finally, she sighed wearily and began asking me the most relentless and prying questions I'd ever been posed.
The first few were straightforward, mainly about when, where, and how "this" happened. The next had a lot to do with previous boyfriends and conversations we'd had that had led her to believe wholeheartedly in my straightness and put her worries about my being gay to rest. She then asked questions that had a lot more to do with her own limited understanding of gayness in general than to my own identity.
"So what you gonna do when you hab uh job? You can't tell dah uh-duh people in your oh-piss about it, right? So you can't date when you grow up because colleague might find out?"
What year does she think we're living in?
"I think times are changing, Mommy. And even if my coworkers aren't tolerant, I think I can defend myself if I have to."
A deep sigh.
As the interrogation carried on, it was obvious to me that every word my mother managed to form, and every question she managed to craft, all resulted from probably one of the greatest internal struggles of her life.
It was exhausting sitting there, listening to and answering her questions. But more draining was having to witness her battle with the problem I had thrown at her feet.
Growing up, my mother was never one to display anything other than strength and power. Any sign of tears or sadness was quickly masked with bouts of screaming and anger, and if we cried we were instructed to stop. The only time I could remember her breaking down, however brief, was when her father died. I was four.
But now, fifteen years later, here she was; the unwavering symbol of strength and self-control in my life, with quiet tears in her eyes and subtle cracks in her voice, displaying anything but strength and self-control.
"What ah we going to do?" she sobbed, "What ah we going to do?"
"I don't know," I returned, "I don't know. What...what do you mean?"
I was so sure that she was going to fulfill every fear that had kept me locked in that closet for so long.
She'll probably oust me now. Just tell me to leave, get out, not come back until I'm happily married to a doctor who has it all, including a penis, and have popped out five kids.
"You - you wanna staht looking like uh man now?"
Wait...
"No, Mommy..." I didn't know if it was okay to laugh, "I'm not transgendered, I don't think...I'm...gay."
She sighed again. Was it relief?
I wasn't sure if this was the point in the conversation where she would suddenly spring up and embrace me, letting me know it'll all be okay and that she was just testing me.
If that's her biggest worry, I thought, I'm in pretty good shape.
Unfortunately, my fashion sense was not the depths of my mother's concern. After another long silence, we returned to far more personal questions, one of which continues to trouble me even months afterward.
"So what was it like?" she asked, "How did it feel, how much did it hurt, to have feelings for someone and know that you could never tell them you loved them? That they, she, could never know?"
Up until this point, I had managed to maintain my composure when faced with even the most ignorant and troublesome questions. Not a tear was shed on my part and, apart from the occasional hand and feet fidgets, I had managed to keep the obviousness of my discomfort and internal conflict to a bare minimum.
But when she asked this question, I could feel the wall I had so carefully built around myself begin to crumble. I didn't answer right away - I took a moment to try to regain my composure before opening my mouth. But when I did manage to open my mouth to speak, no words came out. Instead, the air around me was suddenly filled with loud, strained sobs - the likes of which had never been heard before.
The tears fell, a little at first, but eventually I felt like I could drown in them. I couldn't stop shaking, or crying, or sobbing. It just kept coming out, tearing its way out of me like a poorly tamed and contained bird. It couldn't be stopped, and I wasn't sure if I wanted it to stop.
Here it was - the unnamed, faceless monster that had haunted me my entire life. The thing that had caused me so much anguish and fear. The source, and in some ways consequence, of my self-hatred. The one thing that turned the key in that closet door.
There it was, the ghost I had lacked the sense, or desire, to fully acknowledge and come to terms with, so simply identified and so plainly worded that the lock encasing all of my previously restrained emotions was shattered and I was left with no choice but to let them come ripping out.
I went on sobbing for several minutes, while my mother watched. She didn't say a word, nor did she make any attempt to come comfort me. I could feel her eyes on me, scrutinizing my every move, and try as I might to control myself just enough to continue the conversation, I couldn't help but keep going.
Finally, my breathing began to even out, and the tear-flow stagnated. I wasn't sure of what I was feeling. I was lighter somehow, awakened to a new sense of myself. My body was slumped, either by exhaustion or release. I couldn't look at my mother. I didn't want to know what she thought of my spasmodic emotional spell.
When I chanced a glance upward, though, it wasn't disgust I saw in her eyes, or hatred; it was pity - a glint of compassion I didn't know those eyes were capable of. Did she know what I was feeling?
"It hurt, a lot. But...I'm growing," was all I managed to say. Anymore and I was sure I'd start sobbing again. She might start sobbing again.
The conversation ended not too long afterward with a somewhat stiff and embarrassed, "Good night."
The truth is, unrequited love isn't a foreign concept to me, nor is it something from which I think I, or anyone, can ever truly recover.
But love, even the unrequited kind, isn't something that's meant to be caged or tucked away. It isn't bestial, or wrong, or labeled. It isn't slight, or meant to be slighted.
It sets us apart from every other creature on the planet. It forms the foundations of the most basic needs and wants in life. It's why we have faith, and why we wake up in the morning. It exists in all of us, driving us forward, moving us through each day, guiding us through every obstacle.
It's meant to inspire good in everyone and to unite us against the common enemies of ignorance, intolerance, and hatred.
It can't be divided by labels, or contained by fear. It's too big and too loud, and doing so can be too painful and destructive for any one person to experience alone.
Having lived with that pain, the kind that comes with loving someone and knowing, deep down, that she can never know about it, I know that no one should ever have to feel that way. That to go against the very thing that makes us human is not only unnatural, but also perhaps the most exhausting, pointless path anyone can take.
So when society tries to tell me that my love is wrong and that I should control it, repress it, or be ashamed of it, or that it's a different, unnatural kind of love, I know deep down that they are wrong and driven by the hatred that stems from ignorance and fear.
And, someday, when I die and have to face the judgment of God for my sins, I take comfort in knowing that my biggest potential flaw will be loving someone, rather than blindly spreading hatred throughout the world.
There's only one kind of love.
There are two qualities that are arguably the most important when it comes to being able to communicate with others: tact and a willingness to openly explore previously uncharted nebulae of thoughts and feelings.
Unfortunately, due to reasons that have yet to be decided by the nature vs. nurture debate, and as evidenced by the poorly masked aims of the aforementioned question, I happen to lack both.
Throughout the past 19 years there have been a number of situations in which I have found myself where I have desperately wished that my role models for self-expression were not the tight-mouthed, fly-swatter-armed Korean mother and the self-fashioned macho, army officer father; the clenching of the stomach, the uncomfortable awareness of the awkward placements and erratic motions of my limbs, and the sudden disconnect that occurs between my mind and clumsy tongue are all too familiar feelings when it comes to telling someone about something slightly less superficial than typical, arbitrary banter.
So when my mother and I were walking through the woods behind our house, and our usual, meager attempts at conversation were out-paced by very pregnant pauses, I had no choice but to finally acknowledge both my inherent and/or learned flaws as a communicator and a voice that had somehow managed to survive the sporadic, subconscious purges of unwanted and unwarranted thoughts and feelings.
Just tell her now, it said, There's no point in waiting. It's not like the clouds'll open up when it's finally time to talk about it. This kind of secret isn't the kind that gets easier to tell over time. Don't think too much. Just blurt it out.
I had just enough time to heave an anxious sigh before hurrying to catch up to my mom's step and suddenly spout, "Mommy-remember-when-I-was-little-and-you-thought-I-was-a-lesbian?"
A slight pause before the reply.
"Mhm," she said, "Because you wah such a tomboy. But I knew you would grow out ob it, because yoh granmuddah was dah same way befoh she grew out ob it, too."
Crap.
"Right. Well..." I wasn't sure how to finish, "I don't think I...grew...out of it."
Another pause.
Crap. Too vague. You'll probably have to explain it now. Crap. Why did you have to go and say something anyhow?
"What do you mean?" she said slowly.
"Well...I mean...I don't think I grew out of it."
Another unbearable pause as her face folded into an indiscernible expression. There was definitely a small curl in her lip. Was it a bemused curl? Amused? Surprised? Suspicious?
"You mean you, heh, attracted to, heh, women?"
All four. And then some.
Wait, is this a trick question?
"Well...yeah. I mean, yes. I am."
The longest, quietest half hour of my life followed.
"Well," she resumed, finally, "I guess you at that age where ees okay to experiment."
Oh, God.
My tongue now catnip, and my guts, or what remained of them, now thrown unceremoniously into my vault of unmentionable and buried feelings, I let those be the last words of the discussion. Well, the last words before the random and less-than-comforting, "What would you like foh dinnah?"
For the next several days I was led to believe that discussion pertaining to my sexuality was either complete or unimportant - neither of which was at all reassuring.
On the third day or so following my brief, albeit traumatizing coming out, my mother put those insecurities to rest.
She caught me in the hallway, just as I was about to go to bed.
"Beekie," she said, in a soft voice - the likes of which I hadn't heard since I was very little - "Sit. Le's talk. I'b had a lot on my mind dah past couple of days, so I couldn't really registah what you...said to me...dat day. So, le's talk."
I slowly turned and caught myself against the wall. With utmost focus, I managed to bend one leg, and then the other; lower myself to the ground, put one leg over the other; place my arms at my sides in a sort of practiced pose of what was to be perceived as "casual." It was hardly comfortable, and I was suddenly too aware of the strange placement of my fingers, elbows, head, feet. Everything seemed to get in the way.
She sat down, too, on the opposite wall, considering me with the kind of wary eyes that usually preceded a trying line of questioning.
Several moments passed. Finally, she sighed wearily and began asking me the most relentless and prying questions I'd ever been posed.
The first few were straightforward, mainly about when, where, and how "this" happened. The next had a lot to do with previous boyfriends and conversations we'd had that had led her to believe wholeheartedly in my straightness and put her worries about my being gay to rest. She then asked questions that had a lot more to do with her own limited understanding of gayness in general than to my own identity.
"So what you gonna do when you hab uh job? You can't tell dah uh-duh people in your oh-piss about it, right? So you can't date when you grow up because colleague might find out?"
What year does she think we're living in?
"I think times are changing, Mommy. And even if my coworkers aren't tolerant, I think I can defend myself if I have to."
A deep sigh.
As the interrogation carried on, it was obvious to me that every word my mother managed to form, and every question she managed to craft, all resulted from probably one of the greatest internal struggles of her life.
It was exhausting sitting there, listening to and answering her questions. But more draining was having to witness her battle with the problem I had thrown at her feet.
Growing up, my mother was never one to display anything other than strength and power. Any sign of tears or sadness was quickly masked with bouts of screaming and anger, and if we cried we were instructed to stop. The only time I could remember her breaking down, however brief, was when her father died. I was four.
But now, fifteen years later, here she was; the unwavering symbol of strength and self-control in my life, with quiet tears in her eyes and subtle cracks in her voice, displaying anything but strength and self-control.
"What ah we going to do?" she sobbed, "What ah we going to do?"
"I don't know," I returned, "I don't know. What...what do you mean?"
I was so sure that she was going to fulfill every fear that had kept me locked in that closet for so long.
She'll probably oust me now. Just tell me to leave, get out, not come back until I'm happily married to a doctor who has it all, including a penis, and have popped out five kids.
"You - you wanna staht looking like uh man now?"
Wait...
"No, Mommy..." I didn't know if it was okay to laugh, "I'm not transgendered, I don't think...I'm...gay."
She sighed again. Was it relief?
I wasn't sure if this was the point in the conversation where she would suddenly spring up and embrace me, letting me know it'll all be okay and that she was just testing me.
If that's her biggest worry, I thought, I'm in pretty good shape.
Unfortunately, my fashion sense was not the depths of my mother's concern. After another long silence, we returned to far more personal questions, one of which continues to trouble me even months afterward.
"So what was it like?" she asked, "How did it feel, how much did it hurt, to have feelings for someone and know that you could never tell them you loved them? That they, she, could never know?"
Up until this point, I had managed to maintain my composure when faced with even the most ignorant and troublesome questions. Not a tear was shed on my part and, apart from the occasional hand and feet fidgets, I had managed to keep the obviousness of my discomfort and internal conflict to a bare minimum.
But when she asked this question, I could feel the wall I had so carefully built around myself begin to crumble. I didn't answer right away - I took a moment to try to regain my composure before opening my mouth. But when I did manage to open my mouth to speak, no words came out. Instead, the air around me was suddenly filled with loud, strained sobs - the likes of which had never been heard before.
The tears fell, a little at first, but eventually I felt like I could drown in them. I couldn't stop shaking, or crying, or sobbing. It just kept coming out, tearing its way out of me like a poorly tamed and contained bird. It couldn't be stopped, and I wasn't sure if I wanted it to stop.
Here it was - the unnamed, faceless monster that had haunted me my entire life. The thing that had caused me so much anguish and fear. The source, and in some ways consequence, of my self-hatred. The one thing that turned the key in that closet door.
There it was, the ghost I had lacked the sense, or desire, to fully acknowledge and come to terms with, so simply identified and so plainly worded that the lock encasing all of my previously restrained emotions was shattered and I was left with no choice but to let them come ripping out.
I went on sobbing for several minutes, while my mother watched. She didn't say a word, nor did she make any attempt to come comfort me. I could feel her eyes on me, scrutinizing my every move, and try as I might to control myself just enough to continue the conversation, I couldn't help but keep going.
Finally, my breathing began to even out, and the tear-flow stagnated. I wasn't sure of what I was feeling. I was lighter somehow, awakened to a new sense of myself. My body was slumped, either by exhaustion or release. I couldn't look at my mother. I didn't want to know what she thought of my spasmodic emotional spell.
When I chanced a glance upward, though, it wasn't disgust I saw in her eyes, or hatred; it was pity - a glint of compassion I didn't know those eyes were capable of. Did she know what I was feeling?
"It hurt, a lot. But...I'm growing," was all I managed to say. Anymore and I was sure I'd start sobbing again. She might start sobbing again.
The conversation ended not too long afterward with a somewhat stiff and embarrassed, "Good night."
The truth is, unrequited love isn't a foreign concept to me, nor is it something from which I think I, or anyone, can ever truly recover.
But love, even the unrequited kind, isn't something that's meant to be caged or tucked away. It isn't bestial, or wrong, or labeled. It isn't slight, or meant to be slighted.
It sets us apart from every other creature on the planet. It forms the foundations of the most basic needs and wants in life. It's why we have faith, and why we wake up in the morning. It exists in all of us, driving us forward, moving us through each day, guiding us through every obstacle.
It's meant to inspire good in everyone and to unite us against the common enemies of ignorance, intolerance, and hatred.
It can't be divided by labels, or contained by fear. It's too big and too loud, and doing so can be too painful and destructive for any one person to experience alone.
Having lived with that pain, the kind that comes with loving someone and knowing, deep down, that she can never know about it, I know that no one should ever have to feel that way. That to go against the very thing that makes us human is not only unnatural, but also perhaps the most exhausting, pointless path anyone can take.
So when society tries to tell me that my love is wrong and that I should control it, repress it, or be ashamed of it, or that it's a different, unnatural kind of love, I know deep down that they are wrong and driven by the hatred that stems from ignorance and fear.
And, someday, when I die and have to face the judgment of God for my sins, I take comfort in knowing that my biggest potential flaw will be loving someone, rather than blindly spreading hatred throughout the world.
There's only one kind of love.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
thanks and samples
the responses to my last blog have been overwhelmingly positive, and i'm not even sure if i can do justice to the amount of happiness, relief, and overall love i'm feeling right now. all i can say is that i am so grateful to have such an unbelievably amazing group of friends/support system. it really means a lot to me.
i know i don't say this often enough, but underneath this tough, formidable, intimidating exterior that is Vickie Toro beats the heart of a softy who loves her friends and sometimes gets the wild urge to pull all of them into a big bear hug/cornucopia of love.
...
so anyways, at the end of the last blog i promised to write a way more entertaining blog - so i'm here to deliver.
first, because i haven't done this in awhile, some "new" music you should look into:
Flock - Bell X1
this actually came out in 2006, which means i was definitely late on the Bell X1 train. however, later's better than never. admittedly, some of the songs (namely Eve, the Apple of My Eye) pay tribute to basically every cheesy, lovey-dovey melody ever composed, and the lyrics are hardly nuanced, but that doesn't take away from the fact that they're way catchy. moreover, songs like Like I Love You (yes, they did a Justin Timberlake cover) and Bad Skin Day pop out of nowhere with something a tad different. though, all this rave might just be me defending my secret love for somewhat cheesey music. sue me.
In Rainbows - Radiohead
i was never really into Radiohead before i heard this album. i just didn't get it. but there was something definitely new and interesting about songs like Weird Fishes/Arpeggi and Nude. i don't get it, but i like it, and you might, too.
So Tonight That I Might See - Mazzy Star
again, i was late. Mazzy Star actually primarily played in the 80s, and this album in particular came out in 1993. however, that doesn't take away from how great it is. it's definitely more mellow than most of the bands i've listed thus far (except for maybe Kings of Convenience and the like). the funny thing is, as Olivia likes to point out every now and then, i'm not a big fan of people who sing with something i call "lazy voices." Mazzy Star's lead, Hope Sandoval, is definitely an exception to this rule. instead of feeling annoyed, as i normally do when i listen to "lazy voices," i was, in a way, captivated. one guitar (usually), maybe a stringed instrument, and Hope's voice are undeniably haunting.
and that's it for music.
now on to some samples.
for those of you who don't know, i'm taking a screenwriting class this semester. every week we're given a prompt to write about and i've decided to take just a couple of them and post them up for more feedback. feel free to be completely honest.
the flower scene - an eager teen meets his crush's very Christian father
breaking up - someone tries to break up with someone else who can't let go
so yeah. go ahead and read them, criticize them, tear them apart, burn them, etc. - any feedback is good feedback.
and that's really about it for tonight, kids. i'll try to be more consistent about blogging. until next time!
i know i don't say this often enough, but underneath this tough, formidable, intimidating exterior that is Vickie Toro beats the heart of a softy who loves her friends and sometimes gets the wild urge to pull all of them into a big bear hug/cornucopia of love.
...
so anyways, at the end of the last blog i promised to write a way more entertaining blog - so i'm here to deliver.
first, because i haven't done this in awhile, some "new" music you should look into:
Flock - Bell X1
this actually came out in 2006, which means i was definitely late on the Bell X1 train. however, later's better than never. admittedly, some of the songs (namely Eve, the Apple of My Eye) pay tribute to basically every cheesy, lovey-dovey melody ever composed, and the lyrics are hardly nuanced, but that doesn't take away from the fact that they're way catchy. moreover, songs like Like I Love You (yes, they did a Justin Timberlake cover) and Bad Skin Day pop out of nowhere with something a tad different. though, all this rave might just be me defending my secret love for somewhat cheesey music. sue me.
In Rainbows - Radiohead
i was never really into Radiohead before i heard this album. i just didn't get it. but there was something definitely new and interesting about songs like Weird Fishes/Arpeggi and Nude. i don't get it, but i like it, and you might, too.
So Tonight That I Might See - Mazzy Star
again, i was late. Mazzy Star actually primarily played in the 80s, and this album in particular came out in 1993. however, that doesn't take away from how great it is. it's definitely more mellow than most of the bands i've listed thus far (except for maybe Kings of Convenience and the like). the funny thing is, as Olivia likes to point out every now and then, i'm not a big fan of people who sing with something i call "lazy voices." Mazzy Star's lead, Hope Sandoval, is definitely an exception to this rule. instead of feeling annoyed, as i normally do when i listen to "lazy voices," i was, in a way, captivated. one guitar (usually), maybe a stringed instrument, and Hope's voice are undeniably haunting.
and that's it for music.
now on to some samples.
for those of you who don't know, i'm taking a screenwriting class this semester. every week we're given a prompt to write about and i've decided to take just a couple of them and post them up for more feedback. feel free to be completely honest.
the flower scene - an eager teen meets his crush's very Christian father
breaking up - someone tries to break up with someone else who can't let go
so yeah. go ahead and read them, criticize them, tear them apart, burn them, etc. - any feedback is good feedback.
and that's really about it for tonight, kids. i'll try to be more consistent about blogging. until next time!
Thursday, March 6, 2008
coming out, among other things
so from the title, as well as from various obscure hints i've littered throughout previous posts, i'm pretty sure you know what this is about.
i've recently made the decision to be way more open about my sexuality - which is hilarious, especially if you know me, because most of my friends think i'm a-sexual.
unfortunately, i'm not a-sexual. in fact, i'm gay. i use "unfortunately" because, if anything, i think telling people that i'm not attracted to anyone is a heck of a lot easier than telling them i'm gay. such is the world in which we live.
for some of you who might be reading this, this might come as a surprise - whether or not that surprise is pleasant isn't my concern.
in fact, i'm not going to use this blog to defend myself or homosexuality, because a.) it won't accomplish anything and b.) i don't want to bore you. this blog, as its name suggests, is for me.
what i will say is that it wasn't a choice for me. i can't remember a time when i didn't have these feelings. my first crush was on a female classmate in pre-school who, after seeing me accidentally screw up an arts and crafts project, came over and cheered me up.
i didn't know that what i was feeling had a label, and i definitely didn't know that general society frowned upon said label. all i knew was that i liked her and there was nothing i could do about it.
it wasn't until a few years and a few other girl-crushes later that i learned the name for my "condition." my sister Olivia had overheard our parents arguing over my sexuality - i was 7 and my mom had told my dad that she was sure i was gay. my dad denied it and said i was just a tomboy. in analyzing Olivia's account of the discussion, i came to the conclusion that my feelings towards other girls were wrong and i should change. so over the next almost-decade-long period of my life i tried everything to not only repress these feelings, but to overcome them completely.
the result? eight years of unbearable exhaustion stemming from unhappiness and self-hatred.
i tried dating boys to convince myself to be attracted to them. as much as i may have really cared about them, i couldn't bring myself to harbor any feelings beyond those of friendship.
i followed in my dad's footsteps and declared myself an outright conservative, reading conservative literature that degraded homosexuality and anything that deviated from the norm. and though i tried to take them to heart, knowing that my efforts at dating boys were failing only inspired more self-hatred.
finally, i read the Bible, thinking that if anyone could "save" me, it would be God. i was looking for any passage that would blatantly tell me that homosexuality is wrong. i was looking for whatever message Westboro Church members had found - that "God hates f**s." ironically enough, even though there are a few mentions of the wrongness of homosexuality, i never found any words of hatred or intolerance. what i found were words that inspire self-acceptance and love. ultimately, the purpose of the Bible isn't to set down laws by which individuals must abide. instead, i found that the Bible's purpose, or God's purpose, is to inspire individuals to love wholly and unconditionally, regardless of any insignificant qualities or imperfections others might possess. and, perhaps most importantly, in order to be able to love others, one must be able to love and accept oneself.
a few months after reading the Bible (when i was 15), i came out for the very first time to my sister Olivia. and it was probably the greatest relief i'd ever experienced. a couple of months after that, i came out to my other sister Annie.
so you might be wondering why i've chosen to come clean about this now. well, i guess the real question is why didn't i do it earlier? it was mostly fear. and this feeling that coming out and saying it could possibly make it finite, and for the longest time, even after coming out to my sisters, the idea of cementing my sexuality in point-blank fact was intimidating. if anything, i was worried about what my friends would say and how they would feel. i was worried about how they would think of and treat me.
but now, after coming out to several other people, i've come to realize that i have truly amazing, supportive, non-judgmental friends. also, that i shouldn't worry about what others think - that i should never have to compromise who i am for the sake of who others think i should be.
so now i'm out. but no worries, i won't be one of those scary, tattooed, mullet-and-tapered-jeans-wearing lesbians. i'm still the same old sometimes-ridiculous, usually-nerdy, mom-impersonating vickie, and i hope you will be able to see and acknowledge that.
if you're surprised by any of this and have questions, i'm completely open to answering anything you want to ask. unless you're asking me to defend myself. in which case, it's a lost cause. for you, i mean.
if you've known all along because i told you, thank you so much for arming me with the confidence to be myself. i love you so much.
next time i promise i'll write a way more entertaining blog.
PS
my parents don't know yet, and i'm planning on telling them over summer break, so if those of you who know my parents, or whose parents know my parents, could keep it on the DL, that'd be great - i mean, i know it's a lot to ask, but i just think this is the kind of thing my parents should find out from me. thanks!
i've recently made the decision to be way more open about my sexuality - which is hilarious, especially if you know me, because most of my friends think i'm a-sexual.
unfortunately, i'm not a-sexual. in fact, i'm gay. i use "unfortunately" because, if anything, i think telling people that i'm not attracted to anyone is a heck of a lot easier than telling them i'm gay. such is the world in which we live.
for some of you who might be reading this, this might come as a surprise - whether or not that surprise is pleasant isn't my concern.
in fact, i'm not going to use this blog to defend myself or homosexuality, because a.) it won't accomplish anything and b.) i don't want to bore you. this blog, as its name suggests, is for me.
what i will say is that it wasn't a choice for me. i can't remember a time when i didn't have these feelings. my first crush was on a female classmate in pre-school who, after seeing me accidentally screw up an arts and crafts project, came over and cheered me up.
i didn't know that what i was feeling had a label, and i definitely didn't know that general society frowned upon said label. all i knew was that i liked her and there was nothing i could do about it.
it wasn't until a few years and a few other girl-crushes later that i learned the name for my "condition." my sister Olivia had overheard our parents arguing over my sexuality - i was 7 and my mom had told my dad that she was sure i was gay. my dad denied it and said i was just a tomboy. in analyzing Olivia's account of the discussion, i came to the conclusion that my feelings towards other girls were wrong and i should change. so over the next almost-decade-long period of my life i tried everything to not only repress these feelings, but to overcome them completely.
the result? eight years of unbearable exhaustion stemming from unhappiness and self-hatred.
i tried dating boys to convince myself to be attracted to them. as much as i may have really cared about them, i couldn't bring myself to harbor any feelings beyond those of friendship.
i followed in my dad's footsteps and declared myself an outright conservative, reading conservative literature that degraded homosexuality and anything that deviated from the norm. and though i tried to take them to heart, knowing that my efforts at dating boys were failing only inspired more self-hatred.
finally, i read the Bible, thinking that if anyone could "save" me, it would be God. i was looking for any passage that would blatantly tell me that homosexuality is wrong. i was looking for whatever message Westboro Church members had found - that "God hates f**s." ironically enough, even though there are a few mentions of the wrongness of homosexuality, i never found any words of hatred or intolerance. what i found were words that inspire self-acceptance and love. ultimately, the purpose of the Bible isn't to set down laws by which individuals must abide. instead, i found that the Bible's purpose, or God's purpose, is to inspire individuals to love wholly and unconditionally, regardless of any insignificant qualities or imperfections others might possess. and, perhaps most importantly, in order to be able to love others, one must be able to love and accept oneself.
a few months after reading the Bible (when i was 15), i came out for the very first time to my sister Olivia. and it was probably the greatest relief i'd ever experienced. a couple of months after that, i came out to my other sister Annie.
so you might be wondering why i've chosen to come clean about this now. well, i guess the real question is why didn't i do it earlier? it was mostly fear. and this feeling that coming out and saying it could possibly make it finite, and for the longest time, even after coming out to my sisters, the idea of cementing my sexuality in point-blank fact was intimidating. if anything, i was worried about what my friends would say and how they would feel. i was worried about how they would think of and treat me.
but now, after coming out to several other people, i've come to realize that i have truly amazing, supportive, non-judgmental friends. also, that i shouldn't worry about what others think - that i should never have to compromise who i am for the sake of who others think i should be.
so now i'm out. but no worries, i won't be one of those scary, tattooed, mullet-and-tapered-jeans-wearing lesbians. i'm still the same old sometimes-ridiculous, usually-nerdy, mom-impersonating vickie, and i hope you will be able to see and acknowledge that.
if you're surprised by any of this and have questions, i'm completely open to answering anything you want to ask. unless you're asking me to defend myself. in which case, it's a lost cause. for you, i mean.
if you've known all along because i told you, thank you so much for arming me with the confidence to be myself. i love you so much.
next time i promise i'll write a way more entertaining blog.
PS
my parents don't know yet, and i'm planning on telling them over summer break, so if those of you who know my parents, or whose parents know my parents, could keep it on the DL, that'd be great - i mean, i know it's a lot to ask, but i just think this is the kind of thing my parents should find out from me. thanks!
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