Digital Childhood

As I hold grande-sized Americano between two palms, it gives off more than what I've paid for through its warmth between my fingers and the steam escaping through the plastic hole to my frozen skin, and of course, also to my heart with its fluid. Across the table, I gaze at another party of three women and a child. Not too old, but not too young seems to the women's age, but what I find interest in is the perfect side view of a child about six years. A smart phone leaning against his juice tin is placed right in front of his face--his body slouched with his arms crossed to pillow his small head--and his expression remains emotionless, or just the same other way around, like the textbook illustration of any bored student in a class. Many of us believe that a smartphone will keep a child occupied and on leash in public places while the adults carry on with their businesses. But this imagery casts doubt upon me on who is keeping what occupied.

As the concrete rises taller, it seems the childhood once we have enjoyed--all the symbolisms of childhood in running the green field, capturing insects and frogs, and building empires of sand--are diminishing. I do not wish to stimulate another polemical argument of whether it is wrong to have a child raised as they are in modern times, but rather, I wonder as vivid as my childhood memories are to me I see how such lived past can be of distant history and almost legendary-like to the kid across the table. If told, would that child be filled with awe and jealousy, or with nonchalance and contempt? Times are definitely changing, I can tell by such simple observation. When that child grows up to be my age, what kind of reflection will he have of his childhood through another posterity of his age now? Will he have an Americano or what else?

BR: "The Five People You Meet In Heaven"

This book was just a reconfirmation of my personal belief in after-life. Although, different in structure, it was like the counter-version of Dante's Inferno. I always thought after-life was palpable reason to make sense of this life. The audacity, intelligence, capabilities, potentials, and emotions of human being does not make sense to have its bottle corked by the time allotted in this world. More so, the clear superficiality of people's lives throughout mankind seem so futile to have just indulge in pleasures, and to expand.

Truly it is just a theory, but I cannot feel more attached to the quote, "But all endings are also beginnings. We just don't know at the time." The protagonist learns to acquire five lessons: all things in life are meaningful without mistakes and there are consequences which interconnect all of the people, sacrifice can veer the courses of life, forgiveness cures the poison of anger, love outlasts life and death in a different form called memory, and finally, freedom from guilt is the freedom from within which requires acknowledgement of the guilt. Of course, these themes may differ from the author's intention and I am no scholar to have had this book under scrutiny. These are just my personal enlightenments. But I found it ironic how the lessons we can achieve throughout this life time can be passed onto the next--sort of like unfinished homework. My answer to this irony can only come from conjecture that, as the book had mentioned, we are to make sense of our lives before fully being admitted to heaven. Hence, I can insinuate that what we experience in this world plays a vital role in continuing what was just paused, what we call death.

BR: "Keep the Aspidistra Flying" by George Orwell

They say that reluctance to cooperate with materialistic society or the acceptance of hierarchy and necessary pre-requisitory measures of success in this money-god world can be deemed as freedom, with condescending tone. For they also equivocate such freedom with free-fall--longer the freedom, harder the impact of reality. Once a victim, they will probably convene around you to offer their consolation, blithely, and concern only as adversely reflected in proportion of their sheer reconfirmation on their beliefs; that the money is their god and all innately subordinate. But if they are right, the victims will differ in their ability to become resilient after the fall--from dumbfounded to some found dead.

So I guess there's no such thing as freedom in this world, at least in this sense, for Gordon is fighting or falling in the battle against the money society. The only alternative is to keep fighting or falling in the battle against the society without knowing the depth of it. But the fear of continuous anticipation of the fall and being aware of it, he had lost since the initiation. His approach was not to sell his soul to earn money up to his capacity. The consequences of it was harsh, from squalor he is consistently reminded of his wretched and limited circumstances between romance, friendship, family, self-dignity, and even basic necessities. On the other approach, he would lose again by freeing himself from dire circumstances and succumbing to the system, for he had declared himself a war.

Either way, it seems to enlighten me in such way that this system we live in, there's no escape, hence no true freedom. Whether we are enslaved to make them, or to curse about the loosened leash, money is money. The degree of commitment may vary, but it is necessary part of our lives, more so now than ever it seems. The obvious truth is stipulated by Mr. Orwell with details enlivened by Gordon and the objective of this book was probably to remind ourselves of the world we live in, the capitalism. Most likely, we will recur about the lives we live once more in this perspective upon the end page of this book. Some might be bolstered about their current views, some will be even more discouraged, and some will scent their youth in nostalgia when we were once all oblivious. As for me, I had come to accept the shame of part-taking of this game, but with precaution as to avoid full visibility of brand of slavery.

Irritation

I have been going to coffee shops all by myself for the last past three months, habitually. I study there for the upcoming LSAT. Despite all the clamor, I find myself in the zone of studying. From time to time when I take cig breaks, I cannot help myself but to eavesdrop on others. Without liberty of intent, my ears are vulnerable to the waves of various colors, shapes, and sizes of enchantments. But what I realized was that almost all of the exchanges of discourses are of same content, gossip. I am compelled to say that all instances of my unintentional eavesdrops have been about gossiping, because I can't seem to remember otherwise.

I am not disdaining their characters, rather I feel certain pressure to abate myself for writing such observation, for I, too, have done so sometimes in my life. Although I will be more aware in the future, I do not deny my proclivity in participating such humane rite.

With that set aside, I really feel disgusted by people's voice more often than not. Maybe I've never paid attention as such as now, but I realize that people do not come to coffee shops to buy coffee, desserts, or culture (seemingly clever marketing strategy of Starbuck's). People who come here in groups, pay money to talk shit; I can see the venomous specters of swords flying out of their mouths. Coffee shops provide services of products that fuel their customer's energy to continue, ranging from high caloric desserts to beverages that help customers clear their throats.

Honestly, I find myself caught in between a battlefield. What I have found myself to be as a bystander was clearly a false calculation. Moreover, I noticed that I have been stabbed long before my own recognition. This scar named irritation. All the negativity (although some gossips are hardly any detrimental) has watered my abomination towards people. Slowly, I am beginning to question, is it because they are Koreans? It can't be. Although revealing such hate might have insidious effect on my relationship with others, but really, I have imagined myself, at times when it is just too much, going to the table and slapping their mouths. In reality, I just pack up my shit and leave.

Without ever measuring the metaphor "shit talking" and "talking shit", I often used it. But now such idiom has found its identity in me. It really is ugly to see people gossiping. Literally, it seems like a pile of shit is talking to the corresponding pile (yes, I have seen them with God-given creative imagination). Also, the content of gossips is at times so irritating that, once again, with little creative twist, I've seen shit drool out of people's mouth: babbling on without any sense of words.

This pessimistic view is not the result of their annoyance during my study. I find myself vigorously focused during study. It is just moments like these when I take a break, I am helplessly exposed to others' words. Shit, I'm scared now. I am smelling shit coming from behind as I type this very sentence. I'm more afraid because these people behind me have been shit talking all throughout, and I'm not sure if their indigestive problem is proclaiming their stomachs' malfunction or I have taken a bigger scar of irritation.

As much inhumane some of these gossips are, gossip itself is so human. Blowing irony. Well, maybe since the test date is inexorably drawing near, I am just anxious, more so bitchy. Yes, I would like to end it with that because if I don't, it's going to be harder to face the reality. Blow me.

Notion of Justice in Modern Society

Probably the longest and most disputed argument since the dawn of humanity revolves around the topic, justice. However, I do not wish to paint the grey matters of justice neither black nor white today. I just want to share, in my humble opinion, what gives shapes and colors to justice, individually then consequently as a society itself.

Besides the obvious counterexamples, such as murder, steal, and etc., what do we use to define justice? Straightforwardly speaking, I think what we are used to or accustomed to frames our notion of justice. I hold certain values within which my personal experiences have allowed me to prioritize. These accumulated experiences are possible only through the environment I am directly or indirectly exposed to, thus what I am gradually accustomed to. Then these priorities of values emerging from the experiences comprise my notion of justice.

For example, we live in a society where an individual suffers no hierarchy of blood types. No person is unequally treated or more susceptible to injustice depending on blood types. Why? Besides the absurdity of such criteria to discriminate groups of peoples, we are well aware of the fact that blood types are insignificant factor in constituting our differences. How so? Because, we are not accustomed to such differences posing any significant considerations to elicit justice or injustice. Hence, we do not hold any values in such discrepancy. But say, hypothetically with permission of some irrationality, one is born and raised in a quarantined society where such physical trait is undeniable factor determining superiority over others, he or she will perceive such system of hierarchy as justice. Similar to caste system in India, any revolt or challenge brought up by lower class to upper class might be seriously deemed as injustice, therefore justice must be served by penalizing the revolter. By my personal notion of justice, all this sound ridiculous and maybe to you too, if you are living in similar society as mine. Nonetheless, have you ever wondered, why some people, according to your own notion of justice, are so oblivious to the fact that what they are doing is injustice? The same people you point finger to, can be pointing at you with the same rationale.

So justice seems dependent on collective actions which the society permits, especially in democracy. What society permits or prohibits are dependent on what people agree upon among themselves to allow or disallow, therefore becoming accustomed to them. As time progresses, this continuity of actions or inactions shape our values and finally, perceived as notion of justice.

Then the next question is, is justice directly shaped by our collective preferences? It seems that there are some matters of justice which are immutable, such as killing of another strictly prohibited. However, although extreme, it is possible that anything about what we define justice can be altered, due to influence of collective preference in a society (e.g. premarital sex was strictly prohibited in biblical times, but not so much in modern society). There might be arguments against such opinion, proposing that there are foundational black and white spectrums of justice, and anything in between (grey area) can be suitably altered by the changing environments of society. But then, this argument brings the debate back to zero, if not supporting the idea that collective preference shapes justice. In order for one to consider what's black and white and grey about justice, one must have had such belief instilled by the environment he or she is exposed to. So what is justice? Justice, especially in modern society, is a sketch book, which the hands of individuals within the society all grab a piece of crayon (collective preference) and draw as they see fit.

(Note: I was doing LSAT prep test at a coffee shop. I apparently took a longer break than my intention. Please have the generosity to give me some leeway in my unfurnished thoughts and writing. I really didn't feel like spending sufficient time to carefully craft this.)   ; )

Being Single in Seoul at This Moment in my Life

Before unveiling my state of mind, all readers of this opportunity should have some clear perspectives about me. My first relationship with a girl started in senior year of high school. Of course, I am talking about first serious relationship and if you would like to know what comprise the term "serious relationship", then that is something you need to ask me in person. However, the objective of this exclusive exposure about my "single" mentality has no need to touch upon the term.

So ever since then, I had continuous relationship. My relationship status has not changed for eight years since then, only the girls. I am not purposely trying to be ostensible about my adroit skill with girls. For that matter, my present status and what I am about to share will prove otherwise in the upcoming words. However, just as bees are attracted to flowers and upon preference of which the flowers don't have, my approach to them was inevitable and undeniable.

I was the Don Corleone's "offer" to girls.

Anyone, seriously intimidated by the previous words may challenge me by saying I was only infatuated with girls, therefore probably didn't have clear cut standards of girls to date. Ladies and gentlemen, subject of beauty is subjective and I was honest with myself at all times when it came to selection of flowers. Just as the seasons change, different species of flowers receive different special spotlights. I should've became a florist.

Enough about the past, now I would like to share what I think about myself being a single. As some of you might know, having a relationship in Seoul is about showing that they are indeed in a relationship. All these significant rituals and holidays, which all couples must succumb to, make them ironically insignificant because that is what all of them do. Hundredth day celebration, Valentine's day, White day, 200th day, 300th day, Christmas Eve, Christmas, and the list goes on; I mean there are even couple sales at stores, couple events at restaurants, not to mention the boom of couple clothes, accessories, shoes, and who knows, you name one and sell it in S. Korea, you would be an entrepreneur. But, truthfully, I am also fully convicted in partaking of the national movement of couples.

So it is common for me witness couples' conspicuous expressions of love, which is adorable and cute. But being single in Seoul is sort of an eternal damnation because you see these behaviors everywhere you go. I mean EVERYWHERE. Their behavior is so common that people without significant others' actions are highlighted. Usually, when you see a couple doing there lovely things, people notice them. In here, heaven for couples and hell for others, it's just the other way around. For example, suppose let's say you go to a coffee shop by yourself to write a blog about "Being Single in Seoul at This Moment in my Life". You start to notice glances around you which are all pairs of pair of eyes. You try to act indifferent by having your sight fixed onto the monitor, and by all means their glances are not hostile, rather more pitiful.

I never knew until at this moment, how it sucks not to have a girlfriend. I always thought that I can always scout around for more flowers and being single never mattered. Honestly, I haven't been a single for more than 3 months, if my memory serves me correctly. Getting a girlfriend was like as if going to a refrigerator to drink coke if I had indigestion. But don't get this analogy misconstrued, I was honest and passionate about all my relationship with all the beautiful people I've met. I'm just saying, starting such romance was that natural for me. Then you ask, at this moment, why don't I find one now. Well, that is for the next blog, so keep yourself updated.

<To Be Continued>

Music

At a family vacation house, near the outskirts of Seoul, we decided to take some time off from subconscious toil brought within the city. Purple horizon partly hiding behind wildly orchestrated sea of mountains, we started a camp fire, flicker of light amidst impending, immense darkness. In far distance, highway full of cars can only be seen as absurdity in nature's magnificent presence.

There, we sat around the flicker being hypnotized with nothing particular in mind, but particularly by the dancing swords of flame. To arouse the serene mood even more, I played some songs with my Tab. To my remembrance, the list was of 'Sunny' by Bobby Hebb, Bill Wither's 'Just the Two of Us' and more of the similar harmony.

Minutes seemed like hours, and how I wished these hours would be eternal. My father broke the peace with a remark, "너 많이 성숙해졌구나? 정신상태가 많이 차분해졌어. (You've matured, your mental state is calmer)".

My list of music probably had reflected my state of mind to him.

"예전엔 무슨 '뻑뻑뻑'하는 노래만 듣고 다녔는데. (Before you only used to listen to music with 'fuck, fuck, fuck'.)"
He went on and continued, "무슨 오리새끼나오는 노래만 듣고 다녔잖아~ (You used to constantly listen to music that sounded like duck-quaking)."

By then, I almost fell from tilted chair laughing hideously about his metaphoric comments about my past musical preference.

It was a pleasant, shameful, and progressive self-reflection upon that comment. Pleasant, because I remember delightful memories from the past. Shameful, because I know at that time I had this very bitter, pessimistic, cynical, twisted, and FTW mentality. Progressive, because I have changed of which at the past moment thought I would not change or couldn't imagine myself to be, but still am. Many thoughts intermingled as the warmth of fire greeted me with luxury of comfort to reflect myself.

'Yes, I did quit that 'duck-music' for good', thought to myself with an inevitable smirk.

Sauna

Two sets of inclined bench press, then three sets of curl-ups. Four sets of butterfly, then six sets of triceps. Two more of each inclined bench press and curl-ups. Ten minutes of running with jogging intervals. Drank a bottle of gatorade throughout. Hit the showers then spa, warm to hot, then to cold. Finally, the sauna.

Two friends were fatigued. The workout has drained the last ounce of their energy as if age hadn't enough already, but not their friendship. They enjoyed each other's presence. Lying down in the steamy sauna, it was hard to make out what was in front of them.

A friend asked to the other, "What does it mean to be an idealist? Can it mean a fool without perception of reality?" The other friend acquiesced, "Romanticist would be a good synonym."

"Then what do you call an idealist who is capable enough to have his ideas put into reality, be able to have what others considered churlish propositions elusive of reality into practicality? Does it no longer mean that the person is an idealist because he became a realist by his action? It doesn't seem fair to idealists, and then only the realists will take credit for everything, while idealists will continue to be considered as fools."

The sauna was reheating the moist room with more steam. The sound resonating with heightened temperature.

The other friend replied, "No, I would call him a miracle-maker."

Each was briefly preoccupied by the thought, more so for the one who brought up the topic.
'Miracle-maker,' he thought. Having made the last response, the friend continued, "There aren't many in this world."

The steam was thick; heater turned off. Silence lingered and it was visible through the steam.

Finally one friend broke the silence, "Fuck, it's getting hot."
"It burns, it burns!" screamed the other as they got up closer to the ceiling on their way out.

Beyond Realization

I know that my time in this world is temporary. I find purpose not of this world, but in afterlife. But the ironic twist of this belief is that I have no clue as to what exactly awaits for me there. I've been given only a simple task to live this life with love for God, which to many seems foolish, and not so even clear as to how to do so myself. There are times when I am assured of my life's value in God, but in many other, I feel like I am deceived by my own justification to compensate the feeling of defeat in this world.

There's a comforting quote in the Bible that I can do anything through His grace. You can move the mountain with faith as little as mustard seed. I feel like a child again, full of dreams and wishes that are limited by none other. Yet, cynicism during the moments of my doubt elicits the greater fear of failure within me. Yes, at this moment, I may not see even the glimpse of what is capable to me through His grace, but what really is the boundary which can be surpassed with "mustard seed"? I feel better and more awakened by turning toward God. However, I feel like there's a link missing between me and His plans for me. Straightforwardly speaking, I am struggling to break out of bonds which have been blinding me from pursuing my true identity, duty, and happiness.

If I were to animate this phase of my life, it'd be a man chained to a tree on an island for so long. He has been budging continuously at times with futility, passion, hope, and despair which eventually broke the chain through incessant friction. There are vestiges of struggle in the chain as much as on his body, yet the initial escape has awakened him to pursue the greater freedom with enthusiasm. He does not belong in that island; he realized.

This is where I am. I tried looking for ships or planes. I tried writing on the beach. I've lit torches at night. I've lit fire to cause smoke. I've had dreams of myself just flying out of this island with celestial wings. Each time the initial enthusiasm abating. But the real danger is not the sense of being marooned; because I cannot be isolated when God is with me, although the world might think otherwise. I am afraid of becoming complacent in this island. I fear that I will learn to enjoy the emerald beach, the cool shades of exotic trees, and stability of peace in this island. And for all these, I am grateful nevertheless, but I will never come to appreciate to a greater extent than the boundaries here. There's nothing wrong with this choice of life, nor do I want to be judgmental of similar others. In fact, I can live a great life, a grateful and loving one, with God on this island. Also, it is not just my need to voraciously feed my curiosity to venture what lies before my eyes beyond this beautiful blue horizon. It is just that I cannot seem to extinguish the inextinguishable. This feeling, once again, that I do not belong here just cannot be blanketed. I've tried, but the more I try, I uncover just to see if it has disappeared; its presence more significantly defined ironically.

So the wise thing for me to do is to exploit the natural resources within this island, and build myself my own freedom. So much easier said than done. This is when the title of today's blog has its meaning. I realize what must be done. Beyond it, it requires belief and action. No one can come in to hand me a key to a boat. Because either God or I will not allow it; it's our relationship. So I know, but I'm tired. At this moment, I am not devising any plans or drawing any blueprints to the escape. Rather, I am sitting down on that beach even more dissuaded by the rain: only cogitating the plan.

Sigh~ (current status of deficiency in status quo)

It's been a while. I have kept myself occupied with relentless yearning for any improvement in the subject of studying, which will determine next four years of my academic experience; furthermore, it will surely influence my life to a greater extent. I have been diligent and persistent (never have I been to this extremity committed myself), yet this drudgery has failed me miserably. Come to think of it, I have never doubted myself as much as I have been these past couple days. I have never realized the fear of failure. I have never come to an acquiescence with my shortcomings. I consoled each time that it was the celestial method of maintaining humility, but without a glimpse of chance, even my condolence seemed pathetic.

Being too overwhelmed with my incapabilities to that of the inevitable obstacles, I boldly took two days off from my normal schedules.

Friday - After dinner, I didn't feel like doing anything. I skipped going to the gym and the study room. I laid on my bed, dully flipping through channels. The amusement was ephemeral, then sudden guilt of exposing myself to lack of creativity soon led me to another event. I was not fully convicted to go back to my studies, yet I decided to draw instead. Somehow, the art channel at 2 in the morning inspired me to vent off my stress in such fashion. So I turned off all my lights except the computer monitor displaying "Windows Media Player visual" with my favorite CD (Mika Nakashima) playing through my headset. I ended up with a piece called "Frustration" with water-colored pencils having dark backgrounds in uncertain patterns. Then in it, there is a person with flying hairs running away to nowhere (drawn distinctively with a red pen). Also there were irregular red lines all over the page with the intent of shaping a brain. In it, there are subliminal messages, "STUCK" and etc. It became 5 AM and I retired.

Saturday - I woke up at noon. Watched more TV programs, and dozed off on my sofa at 5 PM. Woke up from a nap(?) at half-past ten. Still angry, I refused to look at the study materials. Spent more time with idle box until I fell asleep.

Sunday - I got a blister on my lower lip. It was strange, because I knew I wasn't tired. Stress level starting to manifest, I was reminded of irritation. Going to church never seemed as hard as today, but it was something I have promised myself and to this date, it is probably the only successful new year's resolution, so I took resistant steps towards it. The gist of today's sermon was this, 'are our obedience, the impetus of selfish manipulation, or pure admiration for God?' I was, once again, appalled with my shortcoming. There were many times when I would vividly imagine my success and acclaim God's glory, but deep in my heart, I was more motivated by selfish desires, desire to let others know of my intellect, my success, my pride, my status, my integrity, my potential, and endless list of 'my ______ '. The truth of the matter is, I was keeping faithful of my religious practices and attitudes thinking that, despite others' ways of success, mine came from fidelity in God. After all, He is the infinite Giver of His capabilities for those who have definite faith in Him. I do not have even the slightest doubt about Him, but I became frail by the fact that perhaps I do not deserve His grace. Then it was today's message that had wakened me that I was just being manipulative.

So, I am at an impasse. I haven't the slightest idea of how I'm going to get past this phase. But what I came to conclude was that, my problems are insignificant compared to other matters of this world. I will just carry on with uncertainty of my success, but at least with certainty that I will not become ignominious at heart towards God, and also that my efforts will not fail Him, who wishes the best for me.


picture: http://www.google.co.kr/imglanding?q=frustration&um=1&hl=ko&newwindow=1&sa=N&tbs=isch:1&tbnid=Pg932K-7K4HM7M:&imgrefurl=http://www.robertomoretti.com/blog/&imgurl=http://farm1.static.flickr.com/119/296367267_b035d8f908.jpg&ei=sBWPTa3cJ4uIvgO-wIycDQ&zoom=1&w=500&h=333&iact=hc&oei=QBWPTdLQNIjevQPnqLyuDQ&page=13&tbnh=129&tbnw=194&start=175&ndsp=13&ved=1t:429,r:10,s:175&biw=1024&bih=612

엄마.

Edison had many questions which seemed impertinent at that moment. Nevertheless, he became as we all know.

"엄마, 왜 엄마는 엄마의 엄마를 엄마라고 부르는데, 왜 난 엄마의 엄마를 엄마라고
 부르지 못하는거야, 엄마?"

"야, 임마!"

Any guesses on what she will become?
Leave your answers on the comment box below.

Five Minutes in Life Will Suffice (dedicated to Susan)

She lit up her cigarette backward, "Fuck!". Convulsed by the terror of test being positive, she threw and lit up another one. Devastated by each second, she hesitated at the parking lot of municipal health clinic. She despised everything in her view, the old lady and the dog walking past her, amiable little girl licking her ice cream with her hand bolstered by her mom before crossing, people in their business attires talking over their cellulars, the warming sun and even the cool breeze, and etc. 

She never had difficulties with money, her parents were devote Christians, and she had many friends, although her parents admonished her from being close with them. She was smart, and also attractive; more reasons to believe she was better and could do better than others in life. She never tried her best though, or her best was restricted by her complacency and self-justification that she could do better whenever she wanted to. But her determination invariably fell short.

She knew way too much in her head than for her own good. She knew everything but never experienced the real core of themes in life. She was logical, but not practical. She knew by her head, but the conviction had never reached to her heart. She judged others and never found satisfaction in life even in her complacency.

Because of her dire situation at the given moment, she started to look back on her life. The darker past seemed to be highlighted by her hatred in life, now. After all, she could be waiting for her death sentence.

'Oh, how I wish I had never met that fucker. I knew he was an asshole... I should have been more careful not to get caught... I'm going to kill that bitch who embarrassed me by lambasting humiliation before everyone in the class... My life is messed up because my parents would never let me be... my father is too naive, that's why he got betrayed by his own friends... my mother too demanding... my brother, a total fuck-up who took away my parents from me... pastor was a sheer hypocrite...'

Filled with unbearable anger, her eyes reddened. "Why me, why the fuck me! Why...". People noticed her in the corner abruptly as she yelled and sobbed, but continued about their businesses.

Then, having vent out her anger, she took a deep breath. The video footage of her birth and her parents being strangely young celebrating in the small hospital room flashed through her mind. How happy they were even to tears holding her. She started to remember how she had, not only turned him down, but broke this guy's heart by purposely going out with his best friend for a dare between her friends. How she nightmarishly haunted this outcast in her class throughout high school years. Once, she had felt the hotness of her tear during her baptism. She was too weak now.

She sat on the curb carelessly, hopelessly, and helplessly. No more tears, but she had a face as if she had lived her capacity. As soon as she lit up another cigarette, one of the nurse came out calling out her name. She looked, and the nurse being polite as she could said, "You were supposed to wait in the waiting room. The doctor will see you now."

She didn't say a word. Her fingers failed the cigarette she was holding. Then she followed the nurse into the building.

...

As soon as she walked out of the sliding doors back into the parking lot, she loosened her composure and broke into quiet tears. The sun was still bright outside. She clasped her hands and as if she was given another chance; she closed her eyes tight. "Thank you, thank you, thank you...", she chanted incessantly. She got herself together and noticed the cigarette on the ground still lit. Last several minutes, she has been through so much. As she walked over to the littered cigarette, another girl came out behind her, crying violently. She froze, she stopped breathing, and she dared not to look back. She couldn't. She trembled surreptitiously and kept her eyes shut tight, as if the crying girl was a beast ready to devour her.

Whatever was cascading from her eyes was visible even just through her beastly roar. Fortunately, it seemed to fade away slowly. And slowly, she opened her eyes. But covered her mouth quickly. That could've been her, and she knew the poor girl would've given anything to be in her place now. She would. She wanted to get out of here as soon as possible, but she could only drudge her footsteps into the light.

Afterword: Shamelessly, I post this short-story. As I got up this afternoon, lighting my first cigarette of the day, I realized how fortunate I was. From my room window, I saw people working at a remodeling site. Whether they chose that life or by limitations of life that they are confined into such occupations, I do not intend on degrading their quality of life, rather I see how spoiled I am with abundance of resources to have more options in life. Then from these site constructors, I shifted by vividly imagining people in third-world countries living unanimously-agreed poorer quality of life. Then to people who are even more doomed. Then to people who are living in hellish penury and worse conditions of life. Being ebbed with my imaginations to the worst condition of life possible, I became more and more grateful each time. I became humble. What I realized was that I used to perpetually compare myself to someone "better" (in the sense of secular perspective), or at the least to someone with similar status. Then I put out the cigarette. About five minutes, this is all it took, to be grateful rather than becoming irritated by my life compared to "better" others. So I wrote this story.

Questions that occupy me.

Finding myself incompetent to allocate my given time, I cannot write awesome short-stories like my friend (ok, I will be honest, maybe time is not the only factor). He is a true talent in my opinion. Partly the fact that I admire him as a friend can eliminate my eligibility to be a nonpartisan critic, but nevertheless I am a person just like any other, a true admirer of beauty. Enough about him and my excuse, I would like to share gist of thoughts that occupy me these days. Remember, I quit drinking and most of my social life which dwelled on indulgence of alcohol and vain worries, or for me it seemed. Naturally, I have more time to worry about which seems harder to solve.

Why do we live as if we are going to live forever?
Why do we live as if more wealth will lead to successful life?
And for that such purpose, why do we neglect our present?
For that matter, are we, the human race, designed to live in the past, present, or future?
Why do we think to ourselves, if I was in that admiring person's shoes, my life will be complete?
And ungratefully oblivious to the fact that we are at present living someone else's dream?
When did we become so self-centered? Did the society persuade us into believing so, or the other way around?
Why do we habitually sponsor the phrase, "only God can judge me" when we don't actually believe in Him?
Also, why do we think we are so special that only God can judge us when we judge others perpetually (how they look, what family, school, occupation, social status they come from?).

But for those who are rare in this world, who give up the "norms" of modern "philosophy" of humanity, I am honestly blown by the fact that they gave up "successful" life for the cause of others' welfare. What did they read? What they think? What did they eat? Who are their parents? What was their childhood like? What they believe in? What was their disease? What the hell was wrong with them? I am struggling to know, and yet I am not fully convicted. My mind's solitary confinement has led me to turn my perspectives to these rare few, while this would not have happened if I was still getting wasted by my past preference of life. I am not saying I am convicted to do and know what's better in life, nor do I think different people's life motivations are not legit. But let's stop and think about above questions and critically compare ourselves amongst each other.

"I want a big house, I want a fast car, I want the job, I want a trophy wife, I want to be famous, I want to be rich, I want to live long," says the most.

"I want you to have shelter, I want you be able to walk, I want you to have a job, I want you to have love, I want you to be treated with respect, I want you to have foods for your family, I want you to be healthy, I want you to live life," says the rare few.

Priest and doctor: Lee, Tae-suk

Dr. Albert Schuweitzer

Right: Jim Elliot and his friends

Jesus

(the few of the fews)

Love

So many people hold many different definitions of love. For example, love is sweet, love is great, love is sacrificial, love is being willing to die for, or live for, and etc. Well, this is mine.

"I am fully convicted of my iniquities and the burden of guilt that invariably follows, yet He sentenced me Love."

-IJSY

(nice~ huh? yea... i know.)

Here's a new trial.

So, after being bombarded with inspirations of many talents who express appreciations for God, I decided to do something new myself. I started writing poem. Although, it's not my first time writing it, it is my first time to take it seriously and to glorify someone special in my life.


Ugly


Seamless pain,
How they've stitched over you.
Again, and again,
Holes not too few.

Becoming the other,
You are who you became.
Abhorred by the others,
You drown in shame.

Spoiled and rotten is your soul
Foul stench from the deepest core
Inevitable fumes from the holes
You tremble despondently with gore

How pity, no one understood
The agonies that brought you to now
No one received or gave when they could
So you stopped wondering "how"

Time to close your eyes
As the light submerges
You will disappear to no one's surprise
But it is never too late for the prize
For He can converge as your beauty emerges

errr...

It's been a while since put up my last post. I truly aplogize to my fans... all 11 of them... despite my conscious telling me that now I lost them all... I put up this post in dim hope of reconciliation... (I'm so full of myself, haha... ha...). Anyways, I been preoccupied with my studies and work so I don't even have time to go to coffee shops, which is my daily pleasure and probably the climax of all my inspirations of thoughts, ideas, anc etc. Today, I'm not at the coffee shop, so this is not one of my regular works. However,I just would like to share some of the songs I listen to these days--music definitely inspires many, and I am one of the many.

Ps. It's funny how certain types of music which I used to consider inferior and superior are totally reversed.

DFD (if you are from LA, you should know him)

- "Walking in the Rain"

- "Different Galaxies"ft. Sam Ock

- "Love Psycle"

- "Medicine"

Trip Lee (do not underrate X-ian hip hop, if you must, do so after these)

- "Bear With You" ft. Tedashii

- "Cling to You"

- "Snitch"

- "No Worries"

- "Twisted" ft. Lecrae, Pro, Thi'sl

- "Invade" ft. J. Paul

- "Inexhaustible"

- "Show's Over" ft. Mitch Parks

- "Superstar"

- "Limitation" ft. Leah Smith

Decipher (another underrated Korean underground artist)

- "There She Goes"

- "Sinner's Prayer"

- "Catch Me If You Can" Remix ft. Ailee 

Once Upon at Pascucci...

            So, out of ideas and inspiration, I patiently carry on this covert operation of eavesdropping my table’s neighbors at Pascucci. Weather is below seven degrees celsius but the excruciating wind, seems, can chill every corner of the body. It is even colder because of the gloomy sketches on the sky, grey pastel as foundation, and mixture of white and dark blue pencils.

At about 5:30 pm she said, “씨발 좆나 추워, 너 오늘 볼꺼야?”

                       (Fuck, it’s so fuckn’ cold. So are you going to see him?)

“누구, 남친? 당연히 봐야지,” said her company.

(Who? My boyfriend? Of course.)

“개 부럽다, 날씨도 추운데. 그나저나 오늘 교정했는데… 미친 개… 씨발 좆나 박아데더라.”

(Fuck, so jealous. It’s getting cold. Anyways, I got braces today… Fuckn’ bitch, I swear they were drilling the shit out)

“늙은 나이에 그 지랄하느라 개고생한데, 쯧,쯧,쯧.”

(Pity that you have to go through such a hellish ordeal at such an old age, tsk, tsk, tsk.)

They both look at least two years younger than me.

“야, 주위에 괜찮은 남자 없냐? 씨발, 친구는 이 추위에 외롭고 추운데, 친구라는 년은 지 남친있다고 좆나 따뜻하냐?”

(Hey, do you know any decent guys around you? Fuck, your friend is suffering this cold with loneliness on top of it, and you are not going do a fucking thing about it?)

“야, 너 지난 번 남친은 괜찮더구만, 왜 헤어졌냐?”, replied her friend.

(Well, your last boy friend was decent. Why did you break up?)

“말도 꺼내지마, 완전 개 싸이코야, 뭘 못해, 좆나 구속해서. 클럽을 지가 싫으면 싫었지 왜 나까지 못가게 하는데? 아, 그 개새끼 말하고 싶지도 않아,” with sigh she lit up another cigarette.

(Don’t even mention him. He is a fuckn’ psycho. He is so possesive, he won’t let me do anything. Why should I not be able to go clubbing just because he does not like going there? Fuck, don’t mention that bitch to me again.") with sigh she lit up another cigarette.

By this time, it seemed as if their table was starting to prepare a barbecue with all the cigrette smoke lingering in the air. Their ash tray resembling a teepee with piled up cigarettes, and I could not help but to illustrate a small indian village strating a fire inside as I seldom surreptitiously stared.

“크크 그건 니가 맨날 가서 원나잇해서 그렇지,” amusingly she scolded.

(Haha, that’s because you always end up having one night stands with other guys everytime you go clubbing.)

“야, 그래도 한번도 안 걸렸어… 확실히는… 근데 썅, 좆나 신기한게, 남자들도 육감이란게 있나봐,” she said without any feeling of guilt.

(So, I never got caught… completely… but what the fuck? I’m curious do guys have sixth sense too?)

Time passed with other unimportant discourses, my attention span failed by this time and it grasped onto Jason Yang’s chat on facebook.

Sometime later…

“어, 왔다,”  her friend said waving her hand to a man behind the glass wall who just walked into the coffee shop. The single friend moved their ash tray to another table casually.

“어머, 안녕하세요, 전 재영이 친구 세미에요, 얘기 많이 들었어요.”

(Oh, hello. I’m Jae-Young’s friend Sae-Mi, I’ve heard so much about you)

“아, 반갑습니다, 재영이 남자친구 정태에요,” said the new member of the table next to me.

(Nice to meet you, I’m Jae-Young’s boy friend, Jung-Tae.)

“자기야, 이 친구가 내 어릴때부터 단짝친구 세미야. 얘가 제일 착하고 순진해, 자기 친구들중에 괜찮은 친구 있으면 소개 시켜줘,” she stuck to her boyfried like a koala. 

I thought, ‘go figure…”.

(Honey, Sae-Mi is my best friend ever since we were so little. She’s the most kind and innocent friend amongst my friends. If you have a friend who’s decent please introduce him to her.)

“아, 싱글이세요? 왜? 이렇게 미인이신데… 잘 됐네 오늘 있다가 나중에 제 친구와 술한잔해요 괜찮은 놈인데 잘됐다.”

(Huh, you are single? Why, but you are so pretty… perfect, later let’s meet up with my friend and drink. You’ll surely like him, he is most eligible.)

They talked more jibberish. Fakeness and full of vanity, I terminated my mission with satisfying result. As they got up to leave, the girl’s eyes met mine. She looked at me indifferently and hinted me as if to let me know she does not care about having witnessed her true identity. Because, we will most likely never meet again.

‘Wow, so cool,’ I thought sarcastically.

I thought to myself one more time for the guy who was going to get introduced to this two-faced devil, the target of my own espionage mission, ‘GG’. Although successful at unveiling the truth out of her—not that I purposedly did—I felt slightly depressed, as I was watching the empty, cloudy table left occupied no longer. For the men’s society, how oblivious are my brothers to the harsh reality of “love”?

I lit my own cigarette with a grin on my face quickly flashing through my brief experience. Smile so adequately expressed like the conversation above.

6:28 pm.

Clandestine Movement which should be Renowned...

            So, when we think about Rosa Parks, William Wilberforce, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., and many abolitionists and their prodigious achievements, we find ourselves in awe and also in humility. The determination and their discernment of what is right overwhelmed their environments which told otherwise. But those moments of glorifying their improvements in humanity are short-lived. I am pretty darn sure such heroes of their contemporaries did not overcome the twisted norms of their societies, just to have ephemeral effects on their posterity. It is like a marathon where their baton has been handed over to us, yet the worse part of our ignorance is that we simply clap and find ourselves in awe as if we are the audiences. Some where along the race, consumerism has deceived us into thinking that all is well and the race discontinued. The race is not over and more shockingly as it may sound to our generation, we are the next runners of this race to end slavery. Yes, you, your families, friends, and neighbors do not have shackles around the ankles, and you are comfortably oblivious to this specific evil, slavery. But how about this? There are more than 27 million slaves in today's world. How many people are you fortunate enough to know that are not in slavery? 100, 1,000, 10,000? Well, if 27 million does not allow you to even reconsider about the world you live in, then maybe it will take even greater number to get you interested (until it breaches your comfortable social networks and relationships). Nonetheless, there are people who are already involved to make even the slightest impact. I, too, am grateful for their involvement, simultaneously ashamed of my ignorance. So how do we abolish slavery? How do we become an abolitionist? Despite the solemn connotation the word "abolitionist" holds, it's simple, thanks to some great minds with heart, you can simply visit Free2Work and get englightened.

             So this site lets you know with letter grades which conglomerates promote and demote slavery upon production of their products. They say if one out of five consumers are aware of their choices in consumption, it can bring down a company, or resurrect one. Thanks to the founders, you and I can become part of the movement simply by purchasing with values.

By the way, it's my birthday. Hahaha. Nice~! Bravo Isaac~!

Just a thought...

            So the minds of the brittle will sway as the wind leads the dance; barely keeping its composure, it will sustain its figure.


Endlessly searching for something solid, they will continue this dance. About the only thing they know how to do, they will surely be enraptured by the moment, sometimes willingly and sometimes hesitantly (the more the dance, the more it becomes the latter).


What dries their spirit is the fact that their pursuit of solidity is endless, yet each dance reinvigorates them as they spark up the last hope in that brief moment every time their steps stroll.


Becoming more and more formless, graceless, and shapeless, the dance is no longer of any aesthetic art expression. It becomes more pathetic, commensurate to their dimming expectation of hope.


The once exuberant, childlike smiles are long gone, but it still has traces of nostalgia.


These were the days of our lost lives.
These are the days of our losing lives.
These will be the days of our brittle minds.

Chapter I

Chapter 1

            Beep. Beep. Beep. It has been the dullest past month for Sean. All the technical support to sustain his life could not sustain his exuberant character as he was once. The only anticipation of his existence no longer dwelled on his future prospects, but rather when would that annoying, consistent “beep” would skip or stop. It did not matter whether he had his eyes closed or opened, because either way he would find himself in oblivion, and helpless.

            The hopital cell where he was placed in was of extravagance because he would have the whole room by himself. Usually, a patient ranging from low middle-class to average burgeosie would have to share with five others; shared-rooms were located in the lower floors. Many people probably can afford a solitary hospital care room such as this, but his sentence was indefinite and because of such condition most people would just share it.  It was not that his parents were financially better off, rather his parents took a great deal in caring and loving him. 

             

             Sean would always get more than what he would ask for from his parents. It was typical of his parents to get him a whole set menu when Sean would only ask for an entrée. He did not have the courage to reject the offer thinking that he would just passover any potential conflicts. Then everything would be trashed, besides what he had requested in the first place; he was stubborn in his own way. 

            The hospital was located at the highest altitude in Seoul, his room being at the top of twenty-floor building. Although the city was infamous for crowded and busy life style, his room seemed to have been placed in different dimension because the window faced towards the empty mountain. At night, there would be nothing but dimming stars in the sky. In the morning he had the privilege of bathing before anyone in the warm sun of the day. Privilege, most visitors would compliment about Sean’s room because there was nothing else to say to soothe his predicament. Curse for Sean, because he no longer saw any hope in those bright lights.

Instead he would feel even more condemned by the awakening of new day. He knew that people of his age would get ready for the day to embrace the opportunities and adventures that lie ahead of them. Either way, it is funny how couple months ago, he was an opportunist and adventurist like anyone who he now envies but never felt grateful at the time. Now that he is confined in his hospital room, he feels even more ungrateful to the fact that he actually never took any opportunities given to him nor found anything exciting in his busy, yet monotous schedule. 

His only consolation was that it did not matter to be confined in bed or in the busy streets. Only difference was that he had too much time to reassure of his confinement than being preoccupied to even cogitate upon it. Once, when he was healthy, he would wonder how wonderful it would be to live life as his dog, Roonie. Roonie would be fed twice everyday around the appropriate time of the day. He would excrete without having to worry how dirty his environment would get. He could sleep anytime of the day. Sean feels otherwise nowadays and more sympathetic towards all the dogs in the world. He would chuckle at the thought, and wonder being human is not so great after all because he has conscious to even feel sympathy for Roonie.

In high school, he was the center of attention, envy, admiration, and everything amongst his peers and teachers. He was probably one of the brightest student in the school’s history. He was very athletic for he joined varsity football, basketball, and baseball team during his freshmen year. He was the quarterback, point guard, and pitcher in respective sports. Of course, it seems surreal, but evidence shows that his coaches had to fight with one another to get him to their practices more often. Although his humility would not claim its truth, he did lead his school from division three to one in those sports. His positions which his athletic capabilities enabled to suit him was also reflectory in social skills as well. He was just a natural born leader. He knew the business of celebrity as many would follow him mentally and physically. He did not isolate himself in any set clique; he was like a brother to any of the core members in high school clique, the jocks, the nerds, the emos, the bands, the outlaws, the addicts, the majority, etc. It was as if he was the clique in whichever clique you might have belonged to, and every freshmen in the new year would learn of his character before the principal’s name. 

When he was fully grown he was five feet and eleven inches tall. He had smooth curls in his long hair which was unusual for typical Korean-American. He had slim, yet muscular physical appearance. He never stopped anyone from approaching him whether it was with kindness or challenge. Also, he never stopped anyone from leaving him, but this was not usual. Probably less people left him than the total number of days of snow in Los Angelels during the winter season.  However, just like any leader would have his own comfort zone and confidants, he had his own selection of members. His group of intimate friends were dynamic: the rich, the hungry, the addict, the mischievous, and him, the leader.

Maybe because he began to despise the sun light, he would be most awake during the darkest hours of the day. As if he did not felt lonely enough, there was certain calmness of the night that attracted Sean. He also wanted to be left alone, if possible throughout the whole week. He would actually break out of the norm and request to his families to leave him alone. Partly, he realized others’ emotions were secondary and his primary. However, being soft and kind as he naturally is, he was only half successful and compromised two or three times a week so that they would visit him. 

 In many starry nights, there was a brief moment in his sickness that would give him the slightest reason to live longer. It was the moment when he would recall even younger youth with his friends. There were always five of them. Five seemed like the perfect number because of his friends and Sean. It has been so long; it has been seven years already since their last reunion. Everyone is on their different tracks in life since seven years ago. A lot has happened come to think of it, from the last days together until now. Sean knew that due to his sickness his parents have cried the most, but if his last days are having its significant counts on him, he would have the most laugh with his four friends. It would be very soon for the five to reunite because Sean’s news have been dispersed. 

‘I wonder what they are up to at this moment, are they admiring the same immense sky with so many stars tonight? How will they react when they see me? How did they react when they first heard that I have been diagnosed with cancer?’ Sean wondered as he stared through the window displaying pure darkness except the countless stars. 

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Starry Night. Vincent Van Gogh 1889

2011 AFC Semi-Final: S.Korea vs. Japan

    
       So apparently, Japan was dominant in the first half. Their passes were clear and direct. It also seemed like OT against Iran had its full toll on South Korea. Either way, the game was intense not because the plays were immaculate, rather because they are their true nemesis. Any victory from sports competition between these two nations is commensurable to their patriotism. In truth, Japan displayed superior skills in every aspects. But the Korean mentality persisted and they led, trailed, and caught up with Japan, a very dramatic tie during the injury time in second overtime. To my disappointment, however, Chungyong Lee did not play up to his expectation. To my expectation, captain Park was truly an EPL player. Nonetheless, penalty shoot-out was very disappointing and I personally shifted responsibility to the head coach Cho. Why would he list young, less-experienced players to shoot first? It beats me, and it did all night during my sleeping hours. Well, I am not a hater and I congratulate Japan for their advancement. If anything, I wish that they take the AFC. Football (or soccer) is indeed an awesome sports and I hope that the jinx of S. Korea's performance in AFC will soon end. How does a semi-finalist in World Cup not win one AFC?

So I got two more followers...

Yes, it is quiet burdensome to write new blog posts. All my writing files are in my laptop so I can't post my original intentions, but to my fellow followers I would like to encourage you that it will come in very soon. I got two followers in last 2 days and I am proud of myself; even though, my followers had to make a gmail account right there and then with bit of coercion. Blessed are their souls. Anyways, not really in the habit of blogging, but it is slowly catching up on me, and just the thought of having my own blog excites me because of all the potentials I seek from it. Well, enough for today. By the way, the workout was really good today, getting bigger chests, bi- and triceps, and shoulders.

After an inspiration by John Chae~!

So, it is apparent that I started this blog thing soon after I saw it on John's page. Well, the notion of writing as hobby, stress reliever, and maintenance of sanity cannot be distinguished as to who had it first, but yes, the mode of expression and "publication" of my thoughts and random writings are "inspired" through John's. It is only fair to admit and warn to those who read my posts that I am not a professional, thereof, I do not feed upon readers' expectations, although sincere feedbacks to improve my expressions are genuinely accepted, and I am bound to no limitations. I do not know how often and persistent I will be with my journey of writing, yet consider this as generous disclosure of my thoughts--my reflections, opinions, goals, emotions, expressions, and etc--so that those who are willing to spend some time of their precious lives can equate and evaluate their thoughts reflected through my choice of words. In sum, I just want to share my piece of mind so that I can obtain peace of mind.