8/7/12 Tue. : 1st Day of O.T.

Nice, one thing is for sure. There will be challenges up ahead, but most of them are coming from me, not from my peer 1Ls. No doubt, we are privileged in our ways and the pack is definitely of the intellectual convention, however, I see most of them unthreatening. And with modesty I will be of same nature to them as well.  Encouragments can help, but don't depend on it. Remember, it is about the mind control, "One Shot, One Kill". I can accomplish this mentality. I ought to, must, need to strive in this aspect. Well, good job. The brighter side of the shade coming up ahead.

Short Story #1

The perspiration on his forehead is a hint of weather outside. Even before opening his eyes, he felt his throat soar from last night's inebriation. Like always, he imbibed more than he could, and should. The sun was scorching outside, no clock nearby, but instinctively he knew it was a gauche to start the day so late. From the small window in his room, and whatever the space allowed for the sun, the wooden coffee table and whatever was on top of it were enameled with the light's gold. The room was stifling. He thought, 'all these gold, yet I'm trashed.' He let out a cynical smirk and regretted not having the drapes closed the night before; he could've been put out of misery longer, but to have it inevitably come back that much later. He maneuvered  to reach a glass of water left on the coffee table. Lying on his chest ever since God knows when his body was contorted, as if performing complex yoga position, to drink for his survival. The result wasn't what he had hoped for--lukewarm--yet, he managed to drink to its bottom. He grimaced as the water left a scent of staleness, or whatever you expect from a lukewarm, old glass of water. He flipped to his back with his right forearm on his head and closed his eyes. Recounting yesterday, he remembered bits and parts of the club scene. Only fragmentary after his impressive 5-shot tequila streak. He grabbed fist with his right arm trying effortlessly to erase that memory of shame. It was only to prove that he was once a party animal like any of the genuine animals at the club. He remembered swiping his credit card for unnecessary juice. It was another moment of bravado only to be ripened to shame and regret. Squandered money, assiduously earned regret. Maybe five minutes have passed, he rescinded his mind  from yesterday's oblivious agony.

He got up, took a cold, half-empty orange juice carton out of the refrigerator, and gaited limpingly toward the balcony. It was totally middle of the day, and the shade didn't permit much space for him to stand there. He would've just head back in, but he lit his Marlboro. Uncomfortable as he was, his sandle was molding to his feet, or so he imagined. He thought, 'fuck it' and went back into the house with his cigarette still lit at the corner of his mouth. He left the door wide open.

He checked his pockets for his cell phone. The same jeans from yesterday. This time he said it out loud, "Fuck". Then soon he heard his phone ring. "Moves like Jagger~". The tone he admired, but now hackneyed. He picked it up under the sofa he was sleeping on, "Wssup, Chris".
"Hey bro, finally awake?" said Chris.
"I don't know, am I?"
"Haha, are your lips bruised up from talking all that candy into her ears?" pried Chris.
"No, my throat is soar like a mother," he replied unpretentiously, trying to elicit more truth about his lost memories of yesterday.
"Damn, you were trying yesterday. Well, I'm not surprised. How was the blonde? She was pretty up there with her hotness. Yikes!" said Chris with enthusiam congruent to yesterday's.

"Wha..." and before he could finish, he heard his toilet flush. His heart skipped a beat and in that brief moment scenes of yesterday night flashed at the back of his head. Loud music, dancing, accidental bump to a group next to his, laser lights flashing from bottom of her Jimmy Choo to her face with his eyes following the guiding light. Her skinny legs to bodacious curvatures accentuating lust for the eyes of beholders, tight, blue, one-piece skirt curtained by her silky blonde hair. Her eyes green, not too big, but edgy which her smiles were as visible with her eyes as her thin lips. Quick apologies, bravery triumphant, her group adjoining to his, bathroom break to regather the composure, inviting the girls to the VIP room. Silence is guaranteed in such rooms for sealing the deal for the night; time for mad sugar into their ears and uninterrupted from loud music. However, their room managed to keep up with energy that was vibrant on the floors. Four on four and the chemistry was great. Nonetheless, it was without a doubt that the blonde with green eyes was the trophy.
"Hey, I will have to call you back" he said in his whisper.
"Yo, wait man, tell me about..." Chris was ignored before he could finish.

He took out the cigarette from his mouth and threw it into the kitchen sink and walked towards his bathroom. He leaned on the door to eavesdrop but the door swung open. The blonde was standing giving him the impression that he should be ashamed of himself in a teasing expression with her index finger moving side to side. The thing about her eyes was that it was alluring and entrapping, very charismatic, but his peripheral vision alerted him that she was naked. She swung the door shut. He quickly went back to his bed room and saw her clothes everywhere. He thought, 'Wow, fantastic baby'.

Then he woke. His throat was sore from yesterday night's drinking. He was sweating because of the scorching sun outside. Everything the sun managed to reach had gold tint in the house. He twisted his body around to drink the lukewarm water from his coffee table. 'Man, what a dream. Why not the part of action in the dream?' he thought. Then "Moves like Jagger" rang and he picked up. It was Chris saying, "Hey buddy, how are you feeling?"
No reply.
"Dude, the blonde yesterday was so hot." said Chris.
Then he heard his bathroom flush. Startled by the sound, he said, "I gotta go".
"Wait, do you have..." Chris was ignored.
With slight hope and as vivid as his fresh dream lingered in his head, he approached the bathroom.
He can still remember the blonde's sexy body, her smiles, and her staggering beautiful green eyes. He held his breath and leaned to the bathroom door...

"any toilet papers?" Chris sheepishly asked.

New Expression of Anger

Knowing that without clarification and
Flying fists don't resolve anything but
Things get coiled even stricter
I let loose of my fury's boa constrictor.

It used to be that, a fist full of gist of my anger would suffice.
With age, I know that it doesn't make me fly, but another chain restricted.

My biggest fear is that, I cannot give back what I have secretly promised.
Promise without recognition, you suppose, exists no fear.

But more than keeping them, I have failed these promises.
I promised to be good to those who were good to me...
But have I been good?

I saw a film recently, of a man desperately with fury calling out to God for the last resort.
Unresolved ending with viewer's discretion as how it ends,
My biggest fear is that God does not hear me. Preceding fear overruled.
Yeah. That is my biggest fear.

People tell me that I'm an idealist who refuses to face the reality.
My priority was based on somewhere in the vagueness beyong this world's reality.
And everytime they said so, it infuriated me.
But the truth is that, with abhorrence to admission, it extinguishes more flame then I can feed.

Funny, how the word, "Fuck!" can have so many different meanings.
Funny, how the word, "Fuck!" can have much more profundity than any other decent words.
Funny, how the word, "Fuck!" suffices me, yet it will never to you.

So I say, "Fuck You"... at least then you will be as much as offended as I am struggled to say such barbaric words, with or without concerning you in the first place.

Reality versus Women versus Men

A poor man can propose to you saying, "I have had nothing in my life, and having you next to me means everything to me. I will do anything for you."

A rich man can propose to you saying, "I have had everything in my life, but nothing can complete me without you. I will give anything for you."

Now, women, think to yourselves and categorize which proposal you want.

When it comes to an end, it will sound like:

a poor man saying, "I know I didn't deserve you. You were a dream that cannot come true to people like me. I hope you find happiness, at least the happiness I couldn't give you and at most the happiness I wanted to give you."

A rich man saying, "I will never have experienced what I've had with you, if you aren't there. I will always remember you with a hole in my heart. Life never complete."

Either way, when you (women) feel the genuineness of a man's heart you'll know what his love was for you.

I'm not a sexist, but men are slaves of reality, either way, just as much as you women are. Now, the smarter (more calculative, and precise species of the two) women, might say I want to meet someone who has climbed himeslf up the ladder to have known penury and the success he has ripped, I will tell you something. If you are someone who was hesitating between the two previous options, you are out of the question to him. If you don't have something more than he has, then also you are out of the question. One thing about men, is that we are species of competitive residue, not by our will but by your (women) and society's will. It's only a matter of sheet of paper to see women as achivement or love.

More and more, we are cornered to do better. But by whose standards are we thriving? Sports cars? Playboy mansion? Fame? What it all comes down to is nothing but a  twig into the flame of vanity fair. In the last moments, we are doing what we are doing so that we can realize that it wasn't worth shit. Some kill, some die, some go crazy, some go sad, some go mad, some go back to zero. Pesimissim spitting, no, but there's no hero for residence. Anyone can become a hero for a moment, for whatever reasons. But don't waste your life trying to become a hero for someone else. Become a hero for yourself and just hope that God will find it good in His eyes.

My personal thought, worth less than two pennies to you, is that I hate myself becoming enslaved just like our fathers and you. Call me an idealist, romanticist, or a dumbass, or a spoiled brat who never realized aspect of your life. I'm used to it. Give me that finger. I accept it within my circumference of my understanding, for I know that you who give less than two pennies worth about what I think, is less than that for me.

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