Spring Cleaning

Hello, my lovely reader(s?). I have been away for a while. I promise, for those of you who really enjoy me unloading all my personal junk in public, I am not done. I've been journalling (they have this new thing called paper, it's weird) and I'm going to upload some stuff more often. Then you will be able to look at my life, and my attitude about said life, and you will be filled with an infinite sense of gratitude that you are not me :)

Coming soon...

Guess What, Universe?

I win.

Further details as events warrant :)

Conspiracy to Suicide

I'm pretty sure my email address is going to kill me.

Not because it's based on a name I gave myself in high school when I used to make things out of duct tape with Devin and Jensen, which may or may not have included a full super hero costume with a logo I emblazoned upon the chest in sharpie.

It's not that.

(perhaps I should forget about "may or may not." There's summer camp video footage floating around somewhere...)

The reason that my email address is going to kill me is because it, along with my Facebook profile, Youtube account, Hulu (before it was blocked in S. Korea), Blogger account (who said that?) and the complete series of Arrested Development that I now own, exists as part of a unified battalion with only two perogatives:

1. Soak up 24 hours.
2. Convince me that I will need them again tomorrow.

Now, I am completely convinced that some form of my subconscious is in league with them to destroy me. You can call me crazy, but that doesn't mean that I'm not right. They are going to wreak havoc on my body, pillage my home, and I'm the one who left the front door unlocked.

Distractions are far more deadly than we give them credit for. I realize that now. I have wasted hours that have become days, that have become weeks, that have become months, that have become years. My entire life is the only thing they have left to take.

I allowed this to happen.

Perhps it's new years that made me aware of what I do with my time. For the last two years, I have made a tradition of evaluating myself and asking where I want to be by the time this year is up. I try to keep my goals reasonable, but it's such an empowering thing to have goals, and I'm usually not near my computer when I do this, so I forget that I am subconsciously conspiring with my massive array of distracting shit to keep me from being effective at anything. This year's goals were lofty, and twice as long as last year's goals because they included all the stuff I never got done from last year. I don't want to list them, because I think that will make me feel accomplished, when in fact, I am not.

The really sad thing is, I really think it is possible to accomplish all of the things I want to accomplish this year, if I can stay focused. In fact, I think it is possible to do even more than what I have in mind. The problem is, it's all a shallow dream if I'm not willing to put in the work that needs to be done.

...and I think I'm not.

I have no idea how many times I check my email in one day. I have a routine. It goes like this.

(1.) Email. look at stuff, respond to a few things, "remember" to go back and finish with the rest.
(2.) Facebook. See if there are any new reminders/postings/comments for me. If not, see what everyone else is doing. Notice that (name of cute girl or old friend) is online. Consider chatting with them. Chicken out.
(3.) Youtube. start with the recommendations. Move on to links in the sidebars of said recommendations. Look up music videos to old songs that I don't really even like enough to own, but just remember from High school.
(4.) Back to Facebook. Post links from said music videos to friend's profiles. Eagerly wait for return comments.
(5.) Email again. Suddenly remember all the emails I have to respond to but forgot. Get new messages. Briefly consider doing something important, like getting some exercize (I put on 2 kg over vacation) or working on that book (I'm supposed to be a brilliant novelist by now) or spending some time reflecting on the Scriptures. Chicken out. Back to number (1).

I have spent days doing this, over and over. That line about reflecting on the scriptures really hit me hard. Is it strange that I call myself Christian while doing nothing to study and understand the life of Christ? I seem to think I know a lot about him, but it's been a while since we've talked.

All the while, I've spent hours that become days, checking and going back, and checking and going back. Evenings reach puberty and become weeks, and gradute into months, and settle down into years, and I'm just praying that I will accomplish an honest days work before retirement.

These things look small and harmless, but they are death, as I understand death to be nothing more than the taking of a life.

And I have conspired to kill myself with them. To fill the room with emptyness, only to be strangled by the hands of nothing. The only thing remaining would be a lifetime of lists: all the things I wanted to be.

The judge will rule not guilty.

Surely it was consentual.

Quick and Deep

I'll avoid the obvious "that's what she said" joke, because I think my mom reads my blog now...

Why do I fail?

Is it because I am weak?

quick to regret?

slow to reply?

perhaps, but...

Failure is not

a stumbling block,

sign to stop,

beginning of saying

"I guess I'd be better off..."

Failure is a sign.

Not a red octagon

but a yellow painted

arrowed line.

I fail because I continue

to try.

(how could I possibly fail otherwise?)

생일축하합니다 (it reads better if you translate it after reading the post)

I woke up this morning to a knock on my door.

Suh-ti-bun. question, question, I'm sorry. How old are you?

26.

Twenty six. Okay okay. Goodbye.

I've been asked that question so many times since moving to Korea that I didn't bother to think about why he would choose this time to ask me that. It just seemed like he needed to know. It was time for me to get up anyway. We are going to tour Seoul today, and I am leaving for Daegu tomorrow.

I feel the need to take a moment to prepare myself for the full-frontal invasion that is to be breakfast today. My stomach isn't awake yet, and telling a Korean that I don't normally eat breakfast is a mistake that I have no desire to repeat. You get a similar reaction to how an American reacts to the fact that they eat a soup made from dog meat here. It's not that I mind so much the type of food I eat. In fact I have grown extremely accustomed to it. The problem with Hyounjun's mother's cooking os one of volume. The sheer number of things she expects me to eat is staggering. I have never tried so hard, nor failed so badly at having a "masculine" appetite. It's just not in me anymore.

It actually took me a while to adjust to the sight of it.

Koreans normally eat fish, rice, kimchi, and some sort of soup for breakfast. Their breakfasts are a lot like our lunches and dinners. The bakeries in this country are not usually open in the early mornings, and the people who work in such establishments usually stare at me for a good amount of time if I buy a pastry or doughnut before noon. All this to say, I was VERY surprised to see a cake in the middle of the table.

There were seven candles in it.

Hyounjun's father knows how to sing 'Happy Birthday' in English, while his mother only speaks Korean. I don't know how they knew. Hyounjun must have told them. I usually don't mention my birthday, since it's so close to Christmas, and everyone is pretty tired from the holidays. I think it's been several years since someone has bought me a cake, and even longer since they sang the 'happy birthday' song. In fact, I've never heard it in Korean.

Happy birthuh day Suh-ti-bun. I love you.

I love you too.

Hyounjun called later that day. He said happy birthday, and then his mom asked him to say something to me.

Stephen? Yeah, my mom says to give her your dirty laundry so she can wash it before you go. Trust me, you don't want to fight her.

I don't think anyone has done my laundry since I was sixteen. I can't believe of all the things se wanted to say to me, that was the thing that was most important.

Hyounjun mama. Suh-ti-bun mama. It's okay.

She's been studying me like a hawk, trying to figure out what I like and don't like. She pours me water with my meal (most Koreans don't drink water when they're eating) in the cup with a picture of a bear on it (I like bears). Breakfast was 잡채, 불고기, and of course, cake.

이것먹어. 많이 먹어.

We went off to see Seoul, Hyounjun's father and I. She buttoned up my sweater and smothed out the wrinkles, adjusting my scarf and making sure my hat was on straight.

Handsome boy, Suh-ti-bun. Handsome boy.

I think she's probably the reason why a lot of Korean men have unrealistic expectations of their wives, or their girlfriends. If I grew up in this culture, I would be sooooo spoiled. I still find it so strange to be loved so much by someone who barely even knows me, and can't really communicate with me at all.

I mentioned earlier this month that I don't have a lot of pictures of my face on this blog. Actually I don't think I have any. This one seems worthy though. This is me and my 엄마.

사랑해요.

I've Got My Love To Keep Me Warm

Today was my first day of vacation since 초석. I woke up early and took the 401 bus to the international Airport. I waited there. About 10 minutes later, I got a phone call, and a white van pulled up to gate 1. A well-dressed Korean man got out of the van and started to load my bags into it. Though his English skills were limited (much less limited than my Korean, btw), his welcoming attitude towards me was translated instantly.

Suh-ti-bun? I am so happy seeing you!

반갑습니다.

I am trying to speak in Korean whenever I feel like know how to say something. Anything to make it easier for him, especially after he woke up at 5AM just to drive down here and pick me up. I have never spoken to this man before, but he happens to be the father of one of my best friends.

Suh-ti-bun...um...Korea? You like your time?

네. 한국 촣아요.

Ah. Good! Now. let's go please. We will...home...3:30. 3:30? yes. Let's go.

It's snowing. I should say now that I think snow is magic. I think the main reason for this is the fact that I'm from California, and I have only seen snow once there. Since, I have seen it 3 more times, all of them in this country.

Snow dances. It spins around in the wind, catching every note, every beat of the air around it. It almost feels like it's alive. I can't imagine a more beautiful thing, nor would I dare to think how jaded I would be about the whole thing if I grew up somewhere where it snowed every year. I think maybe I won't let my children see the ocean until they are adults.

Is it weird that I still hold my breath every time I drive through a tunnel? Jon and I used to do that every time we went on the 1 freeway to the Monterey Bay Aquarium. I like to go there to watch the tourists watch it. Somehow we forget that it's amazing when it's near us all the time. The problem with holding your breath in Korea is that their tunnels are so long you rarely can even see the light at the end. I can't ever seem to make it the whole way on one breath. I feel like a failure. He's watching me struggle towards the end. Perhaps he thinks I'm claustrophobic or something, but I guess he figures that I am uncomfortable going through tunnels. He speeds up a little when he drives through them. It helps some, but I still can't get through on one breath.

Just breathe. It was only valuable when you believed it.

Suh-ti-bun. You like lunchey? Korean food you like?

네. 한식 좋아요.

He takes me to the first restaurant he can find labeled "western food." I guess whatever I said before didn't translate quite right. The "western food" menu had such items as 도까스 and 회빕빔밥 on it. Funny, I don't remember my mother serving me any raw fish OR raw egg when I was little. I certainly eat plenty of it here. Somehow, he finds me a fork. I'm sort of awkward with forks now. It has been a while. It hasn't really been that long, it's just... I've taken in everything so fast, I feel like I've been here forever. I had American food for Christmas this last weekend, and It really upset my stomach. My body is craving rice and 김치, and my fingers feel more comfortable around a set of chopsticks these days. I don't know why, but I feel like I'm going home. I'm going home with a perfect stranger who is anything but a stranger. He has Hyounjun's face. He stops to pray before eating. When did I stop doing that?

This country is so f%*$ing beautiful.

As the snow performs pirouettes around the cold mountain air, it masks everything but what it wants me to see. The mountains. The skeleton trees like rows of repentant sinners waiting for evening mass, their arms raised to the sky. Again, the snow only shows us what we were meant to see.

This city is called the 분당.

분당?

Yes. The 분당.

He twirls his hands in the air like a circus ringmaster.

White Christmas, yes? Let's inside go. 많이 cold. 많이 많이 cold.

His wife is inside. She has been waiting. She called several times to make sure we were alright. When I get inside, she grabs my hand and takes me into where I will be staying for the next 5 days.

Suh-ti-bun 방. 현준 방.

She speaks even less English than he does, but there is something that translates instantly. She has a lot of food prepared for me, but this time (I had met her before) I know how to say "I'm full," so I've got the jump on her. I'm going to find a way to break it to these people that I am able to use chopsticks, after I enjoy a bit of their frantic rush to find what I assume is the only fork they own. They never do, so I have to tell them. Oh well, fun's over. She sits next to me, watching me eat, talking to me in Korean. I understand almost none of it, but I don't think she cares. These are things she needs to say. I think that once someone becomes a mother, they will always need someone or something to take care of. I must have some food or something on my face, because she gets a wet rag and wipes the corner of my mouth with it.

한국 남자친구 있어요?

남자친구? 없어요.

He laughs.

She wants you to have a Korean girlfriend. She thinks you are very handsome.

I smile awkwardly like I usually do.

감사합니다.

She grabs my arm again.

You,현준 same. I love you.

She want to... treating you like... her son.

There are a lot of things in this world that I don't understand. I don't get most of my life these days, why I do the things I do, why I go the places I go. It's like everything is covered by these dancing weather patterns. White Christmas. Everything is beautiful and nothing is clear.

So here's the deal, God.

I don't know why you don't want me to see everything, and I have no idea what will happen next. I do not know why you put me here, or why I feel so inclined to stay. I don't want to ask why anymore, because I'm so glad you did.

Maybe someday it will stop snowing, and I'll see everything. Until then, I have seen enough.

Oh come, Oh come.

He came quietly.

Like all those He sent before Him, He was not recognized by people of good reputation.Those sorts of people do not spend time looking for pregnant teenagers having children in dark caves. Why would they? Nothing ever comes of that sort of thing.

He needed her.

He had chosen her to care for Him, to wrap Him in cloth, to bed Him down in the trough. It was the best she could do, and He would often go without the things that other chidren had. She cherished and pondered the great mysteries of the universe, that one thing that we would, that she would persue all her life and never get any closer to, but how He loved to see her run towards it. Could all of Him really fit into such a small and fragile thing?

He was a baby.

He could have been a man. He could have appeared on the earth with the ability to feed and care for Himself, but that is not what He chose. He chose the dark place, that dirty stall where good people are afraid to go. If these tragically flawed creatures could not care for Him, He would die. They would teach Him to speak, to walk, to dress Himself, to work, all the while in awe that He should not be theirs, but He gave Himself to them. He became what all other gods were too afraid to become.

Human.

He came to a world that had turned itself on its head.

There was already someone claiming to be the son of god. There were many claming solutions to every ailment, but it was not medicine that they needed.

It was freedom.

The problem was one of ownership. These things that they thought would be a help had become their masters, and there were debts to be paid, more than a lifetime, and so they had given over everything. Freedom would never come of their own accord, it had to be something bigger.

He was small.

Unless you were in That dark place, on that night so long ago, you would have to crane your neck to hear it. The sound of a child crying in a manger. He was God, and He put Himself in our care, not so that He would understand us, but so that we would know that there is nothing He would not endure to be with us, not even the lives that we had forced ourselves to live. They had prayed for thousands of years for this day, a faint hope.

Come, Immanuel.

It was with that cry in the night, so soft it was missed by nearly all. That sound that said:

I am here. Even at my weakest, I am stronger than whatever has you.

and the world has not stopped spinning since He left it.


Merry Christmas.