1.21.2011
1.18.2011
it could be anyone
I have always had this annoying habit when meeting new people where I would instantly try to pinpoint who they remind me of (and everyone always reminds me of someone). This is annoying for others particularly because:
1. They usually have no idea who I end up saying they look/act like therefore they cannot classify that person (and themselves) as good-looking, ugly, charming, stupid, etc.
2. Ultimately, people don’t really want to hear they’re not as unique as they thought.
Sometimes it’s the obvious traits (the pretty, almond eyes or the maternal behavior) but more frequently it’s the subtle idiosyncrasies that only a keen eye can catch (the oddly misplaced intonations of their speech or the expression they make when they furrow their eyebrows).
There are 8 billion people in the world. There’s no way you can be wholly unique. Plus, when people are brought up in same neighborhood in Los Angeles, those chances decrease substantially.
It’s funny how dispensable people can be. But at one point in time, you thought otherwise. You were indubitably convinced that that person is unique to your life and is utterly irreplaceable. All those little quirks about that person from the musky scent of their deodorant to the slightly wheezing noise of their laugh were specifically created to complement you. You feel the greater force of God working through this person, his intellectual design imprinted on this special human being. That’s why the loss is so disheartening.
But then you experience more. And you grow wiser. And you realize that compartment isn’t as specialized as you once thought. In fact “that person” isn’t just one particular person at all. People aren’t like puzzle pieces. They are more like liquids that fill these ice cube trays (you know the ones with the funny shapes) and are able to freeze with just the right temperature, but all they need is that right temperature… the right circumstances to make it all fit. In fact, his spot is just this void that you can fill in with who seems right at the moment, constantly evolving with who you may be at the moment. And the little habits and the embarrassing pet names just get carried over right where they ended. Because essentially, people are all people and they just need/want the same things. You realize that perhaps timing is more important than the person himself. So what, if you guys get along so perfectly if you are still young and want to experience more? He may be the best boyfriend/lover/friend in the world, but if he’s your first you still thirst to see what else is out there. Circumstances will work against you, and you end up with someone that may not be so perfect at all.
It’s all conditional. Or at least we would like to believe that in order to feel better about ourselves.
1.13.2011
imagine there's no heaven
michael chabon's take on obama's speech:
Having struggled all the way through to make my own sense of sorrow and confusion congruent with what I saw happening in Tucson, having found that point of tangency at the rueful and admonitory heart, the father's heart, of the speech, I fell all the way out again, right at the end. "If there are rain puddles in heaven," the president said, evoking the words of an unnamed contributor to an album of photos of babies born on 9/11, "Christina is jumping in them today."
I tried to imagine how I would feel if, having, God forbid, lost my precious daughter, born three months and ten days before Christina Taylor-Green, somebody offered this charming, tidy, corny vignette to me by way of consolation. I mean, come on! There is no heaven, man. The brunt, the ache and the truth of a child's death is that he or she will never jump in rain puddles again. That joy was taken from her, and along with it ours in the pleasure of all that splashing. Heaven is pure wishfulness, an imaginary solution to the insoluble problem of the contingency and injustice of life.
But I've been chewing these words over since last night, and I've decided that, in fact, they were appropriate to a memorial for a child, far more appropriate, certainly, than all that rude hallooing. A literal belief in heaven is not required to grasp the power of that corny wish, to feel the way the idea of heaven inverts in order to express all the more plainly everything—wishes, hopes and happiness—that the grieving parents must now put away, along with one slicker and a pair of rain boots.
oh chabon, if you only knew.
Having struggled all the way through to make my own sense of sorrow and confusion congruent with what I saw happening in Tucson, having found that point of tangency at the rueful and admonitory heart, the father's heart, of the speech, I fell all the way out again, right at the end. "If there are rain puddles in heaven," the president said, evoking the words of an unnamed contributor to an album of photos of babies born on 9/11, "Christina is jumping in them today."
I tried to imagine how I would feel if, having, God forbid, lost my precious daughter, born three months and ten days before Christina Taylor-Green, somebody offered this charming, tidy, corny vignette to me by way of consolation. I mean, come on! There is no heaven, man. The brunt, the ache and the truth of a child's death is that he or she will never jump in rain puddles again. That joy was taken from her, and along with it ours in the pleasure of all that splashing. Heaven is pure wishfulness, an imaginary solution to the insoluble problem of the contingency and injustice of life.
But I've been chewing these words over since last night, and I've decided that, in fact, they were appropriate to a memorial for a child, far more appropriate, certainly, than all that rude hallooing. A literal belief in heaven is not required to grasp the power of that corny wish, to feel the way the idea of heaven inverts in order to express all the more plainly everything—wishes, hopes and happiness—that the grieving parents must now put away, along with one slicker and a pair of rain boots.
oh chabon, if you only knew.
1.10.2011
two girls w/ larger-than-life dreams
This past weekend as I was moving my stuff from Jersey to Long Island City, it really hit me that my cousin will be leaving to Korea in less than a month. Ever since arriving in the east coast, she has been my cornerstone and mentor, teaching me all the know-hows and the whereabouts of this crazy place.
We've been through such extreme highs and lows together. Oh, I'll never forget our own personal "great depression"- our period of unemployment with no foreseeable end in sight. Those days we would get bummed out being in our little basement we called a home and snuck out to the local mart to get some mahk-guh-lee (white rice wine). But we had our good times too... the all-night escapades with strangers we met only the night before. She was my Sigourney Weaver to my Jennifer Love Hewitt (à la Heartbreakers).
We were never very close growing up though she would always send me beautifully crafted, handmade birthday gifts from Korea and I would send her the newest Backstreet Boys and Britney Spears CD's, which she loved. Funny how she claims when we were young, she thought I was the most coy and sneaky little girl. Like the time she claims she asked me for a certain toy, and after willfully saying she could have it, I would go behind her back and quietly whimper to my older brother. She said I was quite the "yuh-woo" (trans: fox). However, as we grew up, I think our roles reversed. She is now one of the most cunning people I know, and somehow I've turned into a naive, oblivious little thing. She was always so good at taking care of me whether it was making sure she got an extra yogurt for me from a restaurant or protecting/wingmanning for me whenever I needed it. I remember one of our new guy friends would exclaim how I became so mean all of a sudden after his first impression of me being a sweet, nice girl. My cousin would butt in and say "it's because I taught her well."
God, I'm gona miss her.
We've been through such extreme highs and lows together. Oh, I'll never forget our own personal "great depression"- our period of unemployment with no foreseeable end in sight. Those days we would get bummed out being in our little basement we called a home and snuck out to the local mart to get some mahk-guh-lee (white rice wine). But we had our good times too... the all-night escapades with strangers we met only the night before. She was my Sigourney Weaver to my Jennifer Love Hewitt (à la Heartbreakers).
We were never very close growing up though she would always send me beautifully crafted, handmade birthday gifts from Korea and I would send her the newest Backstreet Boys and Britney Spears CD's, which she loved. Funny how she claims when we were young, she thought I was the most coy and sneaky little girl. Like the time she claims she asked me for a certain toy, and after willfully saying she could have it, I would go behind her back and quietly whimper to my older brother. She said I was quite the "yuh-woo" (trans: fox). However, as we grew up, I think our roles reversed. She is now one of the most cunning people I know, and somehow I've turned into a naive, oblivious little thing. She was always so good at taking care of me whether it was making sure she got an extra yogurt for me from a restaurant or protecting/wingmanning for me whenever I needed it. I remember one of our new guy friends would exclaim how I became so mean all of a sudden after his first impression of me being a sweet, nice girl. My cousin would butt in and say "it's because I taught her well."
God, I'm gona miss her.
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