Old Forest - Wonderful Place, Worst Pornstar Name

My family has officially moved out of my childhood home.

Well to be fair, I've only been living there since 7th grade. But I've lived on pretty much the same block (in 3 different houses) since I was a wee babe.

I can't believe they moved out.

I say "they" as if I'm referring to some others, but I mean "they" as in my family.

I won't even have a room in the new house... I guess my home really is New York now (?)

While I was home, I was sorting through all the junk I've accumulated over the years and it was kind of hilarious coming across old yearbook inserts, gifts, pictures, love letters, diaries, etc. Even at the final reunion/bash at the Hong residence, my friends and I decided to walk through memory lane and look through all our awkward high school photos. Remember how skinny/fat we used to be? It felt like one of those montage-y Saved by the Bell episodes where everyone just reminisces about past episodes.

Good-bye house. I will miss the shenanigans.

this too shall pass

I saw Jersey Boys the other day. I really enjoyed it- the music (mo-town <3), the story, even the silly/awkward dancing. But after watching the musical, I couldn't seem to shake off a strange feeling pitted deep in my stomach.

After digesting it all, I realized that the show's themes of changing seasons, people falling away, and an inevitable loneliness really struck a chord with me and where my life's at right now.

The thing about New York (and I bring this up a lot) is that it's this place where everything is transitory. People are changing, situations are always evolving. There is no state of permanence or stability.

And it doesn't help that I work in a marketing agency- an industry that is in a constant state of flux. Employees are coming in and out like the place is a revolving door. People who have stayed at my company for longer than two years (our "veterans") are few and far between. Every time, I start developing a real sense of camaraderie with one of my co-workers, they always end up leaving. It's gotten to a point that when a co-worker leaves somewhere in the middle of the day or comes in a bit late, I ask him/her (with alarm in my eyes, I'm sure), "You're not interviewing are you?!" Yes, I've become a needy, paranoid co-worker.

And things are definitely changing at church. As the new TLC (our small groups) season starts, I can't help but remember last year with the warmest regard. Back then, we seemed so young and optimistic about the year to come: the things that we'll do together, the ways that God will work. And this year already feels different (for obvious reasons)... And my heart and my outlook on life in general feel tougher- that life isn't butterflies and rainbows, that people (including myself) don't have the best intentions all the time. And I will miss our old group, each of them individually and our dynamic as a whole.

But you know what's the saddest/weirdest thing about all this?
Even when we feel shaky about things and people fall away from our lives, it all passes and we recover and/or things "normalize" again. It's a life phenomenon.

I remember when I was leaving my old LA office and even breaking up with a past boyfriend, I realized that the saddest part of leaving people behind, is not necessarily leaving them behind, but its the fact that we'll eventually be okay without them. The human heart is so forgetful, so fickle. Just like how Frankie Valli was able to go on without the rest of the Four Seasons, its in my capacity to let go of things- that makes me the saddest.



Tonight you're mine completely
You give your love so sweetly
Tonight the light of love is in your eyes
But will you love me tomorrow?

Is this a lasting treasure
Or just a moment's pleasure?
Can I believe the magic of your sighs?
Will you still love me tomorrow?

styska se mi po tobe

It was a short, but sweet trip to Cali. It was definitely nice to see old faces... and it's reassuring to know that if things go wayward in the east coast, I'll always have somewhere to turn to. But I have to say- there is a bit of awkwardness when I see people again... not that people are necessarily awkward towards me, but more on my part. I think it has to do with knowing that things have changed (or at least that I have changed somewhat) and not really knowing how to carry on. I guess I just feel uncertain of how I should act... the last thing I wanted was to give off an air of a snooty New Yorker.

Milan Kundera, my favoritest author of all time (as I mentioned time and time again), encapsulates these concepts of "nostalgia" and "homecoming" so perfectly in his short novel, Ignorance. The main character, a Czech expatriate named Irena, returns home after living in France for 20 years. After years of being away, she feels strangely displaced as everyone still perceives her as if she was the same person she was when she left:

"Earlier, by their total uninterest in her experience abroad, they amputated twenty years from her life. Now, with this interrogation, they were trying to stitch her old past onto her present life. As if they were amputating her forearm and attaching the hand directly to the elbow; as if they were amputating her calves and joining her feet to her knees...Twenty years of her life spent abroad would go up in smoke, in a sacrificial ceremony. And the women would sing and dance with her around the fire, with beer mugs raised high in their hands. That's the price she'd have to pay to be pardoned. To be accepted. To become one of them again."

I'm not necessarily saying that people were trying to discount my experiences or my time away... in fact, it was quite the contrary. But I do understand the feeling of disconnect... and the necessity to let go of, or at least stifle, those experiences and my NY self in order to fully fit in back in cali again.

But one thing I realized as I was basking in the warmth from missed loved ones and the sunshiney weather was that my wandering heart really did find its place in NY. It's strange because as I was talking to people, I actually caught myself referring to NY as "home." And when people ask me when I'll be returning, I find myself answering "indefinitely" or "when I'm old... like 40+". But who knows, maybe one day I'll be stuffed like a sardine in a stinky subway listening to "I love L.A." on my ipod, and my heart will just be overwhelmed with an unbearable yearning for my hometown. But until that day- you know where to find me.

i laugh hard.

the young & elderly

One thing about being in NY is that all the people I come in contact with on a daily basis is in the age range of 21-35. In fact, I sometimes wonder if there are any kids/teens in NY since I barely even see them outside in public. At my work, my director/boss is one year shy of being 30, and I don't think there's anyone in the office in their 40's and above. Even the oldest married couples at church are in their early 30's (and it's not like we have a KM with older parents either). You would think it would be fun and exciting to be constantly around people your own age (which it is), but sometimes, I feel as though a part of my life feels empty.

I didn't realize how much this took a toll on me until today when I found myself playing with the babies at church (ah~ they're so cute) and gravitating towards these korean grandparents in the bus. A few weeks ago, after seeing some pictures of my nephew back at home, I realized how much I missed him and my niece. It was so strange... it wasn't like the kind of extremely temporal and sporadic hollowness I feel from missing friends at home (where I would think about them briefly and possibly end up texting or fb messaging them), but it was an almost painful, longing kind of heartache. I ended up calling their house and talking to them. I know they could care less about talking to me (I think their mom literally forced them on the phone while they were watching t.v.), but it warmed my little heart to hear their extremely high-pitched voices. I also called my grandma, and though she can't hear anything I'm saying due to her poor hearing, it was nice to be greeted by her screaming about how much she misses me. I can't wait to see them all for Christmas.

home away from home

Having my parents visit made me realize how much I've missed them... but at the same time, reaffirmed why I moved out in the first place.

It felt surreal having them here... my two worlds (New York life + Cali life) colliding. When they were here, my dad kept commenting about their old life in NY... how certain establishments were still standing, how things have changed. Like how there was this amazing pizza joint somewhere on this block, and I would shake my head frustratedly and say "appa, there are millions of pizza places..." While I was working, they'd conquer the city on their own, traveling seamlessly from Queens to Brooklyn to Manhattan to Jersey in the course of a day. As they stepped into our humble studio home, they commented on how we need to tidy up after ourselves; our week-long cleaning session was in vain.

I couldn't help but feel half-embarrassed as my dad stormed into quiet wine bars in East Village asking them (in his rowdy, half-drunken state) what time they were closing and what other good spots were in the area. And while there are a million awesome eateries in town, they just wanted some ssuh-lung-tang & soju. (Boy, was my dad in for a rude awakening when he found a soju bottle was thrice the cost!) Before they arrived, I was so ecstatic about their coming that I told myself there was no way that I would let the little things get to me. Oh, but how I was wrong. I saw myself quickly reverting to the irritable daughter with the short temper that I thought I got rid of when I left home.

For some reason, my dad was adamant on finding the landmark residence of O. Henry (the poet). In fact, we were searching every nook and alley of Greenwich Village on three separate occasions trying to find this freakin' house. We would go into random boutiques and stores, harassing store-owners for directions (of course, none of them had a clue). I was completely annoyed, unaware of why the heck this place was so important to my dad. Eventually, I found out that my parents discovered on the first day of their trip that their dear friends (another married couple) who they planned to visit, passed away this past year. Apparently, it was an extremely tragic incident that had to do with a suicide. 20+ years ago, my parents went on a double date with this couple at a pub nearby the O. Henry site, explaining my dad's relentless need of wanting to revisit this place. I wanted to kick myself afterward.

As they departed with hugs and kisses, I felt a little heaviness in my heart. Them being here reminded me of their beginnings, their sacrifices, and my own beginnings. Wow, that was very Amy Tan of me, but something about it made me feel a bit sad and strangely hopeful all the same.

revisited

Its 16 miles, to the promised land
and I promise you, I'm doing the best I can.
now don't fool yourself in thinking you're more than a man
cause you'll probably end up dead.

i visit these mountains with frequency
and i stand here with my arms up.
now some days, they last longer than others
but this day by the lake went too fast
and if you want me you better speak up- i won't wait
so you better, move fast

don't fool yourself in thinking you're more than you are
with your arms outstretched to me

Corinth, West Los Angeles, circa Summer 2008 (a time of hope & dreamz & far-fetched desires)

i miss 홍대

Voici mon secret. Il est très simple: on ne voit bien qu'avec le cœur. L'essentiel est invisible pour les yeux.

documenting

I finally woke up my old ibook after 3 years of hibernation...

yepp I got it the day I moved into ucla... that's the day right there:

Same girl with the same bad dye job.

I was going through my old files and pictures, and it made me feel oh-so-nostalgic.

And it kinda weirded me out because I could vaguely remember some of the pictures I took or the stuff I wrote... like, when did this happen? Isn't that a strange notion though? If we didn't capture our moments or write down our thoughts, there would be nothing to trigger those memories and they would just be lost forever...for-e-ver! that makes me think of my days and how I spend them. Many times, when people ask me what I did last week or last weekend or even just yesterday, my mind comes to a complete blank. Are my days so unmemorable that I can forget them so easily? Or do I just have really bad memory and need to write down or take pictures of everything to remember? That's why I decided I need to journal and take pictures more diligently. In order to remember. Because without it, I will feel like I never lived those moments. And that to me- is kind of scary.

Anyway... here's my old dorm room... i'd wake up to that lovely face of edward scissorhands every morning~


i look like the most ardent apple fan ever. also, is that colin pharrell on my wall? I don't even remember liking him in particular?




Ahhh~ so eager, wide-eyed, & hopeful. Before "life", before heartbreak, and before freshman 15. Oh, if I only knew.

fine like wine

Nothing makes you feel older than seeing the kids around you grow up.

Exhibit A: Indio

This is Robert Downey Jr.'s kid (in the middle) that was part of the MOCAmaniacs (a summer art program at MOCA when I was interning back in '05).

Back then he was still a pre-pubescent, Kurt Cobain- loving little rascal. Pretty dang cute too.

But now he's freaking taller than his daddy! And he's older than Minji from 2NE1!


I remember seeing R.D.Jr. at the end-of-the-summer art show (this was his pre-Ironman days when he looked more unkempt and grungy)... but he nodded at me in the hallway... I was about to faint. I loved him in Ally McBeal... that was a great show.

Anyway, you also know you're getting older when your age range of guys you would possibly date, keeps expanding. Back in high school, it'd be like heck no I wouldn't date anyone younger! Then in college... maybe a year (or two). Now it's like... as long as they're born in the 80's!

Same with the age ceiling.

Also, your standards start getting more and more lax (see "Up in the Air")... as long as he has hair. Or you can go the other opposite extreme and start having ridiculously high standards with the mentality that since you waited this long, might as well be someone perfect. Maybe that's the good thing about marrying your high school/college beau. It's almost like a fated situation and there's less pressure on both parties to be each other's ideal types.

adieu

I crept out the bed at the break of dawn
Like a half-hearted lover in an expired affair.
I packed up the last of my belongings and numbly stared
At the hollowed rooms of our idyllic youth.
Our Still Life with Plastic Banana & Knife.
The wilted paper mistletoe that hung
As an homage to all things beautiful.
I checked my unkempt bedhair in that forbidden bathroom
that still conjured up feelings of tension and unease.

Our last bohemian bastion of our tender greenness
That housed the lost & weary, the dreamy & restless.
Haphazard dinners, solo dance parties,
Friday nights where I ain't got nobody~
The humble, little artist colony
That witnessed the birth of poetry and music.
I stood at the street corner, perched on the broken bicycle seat
Feeling a cold chill signaling that the dog days are over.
Heaving a sigh into the desolate, grey skies
I paid a silent farewell to my sweet corinthian home.

butterfly in the sky...

I heard the saddest news today on NPR while I was driving to work... "Reading Rainbow" will be canceled after a 26-year run (the show was two years my senior!)

It was the third longest running children's program on P.B.S. (after Sesame Street & Mr. Rogers). I remember, as a kid, watching this show everyday after coming home from school. The book recommendations by the kids at the end were the greatest... with that little sound after each book review. Da-dah-dun!

Aside from cuts from funding, it was reported that they also cancelled the show because it only taught kids why to read, not how to read and how it is more important to have programs with phonics and spelling. But I believe that it is just as important. I would've never given up precious "Duck Tales" and "Chip & Dale" time for a lesson on reading mechanics.

*sigh* I will miss you Levar Burton in all your cheesy glory.

stephenie meyer, eat your heart out

I was perusing through the children's books section the other day at the library. I figured if I really want to take this librarian thing seriously, I should pay some attention to what's going on with the children and young adult sector.

Well I was dawdling along, I couldn't help but feel nostalgic for my wee days as an avid library junkie.

Here are some of my favorites:

American Girls Collection: the Samantha Series
These books could make my list just by their mere aesthetic value. I loved their quality white trade paper pages and their beautiful colored illustrations. I read all of the old-school series (Kirsten, Molly, Samantha). I think my fixation was partially derived from my blasé attitude towards the current period that I lived in (It was such a bore growing up as a SoCal Korean-American girl in the 90's!), because I loved hearing stories from a different era especially Samantha's period (1904, "The Edwardian era"). I really wanted to be Samantha Parkington (no kidding... for my 10th birthday, I even dressed up like her and had a Samantha-themed party).

Judy Blume "Starring Sally J. Freedman as Herself"
The lighter, less serious of Blume's books (Blubber was just too mean, Are You There God? talked too much about periods and boobies which my pure, innocent mind wasn't ready for)... Sally J. Freedman was a fun read that still sticks with me today. She was so adventurous and full of spunk. I felt very connected to her and her very real, unglamourous experiences growing up (e.g. getting head lice, fighting with her brother, being brought up by her granny, even getting pooped on by a bird & finding a cockroach in her Chinese food). I didn't know who Adolf Hitler was at the time, but I remember I started suspecting random neighbors of being Adolf Hitler.

E.L. Konigsburg "From the Mixed Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler"/C.S. Lewis "Lion, the Witch, & the Wardrobe"
Thanks to these books, I always checked every closet in hopes of finding another world and tried to trick my parents in letting me sleep over the mall countless times (I know... the kids slept over the Met, but there wasn't a museum in close vicinity of my home and besides, the mall has so much more amenities). My friend and I even constructed this intricate, "fail-proof" plan of being stranded at our mall: we would tell our parents that the other person's parent was going to pick us up, and we would sleep in the Department store beds, get hotdogs from the Hot Dog on a Stick booth, play with all the toys at K.B. etc.. But our parents talked to each other, and we got caught!

Donald J. Sobol "Encyclopedia Brown" Series

I had the biggest schoolgirl crush on this boy (I guess I've always had a soft spot for geeks). Though some of his "cases" were kind of bogus, I loved the interactive element of these books. I also liked the "Choose Your Own Adventure" series, but they kind of spooked me out (and plus I would always cheat).

Ann M. Martin "Babysitters Club"/ Francine Pascal "Sweet Valley Twins"

I feel as though the Wakefield twins and the BSC members were like my childhood friends. I lived vicariously through their school dances, movie dates, club meetings, trips to Hawaii, murder mysteries, Christmas specials, etc. Oh how sweet it is to be a young, pretty, white pre-teen~ Okay, I have to cut Ann M. Martin some slack... so the BSC was a bit more ahead of their times with an Asian girl (Claudia <3) and a Black girl. And I liked how Claud wasn't a stereotypical, nerdy, unpopular Asian either... in fact, she was kind of illiterate.

Jerry Spinelli "Maniac Magee"

Spinelli frequents the theme of "the outsider overcoming all odds." Magee would be #2 in my creepy list of young fictional boys I wanted to date while I was a kid. This book is like Westside Story, Forrest Gump, and Huckleberry Finn wrapped up in one story. Even as a elementary student, I could remember reading this book and thinking it was amazing. I tried reading some of Spinelli's other books, but "Stargirl" and "Eggs" annoyed me to no end.

Louis Sachar "Wayside School Series"

Until this day, I have yet to find childrens' books that are as funny, clever, and entertaining as this series (Actually, "Diary of a Wimpy Kid"is pretty good). Sachar is a genius. I was always jealous of the kids at Wayside and was discontent with my lame flat, one-storied elementary school. I loved his stories and his characters: Poor Todd always getting detention, Benjamin Nushmutt and his unfortunate name, Miss Mush and her mystery meat, Miss Zarves and her non-existent 19th story classroom. I remember feeling a little depressed and going into mourning when the school was shut down in the sequel "Wayside School is Falling Down"... but then, they made a comeback with "Wayside School Get's a Little Stranger" and it was all good.

2008 in a nutshell

overplayed til my ears bled, but will always remind me of moments of the yesteryear.

asobi seksu- thursday
the kinks- strangers
she & him- i should have known better
thao- big kid table
thao- fear and inconvenience
beatles- if i fell
camera obscura- a sister's social agony
css- air painter
lykke li- little bit
lykke li- hanging high
black kids- i'm not gonna teach your boyfriend how to dance you
radiohead- bodysnatchers
clazziquai- romeo & juliet
rilo kiley- pull me in tighter
rilo kiley- capturing moods
MGMT- kids
bang gang- stop in the name of love
jason mraz- if it kills me
ting tings- be the one
chairlift- bruises
goldfrapp- happiness
M.I.A.- pretty much anything
jon brion- little person

when life gives you lemons...

The other day as I was walking home from work I saw a couple of kids putting up a lemonade stand. I was breezing on by nonchalantly- headphones in ears, ipod in hand- as they were yelling at me noisily from across the street. Their sign said “Save Darfur now! Buy Lemonade!” They looked like they were no more than 10 years old, probably younger.

What was I doing at 10 years of age? My friends and I were trying to sell packaged oreos door-to-door to raise money for Disney Cruise tickets. Of course when we amazingly earned ~5 dollars, we gave in to temptation and bought ice cream instead. And here are these selfless young 'uns- trying to raise global awareness.

I wanted to kick myself for not carrying cash.

Revisiting

If I had to pick one thing I dislike about the Los Angeles area, it would be its bustling driving culture. I personally enjoy walking and taking public transportation as I did all throughout Korea and when I visited the east coast. Even in the west LA area, I always find some petty excuse to walk everyday- oh I need to drop off that library book or I should buy some cereal from the market. I imagine when I grow old, I’ll be one of those visor-wearing grandmas who always takes evening strolls with her old grandpa husband.

Being the restless and jittery person that I am, I decided to take a walk around my good ol’ neighborhood in Hacienda this past weekend. I have to say it’s been a while. I was in the mood to be swept away by a wave of nostalgia, ready to scrounge up fading images of childhood days and to feel a general air of wistfulness.

But something about it all was a bit haunting.

All the houses seemed to peer out at me with their solid expressions- their boxy window eyes and their scaled garage teeth. Some, I noticed, got makeovers with paint jobs or freshly manicured lawns. These renovations were slightly jarring. I wanted things exactly how I left it, and those houses were just “trying too hard.” I passed by my old schoolfriend’s house except she doesn’t live there anymore. Some new family with three little kids roaming around in the grass. They didn’t know that I, this strange passerbyer, was in their domain once, knew the contours of their home, used their toilet. The all-too-knowledgeable ex-girlfriend.

Then, I passed by that one house… “my paradise dream home.” You know how there’s one in every block- the house that sticks out like a sore thumb. The one that’s been remodeled and looks too pretty and polished to be with the rest of its rundown neighbors. Just its overwhelming presence seems to taunt the others. In all it’s out-of-place glory, I remember wanting to live there. I wanted more than anything to knock on that front door with the “welcome friends” wreath and yell “I’m home!” But looking at it now, the pink paint was blaringly tacky and even the wreath seemed tongue-in-cheek. Oh, how fickle one’s heart can be.

Then, there was that one house with that scary german shepherd that could always be found growling behind its barred gate. “Beware of Dog” the words shot out as if the dog itself wasn’t a warning sign. My steps would increasingly quicken as I would pass by, secretly praying to God that the dog wouldn’t jump over the gate and demolish me. Just as a pre-caution, I would always scan the street for some straggling neighbors or opened doors- places I could run to for protection. But this time, as I passed, there was no angry dog- no sign even. And it made me wonder if the family moved away or if the monster died. For some reason, the thought of its death made me unexpectedly sad. The house seemed desolate without the echoes if its consistent bark.

All the houses, the empty street (the places that captured the golden years of my childhood) seemed suddenly larger-than-life… presenting new wisdoms that were unsettling rather than reassuring. My assuming arrogance shaken by the harsh reality that I couldn’t hold this place “this Old Forest Road” in a permanent snow globe immune from change or tarnish.

Next stop- Wilson High.