Old Shame?

While translating my story (thank god, I am almost done!) I looked up one of my old stories to see how I divvied up paragraphs - the story was copied and pasted on a webpage without a clear sense of paragraph break, so I had to blindly break paragraphs where it seemed appropriate.

Which led to reading my old high school stories all over again.

Oh dear god.

Why is everyone wildly expressing their feelings every time they have a sort of emotion?

I was also obsessed with withdrawn protagonists who had trouble opening up to family members or friends or potential significant others (what does this say about me?)

Because I feel like sharing, this is an excerpt from one of my "love stories":

*Names were changed due to embarrassment factor. Never give your characters stupid "fantasy" names.

“Oh, god,” Alice nearly collapsed on the chair beside his bed. She sat in silence, her large eyes showing horror and pain as she scanned his broken body. She had already cried a river hours ago. Now, when she thought she could handle it, tears began to well up her eyes again.

“You all right? How’s your ankle?” Bob asked softly. Alice stared in surprise.

“Me? How can you ask if I’m okay, look at yourself!” she exclaimed. “You were run over by that truck! You were dying, and your limbs are broken! How can you ask how I am?” More tears welled up, but they stayed there and didn't trickle down. “What about you, Bob, are you okay? Charlie told me you only woke up just now. It hurts a lot, doesn't it? It’s my fault, it’s my fault,” her words gushed out all at once as she buried her head at the foot of the bed.

Blargh. There's also this, I guess:

She actually loved him. She had loved him all along. When Bob was in the emergency room and had slipped into a dangerous coma, she’d realized that she couldn't live without Bob, even as a friend. When she visited him in the ward, when she helped him out with the rehab, she considered her actions as a repayment to him, but she knew that she was happy to be with him. It had taken several weeks to figure out the simple fact that she wanted to see him.

  

Ugh so cliche.

Yes, this is a love story; where Alice rejects Bob, Bob gets hit by a truck trying to save Alice, and then they get together. SOOOOO ROMANTIC.

But somehow... my older stories seem better-written, as stupidly melodramatic as they may be. Somehow they had raw emotions, the characters seemed more alive, more relatable. My characters in my college writing sounded rather flat and one-dimensional.

My writing muse has still not come back, and I don't know how to retrieve it.

Come back home, you bastard!

Putting on Appearances

Why am I writing entries about dress again? Clearly, I am not myself.

I was supposed to have dinner with a good friend of mine, who was going to DC in Fall semester and maybe study abroad in the Winter semester, so there was a good chance I might not see her again in college.

The friend asked if it was okay if she brought her roommate along.

"Sure," I said, because, unless there was a very valid reason, why deny her request?

But secretly, I was slightly intimidated; I knew her roommate. She was tall, pretty, and from what I can tell, quite the popular girl.

The fact that my friend's roommate was coming for dinner brought a sense of dread; what if she thought I was a complete loser?

I was coming back from working at the Daily; I was wearing a Michigan shirt and jeans. I had my glasses on and my hair was tied unfashionably in a ponytail. Anyone could see that I cared very little about my appearance. And a girl who looked like this was not the type of person any cool people would want to hang out with.

There was also the factor of feeling like I should look "Korean" enough.
Ever since being bullied and having my self-esteem destroyed pointed out that I wasn't "Korean" enough (never mind my passport) in terms of style, thoughts, drama watching and all other trivial things, I have been very much concerned about how other Koreans might see me. I felt the need to assert that "Hey guys, you and I are exactly alike, and I just don't hang out with most of you guys not because I'm some loser, but I just like having friends who I can feel REALLY comfortable with!"

Whoever said that girls dress to impress guys is a complete liar. Girls dress to impress other girls and put on an appearance that she is a person who matters, a person who is good enough to be "one of them" and thus not get shunned in a clique, a PTA meeting, or whatever social groups women make.

My neurosis was reaching into epic proportions. I have not been this nervous about dressing well since my first date in freshman year or other important occasions where I had to dress up. It's just a casual dinner, calm the fuck down! I told myself, but my mind was too freaked out to listen.

I rushed home while brainstorming what to wear for dinner. I showered while brainstorming what to wear for dinner. I dried my hair while brainstorming what to wear for dinner.

After much deliberation, I decided to wear a gray shirt with bicycle prints at the bottom (bought in Korea, even!), a pair of dark jeans, and flat white sneakers. I put on my contacts, patted on a bit of BB cream, put on clear lip gloss, opted against any other makeup (in case I look like a try-hard), put on a bracelet, sprayed some perfume, and took my big brown handbag, which was the fanciest-looking bag I had.

I thought I seemed pretty okay and that I could blend in. I walked out the door and went all the way to Sushiya.

As I opened the Sushiya door, my friend and her roommate greeted me, while dressed like this:

 In case it's hard to read: Roommate has an 'Asian updo', 'scarf', 'thin top' and 'small handbag/purse'. Friend has 'eyeliner', 'pretty blouse', and 'French manicured nails'.

Even with all my primping, they looked collectively fancier than I did.

I had forgotten how much Korean girls adorn themselves with little things that I do not possess/give a damn about.

'Ah'

I have once again failed to look like "one of them".

(The actual dinner went okay though, I think.)

Dress makes the Person

Today I learn the simple fact that my mother had drilled into my brain a billion times and a little more, but the one that it took a little self-realization for me to fully appreciate.

Dresses really do make the person.

I'm not saying that dressing up nicely makes a person look better; if that simple fact required writing a blog entry I probably would have to question my intelligence. I guess my realization is slightly different, but still related to dress regardless.

Robert, Andrew, and I went to the Manna Korean food store to buy stuff. While we were walking up and down the aisles we were (obviously) conversing in English, oohing and aahing over products and me telling what all the moonspeak in the funky items indicated.

After all the shopping was done, I went to the cashier and said hello to the lady in Korean because, well, I was Korean, and I thought it would be nice to be extra friendly.

Me:Ahnnyeonghaseyo!

Lady: Hello- ahnnyeonghaseyo.

*I take stuff out of the basket - I go crazy at Korean stores and buy a shit-ton of food*

Me: (In Korean) Ahaha, I bought a lot.

*Lady rings up price without a word*

Lady: (Korean) It is (English) $46. 49 (She says the $46.49 part  in English; forty six forty nine)

*I pay by card*

Me: (In Korean) Thank you, goodbye!

Lady: (Korean) Thank you, goodbye, (switches to English) Goodbye!

I was a little puzzled by her insistence on using English to me. Was it because I was hanging out with two "Western" guys, talking to them in English? Does that not make me seem like I can speak Korean? (I am always extremely a little sensitive about whether I appear "Korean enough" to others, but that is a story for another day.)

I initially thought being with Robert and Andrew was the reason the lady spoke to me in English, but later I remember that the last time I was here with Matt and Heidi, two very White-looking people, I talked to the lady in Korean and she responded in Korean without switching every word back into English. I am confused, but I let it pass.

Later, after all the shopping-cooking-eating adventure was over and I chat with Robert while walking him to his car, I realize something.

I am not stick-thin, I was wearing contacts, my hair was unstyled and hanging loose, I had on a huge black hooded jacket with beige shorts, and sneakers.

In short, my fashion attire was that of a thoroughly Americanized Asian American, or in cruder terms, like that of a "whitewashed" Asian American or a "Banana" or a "Twinkie", you get the picture.

As I point this out to Robert, he says, "Oooooh, that's why the lady kept on talking to you in English, it all makes sense now."

...Ooooooh.

Not to defend my choice or wardrobe or anything, but my fashion choice of the day was largely affected by my laundry and the still-cold May weather. I unfortunately had no more long pants to wear as they were either in the laundry bag or still drying from the hanger, so I had to resort to shorts. Since it was cold out, I wore my black hooded jacket. I wore sneakers because that's what I always wear, I kind of hate shoes with heels.

Oddly enough the combination created that look of an Asian American who prefers playing volleyball with her Asian sorority sisters and likes jogging in the sunlight and takes yoga classes at the CCRB and who probably can't speak a lick of their ancestrors' language; in my case, Korean.

With that amusing little encounter in mind, I resolve myself that I should dress better. It's not that I'm offended by being thought of as Asian American, it's just that as a Korean-Korean (...), it felt really weird to be branded as someone who can't speak Korean. Also, this has made me paranoid about what my attire suggests about me in other times and places as I'm not bothred with how I dress and just kind of wear whatever is in the drawer. WHAT STEREOTYPICAL IMAGE AM I INADVERTENTLY DISPLAYING ONTO ALL THE STRANGERS???

In Ann Arbor.

School has ended. I'm in Ann Arbor.
I'm staying here mainly to A) work at the Daily, B) study for GRE and C) and... that's about it, really. Besides, I now have an apartment that I can stay in, so why not? At least I have friends here. Dear god do I sound like a sad lonely kid.

For the past two days, I've been studying, writing articles, and generally trying not to fall back into that burnt-out state of mind that cost my GPA this most recent semester. Perhaps the whole fear about the future and pressure about getting a decent job to pay back my tuition just paralyzed me in fear; no wait, it does paralyze me in fear. Call me a weak, whiny wuss, but that's how it is.

I suppose I should be stronger and just bear it. All the college students are going through this cycle anyway (although the only thing preventing me from losing it completely is the portrayal of a hikikomori man I've seen in this one manga series - if anything, that series scares you into keeping your sanity intact even at the worst of times.)

I also needed an excuse to keep this blog running and not let it rot and die away once more. It is most peculiar - suddenly I am at a loss on what to write about.

Well, the summer is long, and I suppose I shall make the most of it.

P.S. Michigan's definition of May weather is like a biploar patient; sweating hot one day, and "I-actually-need-a-jacket" chilly on another, and rainy days in-between. Even the weather isn't really helping matters.