The Silly Story of How I got a Gazillion Eyeshadows

(There are so many things I could technically write about. Like my impending J-school graduation, my really fucking uncertain future, or the state of the world, both good and the bad. But I'm writing about something else, something much more frivolous. Because this is my "diary" to babble about the mundane and useless, the stupid thoughts and whimsical musings. The stupid things that keep me sane amidst all the uncertainties and world tragedies and the fact that I don't even have a job or an internship yet. Help. So write about stupid fluff I shall.)

*

I recently re-visited my second blog post (effectively my first "real" blog post) of buying my first eyeshadow in 2010, at the grand old age of nineteen.

Oh, how young I was. How naive.

It's 2014 now, and the amount of makeup I possess has exponentially exploded. Literally exponentially, if I were to draw a chart.

And because me writing posts after re-visiting my almost dead blog is apparently a thing now, here is how I got to own a gazillion eyeshadows.

*

High school:

As the 5-10 of you who read my stuff are aware, I did not give a crap about my appearance at all.

Yes, I had a short experimental phase in 10th grade when I showed up in school with girly clothes and gaudy necklaces and sparkly pink lip gloss. But that was a phase. Most of the time I just did. not. care.

But even still, I never HATED makeup. I did own a few items, which were gifted to me by my girlier friends... I just never used it. I assumed that I'd eventually figure it out when I was "old enough" (i.e. some time before 30).

College:

When I went to college, I owned a BB cream and two lip glosses from Korea (2/3 were gifts from mom). I eventually bought black eyeliner and black mascara out of some sort of obligation, but I barely used them.

And then I got my first eyeshadow from Sephora.

Goddamn this was expensive. I had no concept of "low-end" or "high-end" stuff.
I also ruined the entire thing after dropping + trying to revive it.
RIP first eyeshadow.

So I just started to mindlessly slather color on my eyes because "I'm a grown up now and I'm supposed to, I guess", but one day, I randomly put them on in a way that was... actually flattering.

After coming up with a few more looks that suited my face with just three colors, a wonderful and terrible realization struck me:

EYESHADOWS ARE COLORED PENCILS FOR EYES.

This was both wonderful and terrible because I REALLY like colorful things. I just lose my shit over the visible light spectrum.

I also had an unhealthy colored pencil/crayon obsession as a child. I was that kid who owned the Crayola Crayons 96 colors set. I always packed my colored pencils with me when I travelled.

My precious.

So this realization was something akin to re-awakening a drug habit.

South Korea, enabler of addiction:

So while that was going on, I went to Korea for three summers in a row.

And if you aren't aware of it, let me tell you: SOUTH KOREA IS THE LAND OF MAKEUP.

Four makeup stores, all lined up next to each other.
Myeongdong, stahp

I don't know when this happened exactly, but my country somehow learned to make awesome makeup over the last few years, and now tourists flock to Myeongdong to shop until they drop.

So there is:
1) A never-ending supply of makeup
2) Cute and tantalizing packaging, as per many Asian countries
3) CHEAP ALTERNATIVES. I swear, their low-end (i.e. "drugstore") brands perform just as well as the super expensive eyeshadow I got in Sephora. I have no reason to buy the expensive stuff anymore.

The entire country is an enabler for a massive makeup addiction.
I bought so many colorful eyeshadows. Matte, shimmery, glitter, nothing scared me anymore, everything was pretty and I was a happy magpie.

Result:

And that is how I got a gazillion eyeshadows. I now have a gazillion eyeliners and quite a few lipsticks as well. (But no blush/bronzer/highlighter, I found I'm just not interested). As a former tomboy-ish nerd, it's kind of hilarious how things ended up.

The first few times I was getting eyeshadow, I almost felt a sense of guilt - like I was losing myself to an "inner bimbo" (don't laugh). I have been plain and unkempt and makeup-less for so long, that through a mix of insecurity and defensiveness, almost felt proud of that fact, like I was above all the silly female things and somehow that made me a better person than anyone else.

Which is, of course, bullshit.

But I probably would have felt that way for much longer if I did not mentally equate eyeshadow with colored pencils that one day. How "feminine" or "un-feminine" you are doesn't even matter. You just do you, however you want, and that's all you really need.

Christmas Eve babbles!

Jesus Christ, I've left the blog dead pretty much since I left for grad school.

Indeed it has been a crazy five months; journalism school is busy, stressful, nerve-wrecking, yet it's been a mostly enjoyable experience. I'm just glad I'm still here enjoying the ride and not regretting my decision.

That being said, I am also very glad to have come back home for the holidays. This was a much-needed break, and I missed Prague, I missed home, I missed home food, and I missed a whole lot of things.

Here's a few things that happened in the last five months, in lists (not a listicle!):

1) Arrived in New York in the most dramatic way possible. Never again. I also learned that going to the ER via ambulance costs a shit-ton, unless the airport calls 911, in which case it's free. Health care is... interesting in the US.

2) Learned how to use a DSLR (and take better photos) and make short audio clips. I feel like a more versatile person now. (That being said, my photos are still very average.)

3) Learned how to write articles better. Which was difficult at first because everyone kept saying I sounded too dry.

4) Nothing is more flattering(?) and simultaneously soul-crushing than hearing the words "You have the potential to do better" - on one hand, I guess people think highly of you, but on the other hand... "better"? How do you know if I can do better? What if this is all I've got and you're overestimating me? I worked really hard on this but it's sub-par? Is this a passive-aggressive way of saying I suck?

5) Found that New York is so much bigger and more diverse than I'd have imagined (and I love it.)

6) The amount of work you get assigned in the J-school seems to depend on the professors you're assigned to. Some people have already done so much, while others had it a bit more easily. I'd say I'm on the latter (even though I have also pulled all-nighters and cried and threw things on the wall in frustration.) I have mixed feelings about this: on one hand, I envy the ones who went through all sorts of hell because they'll emerge at the end as some sort of steroid-fueled super journalists who can handle any shit thrown at them. On the other hand, I appreciated having my sanity (relatively) intact.

Grad school: when having less work makes you just as nervous as having more work.

7) Partied a lot, more than I ever did in my life (in my standards. The amount I've partied is still laughably low for a 23-year-old person.)

8) Had my Halloween costume photographed on the New York Observer! http://observer.com/2013/11/oh-my-ghoul-witches-and-weirdos-flock-to-halloween-parade/#slide3 I'm not a person who gets the spotlight often, so it was fascinating to have people recognize me and shout "It's Princess Bubblegum!"

9) Got my driver's license. (though this happened last week.) I had a bit of trouble getting the hang of driving in the summer, but when i tried again after I came back I was pretty good at it. It might be because if I failed now, I pretty much don't have a good time to try again. Ah, desperation.

It's Christmas eve, and no snow in sight. Seems like it will be sunny today though, which is nice since Prague winters get cloudy and foggy a lot.

Merry Christmas everybody!

Upon starting Journalism school.

Today is my last day before I leave for New York tomorrow.

It's also the last day of my responsibility-free bum life I've had for seven months.

And given the circumstances, it's also probably the last time I live in Prague full-time. Of course I'll visit during holidays as long as my parents are here, but it'll probably never be longer than several weeks/months anymore.

I was expecting to feel wistful, but right now all I feel is vague anxiety.

Maybe I'm too distracted by immediate things to feel wistful - there was an INSANE heat wave today, and there's last-minute packing and weighing our gigantic luggage, wondering if they'll all fit in the New York taxicabs when I get there.

There's also the intense all-day orientation session for three whole days (seriously, why?) and mom and I have been brainstorming on how to use what little time left to get settled in.

Of course, it also means the beginning of new, exciting things - the start of graduate school, the start of a new campus life in a University that I was quite lucky to get in to, the start of new friends, and a serious training in a profession I plan to pursue.

The biggest emotion I feel out of this clusterfuck, though, is the anxiety of having to shoulder responsibility after largely being free of it for seven months, the end of "childhood".

Technically, I have not been a child in years so this sounds a bit silly, but I meant childhood in the sense of being responsibility-free.

After one year in grad school (which will teach me the basics of my future job so I don't feel like a "student" that much), I'll get a job; not an internship or a part-time job or anything, but a REAL job, one which I am expected to support myself with.

With the economy and everything, I can't help but feel a bit overwhelmed by the notion of beginning a fully adult life.

But I suppose when the time comes, I'll end up going through life okay.
Sorry if the post sounded like it was rambling. You know how 3AM blog posts are like.

I Read a Book: The Elegance of the Hedgehog

I finally finished reading The Elegance of the Hedgehog. Man, it felt good to concentrate and read something again. Also, the book prompted me to write a book report! Yaay fulfilling two things on my New Year's resolution!

Plot:

In the upper-class French apartment of number 7, rue de Grenelle, fifty-four-year-old Renée Michel works as a concierge for the rich residents. She lives day to day pretending to be a plain, dumb concierge, but she is an avid consumer of high art, enjoying the likes of Tolstoy, Japanese films, and Dutch painting. And she goes about secretly scrutinizing her apartment residents.

In one of the apartments lives Paloma Josse, an intelligent twelve-year-old girl who feels exasperated of the people and world around her. She feels that life is futile and plans to end her life at her thirteenth birthday. Meanwhile she goes about secretly scrutinizing her apartment residents.

And then one day, a Japanese man moves in...


Overall impression: Honestly, I have absolutely no idea what to think about this book.
I don't hate it. But I don't think it's some brilliant masterpiece either. There are things about the plot and characters that I like or dislike which collectively mingles together into a "It was okay I guess...". I'll break it into several parts.


1) Character development at the right direction, but too slow.

Renée:
Here we have Renée, a lower-class concierge trying her best to hide the fact that she actually has taste. Like, she DESPERATELY wants to hide her refined taste as if it was an act of high treason, because... why? Why does she need to hide?

We do eventually learn that a tragic event in the past made her irrationally fear the rich and privileged, and coupled with how the residents regularly treat her like a nonentity, it makes sense as to why she became that bitter, vulnerable woman who fears her brilliance. At least, I'm satisfied enough with the explanation.

But I felt the information came a little too late into the book. Here I am wondering for pages and pages thinking "What is this woman's deal? It's not illegal for a working class person to know Tolstoy! Why is she so afraid?" and then, near the end, "Oh... okay".

Why couldn't the reveal have come earlier? I enjoyed the way Renée was able to finally overcome her past with the help of quirky individuals and open up her self-imposed prison. But it came too late, and as a result, her recovery was more telling than showing. Why couldn't the author have SHOWN her healing?

Paloma:
Meanwhile, Paloma did not come off as a superintelligent suicidal twelve-year-old AT ALL. Maybe it's because I'm twenty-two, but Palmoa just felt like a whiny brat. Oh, boo hoo, I'm smarter than everyone, I live in an upper-class neighborhood with snobby neighbors and an exasperating family who doesn't understand me! The world SUCKS, I'm going to burn the apartment and kill myself!

Then again, she IS only twelve going on thirteen, so perhaps I was SUPPOSED to see how silly she is. But Paloma's character arc is played so painfully straight, and her family is shown having no likable traits whatsoever, that maybe I was supposed to see her as a tortured soul after all; if that's the case, that just failed.

When Paloma does realize what a huge self-centered brat she's been and changes her mind, It's too late into the book. Why can't she have gradually changed for the better THROUGHOUT the actual plot? I feel that all the elements for a complete character development were there for both, but it all came too slow, too late.


2) The discourse about philosophy, art, the beauty and the sublime
The characters often go on philosophical musings in the book. I felt that while sometimes they added to the story, at other times it just felt like I was listening to them prattle on and on with no real connection to the plot. But it might just be because I barely know anything about philosophy.

It also felt hypocritical at times: the protagonists mock the bourgeois for their superfluous tastes, yet they themselves rave about philosophy or nature or the beauty of art, subjects that require enough leisure time to pursue and enjoy. So pray tell, apart from money, how are the protagonists and the rich any different?


3) Translation
I read a translated version because I cannot speak French. But the word choice in the translation was a bit puzzling at times. Does anyone in real life really use words like autodidactic or loge? Maybe the French do, or maybe I have really poor vocabulary for an English major. But at any rate, using big words don't really make a work sound more sophisticated.


4) The Hard-on for Japan, and Orientalism
The book has this huge thing for Japan.

Don't get me wrong, I am rather fond of the Japanese culture myself. But the extent to which it's depicted in this book goes beyond adoration, almost... fetishizing.

Kakuro Ozu, the Japanese man who moves into the apartment, is PERFECT. He's rich, graceful and cultured, but he's so down-to earth! He sees Renée and Paloma for who they truly are (unlike the other snooty rich people!) and happily invites them to tea! He's kind to the servants! He has a home theater in his room! He cooks Japanese food! Even his goddamn cats are "ever so thin and move around without a sound" (150)!

He has no character development from beginning to end, he is just pure awesome, like a mix between the Fairy Godmother and Prince Charming. Kakuro Ozu starts and remains as the mysterious, perfect Japanese gentleman.

Google Image search result for "Japanese gentleman".
Dapper as hell.

HEY GUYS. JAPANESE CULTURE IS NOT A MAGIC WAND FOR YOUR PERSONAL ISSUES.

I wouldn't mind too much it was just Ozu that was made of unicorns and rainbows. But even before all that, the protagonists themselves talk so much about the awesomeness of Japanese culture. For instance, Paloma is the biggest Japanophile ever who thinks France is a "cultural desert" (139) compared to the super awesome Japan:

"in my mangas, people seem to eat differently. It looks simple, refined, moderate, delicious. You eat the way you look at at beautiful picture or sing in a beautiful choir. Neither too much nor too little: moderate, in the good sense of the word. Maybe I'm completely mistaken; but French cuisine seems old and pretentious to me, whereas Japanese cuisine seems... well, neither young nor old. Eternal, divine." (94)

"Tea and mangas instead of coffee and newspapers: something elegant and enchanting, instead of adult power struggles and their sad aggressiveness" (95)

Renée, after watching a Japanese film, believe the Japanese has the meaning of life all figured out while the West, for some reason, haven't:

"this sudden flowering of pure beauty at the heart of ephemeral passion: is this not something we all aspire to? And something that, in our Western civilization, we do not know how to attain?" (101)

She also raves about the brilliance of sliding doors instead of the barbaric Western door with a handle, among other things:

"there is nothing uglier than an open door. An open door introduces a break in the room, a sort of provincial interference, destroying the unity of space (...) When a sliding door is open, two areas communicate without offending each other. When it is closed, each regains its integrity. Sharing and reunion can occur without intrusion. Life becomes a quiet stroll - whereas our life, in the homes we have, seems like nothing so much as a long series of intrusions." (152)

But that's not even worst part. No, the worst goes to the author's strange obsession on things being Eurasian. For instance, see how Paul Nguyen, Ozu's Eurasian secretary, is described:

"[Paul Nguyen] is a strikingly handsome young man. From Asia and his Vietnamese father, he has acquired distinguished manners and a mysterious serenity. From Europe and his mother (a White Russian), he has inherited height and Slavic cheekbones, as well as the light shade of his slightly almond-shaped eyes. He is most manly and delicate, a perfect synthesis of masculine good looks and Asian gentleness." (148)

Out of all the characters, Paul Nguyen is the only one in the entire book described as being this handsome. Also notice how the only things he gets from his Vietnamese father are "manners" and "mysterious serenity", while he's a major hunk because he mostly has Slavic features. That's a passage of unfortunate implications right there.

Ozu's home decor is a mix of Asian and Western furniture, which is supposed to be the best thing ever:

"Monsieur Ozu's place is very grand and very beautiful (...) although there are sliding doors and bonsai and a thick black carpet edged with gray and objects that are clearly Asian - a coffee table in dark lacquer or, all along an impressive row of windows, bamboo blinds drawn at various levels, giving the room its Eastern atmosphere - there are also armchairs and a sofa, consoles, lamps, and bookshelves, all clearly European. It is very... elegant." (211)

Who on earth installs bamboo blinds in a Western apartment? At least, I haven't been to any Asian people's houses where that was a thing. Oh well.

When Renée goes on a dinner date with Ozu, he wears an odd mix of clothing:

"He is very handsome. He is wearing a charcoal gray suit consisting of straight trousers and a jacket with a mandarin collar and ornamental frog fastenings in matching tones; on his feet are soft leather loafers that look like luxurious slippers. The effect is very... Eurasian." (302)

Kakuro Ozu, sexiest man alive

I don't know about anyone else, but the constant manner in which the author waxes lyrical about Japan and Eurasian Things felt kind of creepy to me. Yes, Japanese culture has lots of fascinating stuff, but would it hurt to not talk about it like you wanted to make sweet, sweet love to it? Yikes.

4) The Ending Changes Everything

***THIS SECTION IS FULL OF SPOILERS, AVOID IF YOU DON'T LIKE BEING SPOILED***
The ending needs a special mention on its own because it comes abruptly as a lightning bolt in a clear sky.

Ready?

.
.
.

Just when things are looking up for Renée (she makes friends, she copes with her past, she may be hitting it off with Ozu), she dies.

SHE GETS RUN OVER BY A LAUNDRY VAN AND DIES.

Renée literally just dies at the last two chapters, and then it ends with Paloma and Ozu  (and her friend Manuela) devastated, the rich residents slightly bothered, and Paloma promising not to kill herself.

Just what was the point of Renée's death?! I cannot comprehend this.

Paloma finally realizes what it means to die when Renée dies, so was this to put a closure in Paloma's character arc and propel her to mature?

Was Renée's death to show how fragile life is, so we should appreciate it?

Was Renée right after all in thinking she should not fraternize with the rich, and this is her punishment?

Or was this a cheap way to tug on the readers' heartstrings?

Maybe I'm missing something, but the ending didn't seem beautiful or heartbreaking to me. It just felt abrupt and almost sadistic, as if the author killed Renée on purpose just when she was starting to be truly happy, just so the readers will cry.


Overall impression #2: And yet, even with all this; the hypocrisy, the slow character development, and all the Orientalism... I don't hate this book.

In the midst of all its flaws, I still felt something genuine somewhere. The hurt and bitterness that the protagonists feel, while silly and hypocritical, is very identifiable: it is the angst of the insecure, the petty and sometimes melodramatic sulk that we all feel every now and then when things don't seem to go our way. If handled masterfully, the insecure bitterness could have told a powerful story. Alas, it fell short.

I did enjoy the parts where Renée and Paloma describe and judge the rich people. Not gonna lie, if I were in their situation and mindset, I would probably resort to making fun of the rich in the exact same way too. The author clearly has a keen eye for observing the people and their movements, and those were the most fun to read.

So... that was my insanely long informal book report blog entry. I felt like I was writing a college English paper all over again!

New Year's Resolution of sorts?

Happy 2013!

2012 has been an eventful year - I graduated from college, and with the decision to delay a year before entering graduate school, interned in new locations for the latter half of the year. In some way, it was like seeing a tiny, tiny glimpse of life post-academia, and a good opportunity to see all my strengths and weaknesses dealing with real life.

Now that 2013 is here, and now that I have copious amounts of free time for the first time in a long time, I thought it is the perfect time for a New Year's Resolution.

I never had New Year's Resolutions because I'm the sort that focuses on one thing only (that being my studies most of the time), but here are some things I'd like to do:

The Physical:

1) Weight loss
I'm currently at my fattest. I also have very weak stamina. There's no way to sugarcoat this.
I also have a gym membership that lasts till this summer. I'll just have to work hard.

2) Resume Kendo
If I get over my low self-esteem about my skills, it's complicated... damn it why am I still scared?

The Mental:

3) More reading
I feel that it has been a while since I sat down to read for leisure since college started. I miss the peacefulness of reading and immersing in a literary work.

4) Producing creative content
I have not been drawing, writing or doing anything creative for years!*
(*without the aid of college elective courses)
WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?!
Whether it is painting, clay, or just scribbles on paper, it must happen again.

The Personal:

5) Be more friendly and approachable
It's true that I am hard to approach; I'm sure I can give off about five different excuses for that, but that doesn't help any in me staying as the aloof, quiet girl in the background. And at the end of the day, I still kind of suck at letting people know I appreciate them, (though it's heaps better than back in high school).
While interning in Korea, I have made an effort to be more friendly and approachable to people. And to my pleasant surprise, it paid off. I could use more of this.

6) Actually get shit done and not stress myself from the anxiety of doing said shit
I'm not too confident about this one either, but since I can't speak Czech enough to talk to a therapist, I'll just have to deal with it myself.

7) Wake up early... well, earli-ER.
Enough said.

Well, these aren't much, but we'll see how much I can actually accomplish this year!

Several days ago I came across news that a person I knew has died.

I wouldn't say that we were friends; I'm not even sure if we can call each other acquaintances. We only got to know each other because she lived right across me in freshman year, and my freshman roommate became fast friends with her. Our only communication after that was just a smile and a wave when we walked into each other on campus.

Nevertheless, the news was still shocking and difficult to take. Unlike the last time this happened, I actually exchanged conversation with her. I am Facebook friends with her and, when I sifted through my contacts after a spark of memory, I found that I even had her number, although I don't think I ever used it.

Even though I had almost no contact with her for the past three years, I found myself still trying to make sense of it all, not quite believing what happened, trying not to ask sensitive questions like why and how. Seeing how she made a difference to so many people, though she and I barely touched the surface of each other's worlds.

And then I remembered that I had one significant moment with her in the past, though brief. I thought I ought to put it here, as I don't feel too comfortable sharing such a tiny anecdote in a much more public sphere, where there are people who know her much better and are taking the loss much harder than what I can ever imagine.

*

August 2008. I was miserable and I looked like a red panda. I had forgotten to apply sunscreen while watching a football game, and as a result I was severly sunburnt, from my face all the way down to my arms.

It was the second or third week of staying all alone in Ann Arbor, miles apart from my family and starting university life in a strange place I've never been. If I was able to fight off loneliness and homesickness so far, the sunburn was making it increasingly difficult. It didn't help that I didn't know how to deal with a sunburn either; I never had to deal with anything worse than a tan before.

When ice packs and ointments failed to make any difference, I desperately asked students around me for advice.

It was then that she asked why I wasn't using aloe gel. I looked back at her blankly.
"What's aloe gel?" I asked stupidly.

The fact that I didn't know what it was irked me; it was advertising my status as international student in neon signs. Due to the loneliness, I didn't like American students finding out that I was an international student. The last thing I wanted was feeling even more isolated than I already was, seeing their perceptions switch gear and treat me like the other shy international kids with broken English.

But she didn't judge. She didn't even say "Oh, you never heard of it before?". She simply went back to her room, retrieved her bottle and squeezed a bit out for me to see.
"It's really good for sunburns. I'm sure you can find it in pharmacies, but for now you can use mine," she said kindly as she handed me the bottle. I thanked her and returned to my room.

The aloe gel soothed my burning red skin immediately. I felt like I could finally relax. For about three days I got through the day with her bottle before I went out to buy my own, and I returned her bottle with a small present and a thank you note.

It was merely a small gesture of kindness on her part, but for a lonely and scared foreign student, the kindness was much appreciated. During that short moment, I felt less alone.

*

Thank you, and rest in peace.

Korea: thoughts, musings, and et cetera.

Just some thoughts, from the trivial to the serious, about Korea in general that I gathered during my stay.


Food:

Korean bakeries seem the tastiest to me. The desserts are both extremely tasty and aesthetically pleasing. I also like the fact that most cakes still use whipped cream, as I happen to dislike icing or other overly sugary/buttery cream-type things.

Speaking of desserts, oh my god I love Asian cheesecake. The cake is deliciously moist, the cheese infused between the bread is distinct without being overpowering, and it is SO SOFT - it just melts into your mouth before you realize it.

Korea is not the place to look for actual plain bread, though. Since bread is not a staple but a "Western thing", you can commonly find it in chain bakeries, and it ends up being kind of sweet and soft as well.

Things like yogurt and chocolate seem more "light" - probably less fat and sugar and what have you. However, they still taste natural, not like the clearly artificial-tasting Hershey bars and weird mushy "yogurt".

떡볶이 (spicy rice cakes) in Korea are murderously spicy. Oh god my tounge I can't feel.

Style

Korean people do care a lot about style and personal appearance. I have mixed feelings about this - while I do appreciate that people care in general, sometimes it can be a bit too much.

Circle lenses are freaking creepy. They might look okay on television screen, but in real life it just makes the wearer look like a zombie doll. GAH.

Etude House is the devil.

The interior looks like this, seriously.

Theoretically, this should be everything I hate; everything is pink and sparkly and cute,the staff are dressed in pink frilly dresses and call you "princess". The entire existence of this brand should make me want to run away screaming.

But despite it all, I cannot take my eyes off its pink interior and its cute, shiny products. It's too... cute. Guilty pleasure? Yes, very much so. (Also, it's kind of cheap and has nice lip makeup selections.)

Holt and translations:

The more I translated letters and actually translated for people, the more I realized it was not easy; there are so many nuances, connotations and implications contained in a single word, so precision becomes key. Even with my high standards and pickiness with translation in general, I have not been perfect in my own word choice at times, but it's something I definitely am trying to improve.

There are also people who say things that are potentially misleading due to cultural differences, or those who say things that are just plain rude in any culture. You realize how much power you hold over those people when you choose to either stay silent or translate those difficult words. And when you do, you realize how easily you can affect their feelings - I try to soften and subdue the meaning the words I've heard when I have to translate difficult things, but I am constantly worrying whether I'm doing it right.

All in all, it was a worthwhile experience. And even with everything I said above, it's still pretty easy to undermine just how much of an influence you had over people who are meeting their long lost family members and are going through emotional times, and when they thank you and seem genuinely happy that you helped them, you feel like you've done at least something right in this world, and you feel worthwhile, like someone who has some purpose of existing. It's a very satisfying feeling.

Lifestyle

Life as a student in Korea definitely seems hectic and without a lot of free time. During my stay, my middle school cousin, who was about to go to high school, was busy all the time with cram schools, studying, and trying to figure out which high school to enroll. I wished I could give my middle school cousin some free nap times, if I could.

There are lots of food easily available for purchase in Korea. This results in some people just buying all their food instead of cooking. I prefer homemade food, though, since it's healthier and tastier (although it takes more work). I totally want to make my own kimchi in the future.

Life in Korea seems hectic with little time for leisure in general, especially if your children are younger than college age. I guess this may be why people just buy all their food. I wished that sometimes, society could learn to just take a chill pill at times.

Identity (?)
Even after all this time, some people seemed to think that because my family lived so long overseas, we'd somehow become, to put it bluntly, whitewashed. I don't mean ways of thinking or worldview. I mean that some thought we'd actually live like Western people at all times, as in eat steak and salad with a fork and knife, speak English at home, and all that crazy stuff.

Despite the freakishly long time we've stayed outside of Korea, we're still expats, not immigrants. If we immigrated somewhere and intended to live as foreign citizens, I can see where they're coming from. But we're expats who always have the idea that some day, in some distant future, we may be moving back to Korea again. I don't know why some people think it's so amazing that a Korean person with Korean citizenship is eating Korean food. If they were amazed at us having a slightly more Western mode of thought or something, I'd understand. But being so amazed that we do NOT eat bread three times a day and know how to use chopsticks? That's... kind of silly.

But then again, that one third generation jaebeol (corporate millionaires like Samsung, LG, etc) I met literally did not know how to use chopsticks, and yes, actually ate Western food with a fork and knife at all times, so maybe I shouldn't blame people for thinking like that. If some Korean billionaires can pretend they're pretentiously Western, people may think I'd do that, too.

***

Sometimes, I wonder who the hell reads my blog entries, especially when I write college-essay level entries like this. Are there enough people in the world who gives a damn whether I write a drabble or a Master's thesis on what I do and what I think? Writing way too much has always been a bad habit of mine.

Token Good Teammate

This seems to describe me when I'm with friends. (tvtropes, how I love thee!)

I've known all along that I always get to be the "nice, quiet, boring one" in my social group. Things are easier that way.

In early days, before things like "puberty", "college", and "grades" became a serious issue, I was more often than not the popular kid, the leader among my group friends. If there was another popular kid in the group, I got to be the outgoing second-in command.
Sometimes I got to be a "cool older sister" when I had little kids to deal with.

Sometimes I was shunned by my elementary classmates - even though that stung, I was always able to find two or three people who liked me and we made our own micro-group... and then I was leader among them.

In the midst of the weird cycle of being popular one year and unpopular the next, I was always able to find friends, and all in all, I had no doubt that my friends liked me and followed me.

Those days were more than a decade ago and does not apply anymore.

New home, new school. False friendships and bullying ensued.

I kept telling myself, it's okay, that was just bad luck, once you get over this it will be fine, I'll be the same again. People will like me and I will be the social ringleader again.

Another new home, another new school. Still the same bullying. Pessimism emerged.

I thought, maybe I should just shut up. If I keep quiet, maybe no one will bother me.

So I did just that.

It worked. No one found fun in bullying a quiet, emotionless person. The bullying decreased. I got so good at it that sometimes they forgot I was even in the same classroom.

I became quiet, serious, barely existent. People didn't bother me. I got my inner peace back.

It worked.

It may have worked a little too well.

New home, new school, new friends. Now was my time to shine. Time to cast off the silent, stoic mask and become the cheerful, bubbly core of the social circle like I always was.

The mask didn't come off. Doubts grew instead.

What if they were only being friends with me out of obligation? What if they secretly don't like me? What if I'm imposing on them? I can't tell if people actually like me anymore.

Solution: stay as the nice, boring girl; nice enough to join in social activities, but distant enough to not be in the "best friend zone". I didn't want to displease anyone. I didn't want to make any trouble.

In retrospect, this was a self-fulfilling prophecy which I still have the urge to kick myself whenever I think about it. Good job making yourself miserable in high school, idiot.

New school, new friends.

To make a long story short, after much trials and tribulations as convoluted as a soap opera, the mask has at least partially come off. I started to remember, "This is what it meant to be friends", "This is what it meant to trust and love." I thought the mask was finally off.

It wasn't.

Lesson to small, impressionable children: if you adopt a persona long enough, it becomes a part of you.

While I am generally content, it irks me that I can never escape from being the nice, boring girl.

During the Chicago trip, we asked questions about each other as a bonding game. I found people I've known for over two years struggling to ask questions to me, finally settling with unproductive general questions such as, "What is your favorite color?" "Do you like dogs or cats?". I am also told that my impression to the kendo people is the goody-goody two shoes girl.

Not even artistic (this is a first), not even any other characteristic. "Just" a good girl.

Worries, doubts. I wonder if I messed up again. I wonder if I am repeating high school with people who I consider friends again.

My mother, ever the affectionate, well-meaning and brutally honest person she is, becomes angry that I'm still whining about my social insecurities at the grand old age of twenty-one.

"Well, what did you expect? You're not the most interesting person in the world, you know. Did you think people would just flock to you?"

"No, but I thought I was friends with-"

"That might be just what *you* think. Perhaps they don't think of you as much of a friend at all, especially if their impression of you is a boring good girl... and you're not even that much of a goody two-shoes."

I may be doing a disservice by making my mom sound like an evil matriarch. I can tell you that she is a very kind person. It's just that she never sugarcoats her words, ever.

She believes kids should know the awful truth as it is instead of beating around the bush, even if it traumatizes the said kids and reduces them to tears.

Pet bird died? No, we didn't send it to the neighbors, honey, it DIED. Want to know where babies come from? Here, have a sex-ed book with PICTURES. Overheard relatives talking badly about my fighting with my brother? Relay what the relatives said, word for word, and say that just because they're family doesn't mean relatives always love you, so you better behave yourself because they'll always look for more things to nitpick about. Family drama? Even family members turn ugly over things like money or school or children. That's how adults are, and that's life.

ANYWAY,

Mom tells me there are two options: one, change your personality because frankly, nobody will like you the way you are ("How did you even get a boyfriend?") or two, just suck it up and cling onto your friends like a leech.

Neither options sound plausible or pleasant to me. And I realize once again, I cannot escape the boring good girl persona, for it has become a permanent part of me.

I don't want to be boring. I don't want to be the person no one particularly cares about.

I don't know where to start.

The never-ending cycle of self-deprecation and the introspection thereof

Those who know me well enough will know by now that I am a master of self-deprecation. Whether this comes from a low self-esteem, high standards, or the ability to cook up implausible fantasies that will never come true is unknown (it might even be all three at once), but I still do it.

Now, everyone has a moment where they hate themselves at least once in their lives. But when you've heard from your friends and acquaintances that it's tiring to hear you talk badly about yourself all the time, then you know you have become an expert at the art of self-deprecation. You also realize that you have now exhausted all your resources to bitch about life, and that unless there was a natural disaster or a horrific catastrophe, you should just shut the fuck up because clearly you're just asking for attention. At least, that's how others would see you.

It does beg the question as to what makes an individual perpetually talk badly about oneself and not try to solve whatever issue is bugging them. Can it be resignation? Laziness? Being a hypocrite? Or perhaps the individual has developed a sick thrill on self-deprecation that he/she is unable to stop (oh god I've heard all these things from people haven't I) I can't quite fathom the reasons yet, even with everything I ever bitch about life.

Perhaps it signifies the emotional immaturity of an individual; simply wanting a pat in the back and somebody to emotionally mother them so that all the bad things will go away and they can continue to float in a sad abyss where they try to forget their insecurities.

And I guess this is why Hideaki Anno made Neon Genesis Evangelion. And why did I have to let it be known to the world how much of a nerd I am? Sadly, unlike the aforementioned show, I don't pilot a gigantic mother's soul-infused mecha, nor do I live in a post-apocalyptic world where I can wish for destruction of humanity and everyone turns into orange goo. Although I am sure I like my individuality and don't want to turn into a gigantic lump of orange juice with everyone else in the world. Maybe.

Perhaps, as the show said, self-deprecation is what nearly everyone does and it's simply a matter of fact, so we should just all get over it, even if it seems impossible. It would certainly be nice to not have anyone tell me I'm just being an attention whore when I'm complaining about my life on Facebook, when all I wanted was just somebody to say "it's okay" - not a compliment, not some pseudo-inspirational speech, not a hyperlink to a psychiatrist, but just an electronic hug and a pat on the back.

Perhaps I should actually get outside the house so I don't think about these things.
On the other hand, I like the strikethrough tool way too much for my own good. Look at all the things you can say and then unsay, it's like it was made just for me!

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!

Fly.

I would like to know how it feels like to fly.

For some years - It's been a while - I dreamed of flying, of escape. A mind-blowing event that will lift me away from the mundane life and transform me forever, an escape that will fill me with a rush of adrenaline and make everything exciting and magical beyond imagination.

I wonder sometimes if I am pursuing the impossible, if such an escape is possible.
Perhaps it's all just a pipe dream to escape when reality does not seem to go well for me.
Although this probably is the musings of a spoiled brat, in a sense.

Perhaps it's up to yourself to make things magical.
Let's see what I can do for spring break.

YJS is not a very exploitable Nickname Material, Actually

I, YJS, am seeping in nostalgia right now, though what I really should be doing is read for my psychology class and start my paper on interest politics of deviance.

The paper is challenging... the weather is cold out... and I have been too sleep-deprived to do anything... so I haven't started my work yet.

In an hour I would have to go to kata workshop for kendo, too.

I had been excited for the next kata workshop. Not only do I need to practice for my promotion exam, but I wanted to show off my brand new bokuto, which is a sleek, white wooden sword. It meant that I didn't have to borrow Brian Chen's bokuto anymore, which is still a nice sword, but I felt sorry borrowing his bokuto all the time. Although Brian Chen is a nice guy who didn't mind lending me his bokuto, I'm sure he wondered why I wasn't ordering my own sword already.

I, YJS, would like to go to kata workshop.

But realistically speaking, it would not be a very good idea, as I had not even started on my paper yet. Sadly, I must revoke the opportunity this time.

If you are wondering why I, YJS, am writing a blog entry like this and addressing myself as I, YJS, it's because I had just looked up the Amber Brown series on the Internet.

I, YJS, loved reading the Amber Brown series as a child. The plot was rather mature for a children's book, the concerns and conflicts were realistic, and Amber Brown was a spunky, likable nine-year-old with a sense of humor and a love for puns. In fact, I liked it so much that I collected all but the last two books from the series, and when I found out that more books have been published, I, YJS, sneaked into the children's section of the school library to read it, although I was already a high school student when I found out about it.

I actually wasn't too embarrassed about reading the book... I was only worried that somebody would find me in the kids section and tease me. Because in high school, you weren't supposed to read books from the children's section... you weren't even supposed to like books on the teens sections too much, either. You had to be intelligent and mature and read books that your English teacher would approve.

Something had inspired me to search for the Amber Brown series today, and while I ate my dinner, I, YJS, read sample pages of the books from Amazon, and fell in love with the series all over again. It did break my heart, though, to find out that the author of the series passed away in 2004. If a lady could make high school students sneak into the children's section of the library to read her children's books, she's doing something right.

In order to cherish the memory of the books, I, YJS, have decided to emulate the book's writing style on this blog entry... although I think I'm not really doing the series justice by writing in this way.

First of all, Amber is nine years old, while I am twenty, which means it sounds weird when I combine my twenty-year-old narrative voice in this writing style. At best, I sound mildly annoying. At worst, I sound really annoying.

Secondly, my blog entry do not have puns. I, YJS, am not good at coming up with puns... while Amber Brown is an expert at it. It's a shame, because I, YJS, love puns, even if they are really cheesy and silly.

Third, this entry does not have illustrations. I do not know who the illustrator is, but the guy (or girl) has simple yet expressive crayon-like illustrations that really enhances the reading experience.

But I, YJS, have still tried. And for a while, it was nice looking back into my childhood and remembering one of my favorite book series.

(I, YJS, have tried to come up with a witty title, based on the title of the first book "Amber Brown is not a Crayon". I first tried to write "YJS is not a Crayon", but realized that the joke only worked because Amber's full name is a shade of color, while YJS is not a color name, not even in Korean. I thought hard about what to write, and realized I never had a nickname... probably because non-Korean kids don't know what to do with a name like YJS. I guess there's something good that came out of having a mangled romanized name.)

A Katamari Entry

If you are wondering "What the hell is a katamari", you are clearly missing out. Check it out. It's worth it.

It is difficult coming up with something to write on the blog sometimes. It is more diffcult to make my entries sound remotely funny, when I am up against contenders friends such as Andrew or Yiwen, who both write seemingly effortless, yet hilarious and wonderfully articulate blog posts. (Note to Andrew; WRITE MORE.) Or perhaps my writing muse had packed her bags and left, too, along with my artistic inspiration muse, who moved out and only visits me once in a while now. I hope you're enjoying your excursion, you bastards.

On the other hand, there were things that I desparately wished to blog about, but didn't or hadn't, because 1) there isn't enough material for one full post, 2) in fear of making this blog a rant-fest of All That is Wrong With the World, 3) in fear of boring readers to death. But in the end, after hours of pondering, I decided to just clump all the scrap thoughts in my head and make it one post. I mean, how many people read this blog, anyway? Two? Three? I'm sure the single-digit audience know me enough and can handle the babbling. It's in my blog title, after all.

So, here's a lump of a variety of things that is my life and my babbles.

1) Ann Arbor Restaurant Week

Ann Arbor has a Restaurant Week every January; for a week, a select number of fancy restaurants in Main Street offer a set menu, lunch for $12 and dinner for $25, which is redundant information if you are already a UM student, which are about 75%~100% of the blog readers, depending on whether any of my non-UM friends know or read this blog. While I would have liked to pig out for six days a week on fancy restaurants, my class schedule and my wallet does not allow me to do so. However, the places I've been so far were good.

The Melting Pot: fondue place. The cheese and chocolate fondue were both tasty. I think I have fallen in love with the "original chocolate fondue", a warm melting pot (ha ha) of peanut butter and chocolate. Everything tastes infinitely better with melted peanut butter and chocolate. Especially strawberries.

Real Seafood: Seafood place. The food was good, though in retrospect the portion may have been not thaaaat big, or perhaps I am a glutton, or I may just have been really, really hungry. Had New England Clam Chowder, a shrimp dish, and lemon cream puffs. The lemon cream was quite exquisite.

2) Andrew, update your blog.

3) Rant

It just annoys me when people assume Asians undergo "double eyelid" plastic surgery because they want to look like Caucasian people. Some East Asians are born with double eyelids, my own father is born with double eyelids. I doubt he wished he looked like a White man when he was in my grandmother's womb. Asian people with double eyelids do not look like Caucasian people, as any person with a speck of eyesight and sentience will tell you. Double eyelid surgery is merely a method to have larger eyes, as large eyes are a - gasp - universal trait of beauty! Yet somehow, if you're (East) Asian, you're supposed to be "proud of your slanty eyes", and if you undergo plastic surgery, my god, you're trying to be White.

Bullshit.

Obviously, I cannot speak for Asian Americans, as I'm Asian... Asian. And taking a class on Asian American literature, I can see where such an argument may come from, as Asian Americans have also received a lot of flack and racism in the US as much as any other minority races, and their achievements and efforts have often been erased from American history, so we have learned. Who knows, there may be Asian Americans who have suffered a degree of racism that they try to look more Caucasian, I wouldn't know.

BUT, I can tell you that most Asians, while Western standards of beauty have affected what they see as beautiful (ex. thinness, tallness, etc), it is not to the point that an Asian woman looks at the mirror and wants to be Caucasian. And no, dyeing your hair and putting on colored lenses do NOT mean they want to be white. They're just accessorizing themselves as any other person of any race would do. By the same logic, you could argue Caucasians want to be Black, because they tan, or that they want to be Asian, if they dye their hair black. But the latter argument is dismissed as being ridiculous while the former is taken seriously. What sort of silly double standard is this?

One last thing; Not all Asians have "slanty eyes". It is merely a difference of eye shape. The perceived beauty of "slanty eyes", high cheekbones and the like is likely a product of Orientalist exoticism from the past which somehow lingers today. There is a reason why these traits are not seen as attractive to Asians, and it's not because they are so brainwashed by the sheer awesomeness of Caucasian beauty that they hate themselves. They're just... not attractive looking to Asians. That's it.

P.S. Double eyelid surgery isn't some grotesque procedure that fiddles around with your eyes. The whole thing takes only a short while, and you can function normally on the day of, or the next day. Get over it.

4) Ruixiao, how are you. Can you show yourself sometimes? It's not even about anything anymore, it's just that I haven't seen you in a while and I would like to occasionally talk to you or say hi. That is all. Your presence at the moment is like that of an enchanted unicorn - oft mentioned, but never seen.

5) Andrew, update your blog. I have ranted about stuff, so there's no excuse for you not to. Yaaay.

6) As the time to graduate slowly approaches (next spring), my fear of the future is increasing. Some may talk about how the youth is lazy and unmotivated, not willing to work for their future and careers, but trust me, I am nervous to death about whether I will get a job. I need to at least pay back my parents the exorbitant American university tuition.

7) Naaaaa na na na na na na na Katamari Damacy~

8) Why is there no decent yogurt to eat in the States? It's either artificially sweetened, fat deprived tasteless lumps of stuff, or pricey organic yogurt that I can eat, sure, but it is kinda pricey  Yes, you can get natural yogurt, but me being picky and not that much of a health nut, I am slightly reluctant to eat sour and bitter-tasting fermented milk. It feels ridiculous when I have become such a snob that I will only eat yogurt when I go to Prague during vacation. Give me delicious semi-healthy yogurt!

9) I'm supposed to be doing homework right now, but the book I'm supposed to read is incredibly dry. It's not easy for me to lose interest in a book after two pages. I am currently looking at Andrew who is sporting a scarf quite stylishly.

10) And in any case I seem like a creepy Andrew-gawker in Stockwell Lounge, I am also in the company of Robert and Jackie, and formerly Nazifa, Steffie, and Amy, too.

I think I'm done for now. This is the most unorganized post I have ever written.

This will probably make me seem like an otaku...

...but I have watched all of Panty and Stocking with Garterbelt.

So far I have not watched another Gainax-made show other than Tengen Toppa Gurren Lagann, but I do know the concept of a Gainax ending, and although the finale was made of pure "WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU JUST DO TO US", once I recovered from the initial reaction of "WHUT", I managed to get a laugh out of the whole thing. It's like a Gainax ending and a parody of next season hooks on American cartoons/television shows after all resolution of conflicts (and mindscrew) rolled into one.

Well played, Gainax. Well fucking played. Oh, you guys.

Also, seeing everyone freak out about how it ruined their Christmas was hilarious.

Mindscrew

It's Wednesday evening, and I'm slaving away on my final psychology project for PSYCH 303. This extension had better be valid, otherwise I have a legitimate reason to object to any potential grading penalties.

In order to finish this project, I have been slaving away at night, going to bed at ungodly hours for about two days in a row. As a result, my brain has kind of melted, which leads to this sort of visions in my sleep.

1: I dreamt that my family and I were in the airport going to the States, and we had a pet squirrel. The airport guy asked if we were taking the squirrel along.
"It will be xxx dollars", he said, which I don't remember the price, but it was way more than any sane man was willing to pay.
We stared at each other in silence, and I said, "Well, it's just a squirrel. There's plenty of squirrels in the US, too".
Everyone agreed. I let the squirrel loose outside the airport.

"...You're abandoning me? How could you?"

***

2: Unrelated to the first dream, I had somehow gotten myself lost in a huge airport duty free store. Also, horror of horrors, I was stark naked. Somehow I was trying to take a shower in the store for some incomprehensible reason, but the shower room was occupied by some old man, which left me stranded outside. To add to the mortification, Antai found me there.

(oh dear god why.)

As most sane people would react if they were seen by their friend with nothing but their birthday suit IN AN AIRPORT, I panicked, HARD.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH I'M SO SORRY I TRIED TO TAKE A SHOWER AND THEN I GOT STRANDED AND THIS USUALLY DOESN'T HAPPEN TO ME AAAAAAAAAAAAAAH" I wailed. Antai was surprisingly chill about all this. "Aww, don't worry, I'll help you," he said.
He somehow got me some clothes to wear, and he washed my hair. I said "EHHHH?! it's okay I can wash my hair myself NO REALLY", but he did it anyway.

...I have no other explanation than that this is how I generally feel when Antai feels the need to correct my kendo, as I am not as good as I would like to be and generally feel horribly ashamed of myself when something doesn't go right. But you know, it still doesn't stop me from going "WHAT THE FUCK, THAT IS ALL SORTS OF AWKWARD AND WRONG."

***

3: I was in a lecture hall, taking the last lecture of... some class, I'm not sure (ENG 376?), and Robert randomly decided to audit it. The professor walked around the seats to see if we took proper notes, chatting up with the students along the way. I have no idea why. When he came to me and looked at my notes, he remarked that my doodles were nice.
Embarrassed, I muttered "It helps me concentrate". He then wanted to check what sort of makeup I had on. I didn't have any makeup on, and I told him so.

***

4: I dreamt that I kept walking past a yellow rooster; there was a whole story behind this and the yellow rooster was a sort of symbolism, but I no longer remember.

Then I ran towards a yellow suitcase at a parking lot.

Then somehow I was Harry Potter, and the yellow suitcase was mine.

"Hey, Harry, wanna ride the car back home this year? We can take a drive through London!" Ron Weasly said as he pointed to his non-magical black van that he procured from god knows where.
"Well, sure, but you're forgetting that neither of us know how to drive," I said.

 "Yeah, remember that last time?"

 After Ron left, I, for some reason, went inside the car and fiddled with the stick. WHY I WOULD DO THAT AFTER STATING THAT I CAN'T DRIVE IS A COMPLETE MYSTERY. I guess that's how Harry Potter rolls.

I accidentally started the car and it started to move on its own. I tried to stop it, but I failed, and as the car entered the road, I had no choice but to drive it to get it out of the way somehow. I had somehow gotten myself into five consecutive police chases, but by and large came out unscathed. I used magic to make the car invisible and drove on.

Moments later, I had ended up in some downtown area where they were blaring Latin music. I used magic to apparate the car back to the original place, thinking I was safe to walk here.

Oh, was I ever so wrong.

 Not exactly Park Guelle, but the general structure is similar. The dreamscape resembled a downtown area that I passed on the way to Park Guelle.

There seemed to be some sort of festival going on in the area; ladies in colorful dresses were dancing to the music. Other people were dancing to the music, screaming, cheering. The atmosphere was so festive, everyone seemed so cheerful there. Confettis were all around and sprays of red occasionally flew about the air.

That was when I saw piles of dismembered human flesh and organs laid around my feet.
When I looked up, I saw that thin slices of raw meat flew out of nowhere and latched itself onto some people. The people still danced around with meat stuck on their bodies, except with a look of panic and danced frantically, maniacally, as if to get the meat slices off. They stuck onto the bodies as if they were also part of them.

In sight of the meat, dozens of people dived forward, trying to eat off the raw meat. The victims screamed. The crowd cheered. I saw a man with his entire torso eaten, blood shooting out of his body like a fountain, while his legs still twiched and the people, covered in blood, still biting hunks of flesh out of him.

I felt like I was going to throw up, not to mention that, "HOLY FUCK I NEED TO GET OUT OF HERE NOW."

I ran back with all my might, when suddenly a piece of raw meat wrapped itself around my leg. I screamed and kept on running, praying that nobody would notice the meat stuck on my leg, hopelessly trying to tear it off. I ran in a speed I never thought imaginable for me (or me as Harry Potter), and to my greatest relief, the meat came off, and I ran, and I saw nothing but white light ahead of me...

***

... when I was greeted by the green numbers on my alarm clock flashing 10:30 A.M.

I guess this is my brain telling me to sleep at normal hours.
Soon, brain, soon.

On being "Girly and Purty"

I have, by the grand old age of twenty, pretty much established at this point in time that I am not in any way physically attractive. I mean, yes, there is one individual who will relentlessly say otherwise, but one man's opinion as opposed to others isn't exactly going to cut it. Even parents would call their ugly mess of a child beautiful, after all. Oh well, not everyone is born with mindblowingly hot faces.

I happened to cross paths with a group of boys today, who, if I wasn't being delusional, seemed to point and snicker at a short little girl with glasses wearing a blue and gray striped shirt, jeans, a thick long brown jacket, worn out beige backpack, and white Nike sneakers with pink stripes. AKA me.

I can hear fashion gurus wringing their hands in horror. I admit the color coordination of my attire is pretty horrible. But I also tend to not give a damn on what I'm wearing if I'm busy with school. Damn it, all you need to do is take care of basic hygiene and not be naked to class. I'm studying for exams here! Who's thinking of makeup and jewelry and fashion-conscious clothes when you have stuff to do?! (Also, my laundry wasn't dry yet so I had no other shirts to wear.)

Although I have heard much worse from boys in my lifetime, being a human being with basic social cues, I of course was much irked at such a reaction. Yes, I know  I'm not pretty, you'll probably never "tap that". Can we please move on? You're in college and should be acting more maturely than this.

But alas, I meet the same guys again as I go and print my Psych homework. As I swing the computer lab door open, my eyes meet theirs, and a look of recognition comes to them. They huddle and quiet down. I'm not sure if they know that I can understand them, but I look pretty Korean, so that should be a giveaway already.

(Again, I realize I may be super paranoid and they might not actually be talking about me, but seeing how they laughed at me in the afternoon, the probability is there.)

The guys start talking, leaving out the subject of the sentence (probably because I was in earshot)

"Good enough for you?" says one guy.

"I told you, I'm not settling for anything less than Shin Min-ah!" proclaims the other guy.

"But you're not good enough for Shin Min-ah." Another guy says with a snicker.

"Hey!"

By the way, this is the lovely Shin Min-ah.

(I think she'd say no to college guys, as she's much older and it would be creepy.)

Eh.

Guys want hot girls, nothing's new, end of story. But shoot me if it didn't sting a little.

Perhaps I should have gone straight up tomboy, not giving a damn about such girly matters as beauty and just be proud and manlier than other guys. I already have the voice and an affinity for action to set me off in that route. Also, I'm already "manlier" than my boyfriend in some ways (he knows more fashion brands than I do, for starters.)

I also like testosterone-fueled shows like TTGL. Whee explosions!

But alas, being born a heterosexual girl with a fragment of girliness, I do care. I may do kendo and rave over the manliness of Tengen Toppa Gurren Lagann, but I will fawn over pretty dresses and makeup on another day. And no matter what people say, my face is not something that will magically transform into that of a supermodel if I look at myself in the mirror and talk to myself enough. That's freaking brainwashing, not real life.

So while I detest having to be jeered at by several immature strangers on a college campus, I also don't feel like throwing away makeup and tearing off dresses in rebellion. There are better things to do in life.

So the take-away lesson of today's incident is:

AT LEAST ANIMALS REALLY LIKE ME.

...

*goes to a corner and sighs*

The World is Big

And we are insignificant specks compared to others. Sometimes we think we're brilliant people, though, and it takes something to occur to humble you and realize that oh, hey, I'm not a big shot after all.

See, it was my grand project to create a blog that explains stuff going on in Korea, maybe comment on several current events or two, receive questions from other users about Korea so that I can answer them. I was foolish enough to think that there wouldn't be any blogs that already did that - at least, any EXTENSIVE, PROMINENT blogs.

Ask a Korean is already such a blog, and damn it, his posts are extremely well written.

You can see in some topics that he really did the research, citing multiple sources and providing extensive background information to the extent that I would not have done, while delivering it all with a witty and objective writing style. Well, damn. It was more than my measly beginnings of a blog could ever have offered, seriously.

And thus, my little beginnings of the Other Blog started to look very informal and stupid in comparison.

And I am now left with a sort of helplessness as I look at my newly-hatched project, shamed before it even had a chance to blossom. What to do?

The quickest, easiest way would be to nip the bud, terminate the embarrassing project and pretend it never existed. Unfortunately, my pride does not settle for quits.

I could, perhaps, amass information to the extent as Ask a Korean and end up as a mediocre (and unintentional) imitation of his blog. But not only is that unoriginal, this guy knows what he does and delivers it good enough. He's a friggin attorney for crying out loud.

Or, I could try to somehow diffentiate the blog somehow, take a slight change in its direction, and see how it goes. While this option seems the most appealing, there is the obvious question of: then how should I go about with my Other Blog?

Oy.

(Edit: Upon realizing that I would not have the time or effort to keep updating my Other Blog in a consistent manner, and realizing that my entries sucked a lot more than I realized, I deleted the Other Blog.)

(My work schedule is screwed and I need to pick myself up)

Happy Halloween!

May your sleep schedules and productivity not suffer from a messed-up one like mine.

From the lethal pumpkin latte that made me forfeit sleep on Thursday to a late night totally safe party with a few close friends, my sleep schedule is messed beyond repair, and my brain is not working.

I need to produce an essay proposal by tomorrow (I have given up on coming up with one and submitting it today) and I have no freaking clue what to write about.

Meanwhile, I still need to finish my psych paper, and finish a book which I have barely read.

I am only glad there are no exams right now.

In a continuous cycle of super productivity and extreme laziness and slacking off, I have, once more, hit the pits again. Three days have been enough, time to start anew.

...god I have no motiviation. Somebody help me.

Culture Shock?

When I first came to the Czech Republic seven and a half years ago, it was late at night; we just went to our new house (that my dad, who went there a month earlier, already rented), dropped to bed, and fell asleep.

The next morning, I woke up sleeping in strange bedsheets, empty white walls, and strange smells. Though my brain that was in charge of reason and logic said, "oh, you're in CZ now, don't you remember? You haven't toured the house properly, that's why it looks all strange", my brain in charge of emotions were all, "...where am I? This place is so strange and foreign. I miss the atmosphere back home." and as a result, I felt like crying.

This morning, after returning from my month-long Korea trip, I feel something akin to this. I really wonder why. This is hardly my first time going to Korea since living here. We've stayed in Korea longer in some previous trips, so can somebody please explain to me why my own house suddenly feels foreign and strange again?

Oh, yes, it was awesome returning to the cool temperature of 17 degrees Celcius summer evening after all that heat and humidity that drove me mad for an entire month. It was nice seeing my immediate family again. But as I wake up this morning, the feeling of wanting to cry had suddenly re-surfaced.

Everything is strange; the TV screen is suddenly too big. The toilet seat is too high. It's too quiet. There's no Korean milk or junk food or drinks in the fridge. It's practically cold here. And my trip already feels like a very long, distant dream.

My only explanation  is that the past month, I've been steeped in nostalgia and familiarity. My aunt's lived in her house for about seven years now, and I'm getting very used to visiting it. My grandmother's old apartment is just two bus stops away; even though she no longer lives there, the area is the most nostalgic place to me in the world. Also, I see my other relatives, who are equally familiar. I'm no stranger to the subway and bus and taxi, and although I've went to work at a new place and went to see some new places, it's still, all in all, Korea. I know how the places generally look like and how it all is. Damn, even the screechy cicadas are familar to me.

Korea is also hectic and trend-conscious; wherever you set place in urban areas, there's the hot new thing, and things are all very active and exciting. I didn't have friends this year to hang out with, and I've moaned and bitched about that, yes, but there's still new places to go, new things to do, and awesome, awesome food that makes you feel better and forget about it. Being alone just made me completely immersed to the atmosphere much more than when I was there with my immediate familiy.

Compared to Korea, CZ is really chill and laid-back. There's about ten times more foliage, less cars and smoke, more houses. Downtown Prague, while you don't get sick of it after being there ten thousand times (thank god), I've been there, done that. There's no BRAND NEW THING that will suddenly catch my interest. And European candy is awesome too, but Korea just wins by nostalgia factor and all.

I don't know. I just miss Korea. I mean, I've always missed it when I wasn't there, but I miss it more than ever for the first time in a long time. Oh well, need to find EXCITEMENT for the last month, I guess.

Attack of the Killer Bees!: The Dream.

I think it must have been my inherent fear of insects and watching Nostalgia Critic's Twister review before going to bed that somehow produced this dream last night. The entire dream unfolded like a bad diaster flick (like Twister), except that instead of floods, tornadoes, or the end of the world, it simply had bees trying to kill people. Except that no one even died, much less injured, from the whole ordeal. How boring.

So the dream starts out in what seems like a mix of a nature-friendly nation (ex. Australia or New Zealand) and American countryside. A team of biologists and I (for some odd reason) are there to investigate the report about killer bees and their strange behavior that occurs about this time every year. We are greeted by a matronly and mild-looking lady with wispy blond hair, denim dress, the works. The typical Caucasian countryside woman. She is bulimic for some reason. She isn't young or smoking hot, but she is attractive for a woman who does nothing but tend the farm for most of her day.

"Those bees always attack us once a year. They're very deadly bees," the woman says.

She points to a beehive on a nearby tree, where bees fly about like normal, except that there were too many of them at once. I start to back away instinctively. She gives us protective clothing and lets us go near the bees. I still don't go near it.

The biologists begin their unintelligible babble filled with biology terminology, or bee behavior terminology, whichever it was. At any rate, they are fascinated.

In addition, I see that the nerdiest guy of the biologist crew has developed a sort of crush towards the bulimic country woman. This may have been the start of one of those scenarios where two strangers who are stuck together in a disaster fall in love, but fortunately, the nerdy guy was a silly comedic relief character, the type of guys who crush on the girl but always loses against our Hollywood macho, manly hero. Fortunately, this being a team of nerdy biologists, there were no rough-and-tough men within the crew.

ANYHOW, back to the bees.

The woman explained how once a year, around this time, the bees suddenly form a giant group and begin a coordinated attack on humans, for some bizarre reason, and that the bees are deadly; many die around that time due to the bee attacks.

She leads us into her home and locks the doors and blocks the windows, in an attempt to hopefully block the bees. "They're gathering; they're going to attack very soon." She randomly eats an apple.

Sure enough, the loud buzzing noises tell us that the bees have come. Even worse is that they started the attack even before the woman could close all the windows.

Oh no! The bees! WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE! We scream.

The bees fly rapidly all around the house. We scream and try to take cover. But the bees don't attack us. They just... fly.

The bulimic woman starts to throw up in a corner from shock, I presume. The bees now float in a standby formation, with one or two of them shooting towards people like some bullet. We shriek, but are able to dodge them without being injured or killed.

The nerdy one approaches and calms down the country woman. She seems extremely touched by it, and there is that moment where their faces start to lean towards each other, and the nerdy one puckers his lips... and the bulimic woman turns around and throws up again. How romantic.

But it's not over. The bees make a strange formation around the house. the woman quickly hands us a cardboard box each.

"Quickly! Hide!" she cries. We do.

As soon as she tells us to hide, the bees attack; the only way I could describe it is that the whole thing seemed like a bee tornado. Thousands and thousands of bees circled and swarmed and stung at anything in its way. I grabbed onto my rattling box and held down with all my might.

Just when I thought I wouldn't be able to hold on any longer, all is quiet. Everybody tentatively lifts up their boxes. The bees have vanished.

I don't mean that they have gone away, save leaving a few dead bees behind, but they VANISHED, not even a body or any signs of attack, as if the whole thing never existed.

The biologists are unable to explain this phenomenon, and the country woman claims it to be some sort of sick miracle, just like how Christianity or some other god in the sky debunks science in disaster movies sometimes.

This dream wasn't entertaining, it wasn't even funny, yes, it was REALLY SCARY since I am scared of bees, but other than that it was just really WEIRD.

The End.