Lost Again. Grr.

I love driving--always have. My dad would say I'm not very good at it--that I'm a little too impulsive, that I lack a little common sense, and that I'm not quite as cautious as I probably should be. That being said, I love driving. That being said, I am absolutely terrible at following directions. I get lost so often that often when I call home in the middle of the day mom asks where I'm at so she can look me up on mapquest and find the best directions to where I need to go. I get so mixed up and turned around, but as my frustration levels rise my sense of direction (if it's even possible) gets even worse and I am even more lost than before--this time with even less patience. So I drive faster, with even less caution, going farther with even less care than I had before.

For example, today I was looking for an apartment complex for visiting teaching--not a single apartment mind you, but an entire complex. It was one I had been to several times, and I was of course running late, so rather than look up directions like I usually do I decided to just go for it. Like I said, I have been there several times so I figured I could just get there. I almost don't even need to say it, but I got lost. Really lost. What should have been a 10-15 minute drive turned into a thirty minute excursion where I ended up in a neighboring city and had to completely reschedule our appointment for later that day. How one loses an entire complex I am still not sure.

I feel sometimes like life can be like that when we aren't careful. Having such a fun time getting wherever we are going that we don't care too much about where exactly that is or the path we are taking to get there. Frustrating all around, I suppose.

Easter

This year I prepared for Easter by reading about the last days of Savior’s life as close to the corresponding days as I could figure—something I hadn’t done before. It turned out to be an extremely spiritual experience. I felt closer to Him than I have in the past, not just because the season is so focused on Him but because I felt like I spent more time with Him as He prepared for His destiny. I felt a little bit of guilt as He asked His disciples if they couldn’t wait up for Him. How many of His messages and requests have I inadvertently ignored? How many times has He had to give me the same instruction and I didn’t follow it? How many times have my actions told Him and others that I denied knowing Him like Peter did? I felt His love as He washed His disciples’ feet and told them to love and serve one another. I felt His love for Mary as He spoke her name—how must she have felt?

More than anything though, studying the atonement this way made it more significant. I often wonder what I was doing as a Spirit while the atonement was taking place. I’ve always pictured the whole hosts of heaven watching in overwhelming gratitude, helplessness and apprehension as that the most significant of all events unfolded. I wonder if I felt guilt for the sins I hadn’t even committed yet as I watched my beloved Savior’s pain as he paid for them. He is my Savior. Christ suffered all for me and my family and everyone I will ever meet. His love is perfect and endless, His character bright and unvarnished. He is the ultimate example in every aspect. His love for me is something I will never be able to earn; His love for others is something I will never be able to perfectly emulate.

How grateful I am for my testimony of Him that forms my actions, beliefs, dreams, and behaviors. If there is anything good about me at all, it can all be tied back to Him and His gospel. He loves me. This is something I still can’t really wrap my head around—that a being such as He could love someone like me, but I know He does because I feel it. I feel it when I read His words, when I hold a child, when I admire His creations, when I try and follow His words. And I felt it 2 weeks ago on the anniversary of His triumph over death and sin.

Top reasons why chocolate is better than men

1- Chocolate treats me the same no matter what shape I am in.
2- I’m yet to meet a chocolate piece I didn’t like. Unfortunately the same can’t be said for men.
3- I don’t feel the need to dress up or get pretty for a date with chocolate.
4- Chocolate always seems to want me.
5- I always seem to want chocolate.
6- Chocolate doesn’t play games. It is what it is, it always tastes like I want it to, and it never makes me guess what is going on.
7- It seems like chocolate can read my mind. If I want to eat it, it is there for me to eat. If I don’t want to deal with it, it leaves me alone.
8- Chocolate is never racist or offensive. It loves all colors : )
9- I have never waited for chocolate to call. Not once.
10- Chocolate doesn’t care if I shave my legs or not.
11- I can enjoy chocolate in whatever form I wish--cookie, drink, ice cream topping, pure, etc.
12- Chocolate never wants to have DTRs.
13- Chocolate doesn't care if I admire other abdominal pieces.
14- Chocolate is consistent. Thank goodness for preservatives.
15- Chocolate doesn't prefer my sister or use me to get to her. It likes me just the way I am.

This is just a joke, used to kill time and avoid homework. All the same, I LOVE chocolate! Yay! (PS- I do like men and think they are wonderful, just in case there is any... offense or question haha).

KPOP. Yes, I'm afraid I've caught the bug.

I’m a bit ashamed to say it, but recently I have discovered Korean pop culture; specifically the dramas and pop music. Basically Korean dramas are Asian soap operas of 20ish (usually less) hour long episodes and the pop music mostly consists of single singers who are either constantly foolishly cheerful or moodily depressed or boy bands. The boy bands are usually a patchwork of baby faces and wild hairstyles doing synchronized dance moves that would be ridiculed to scorn anywhere else. There are several reasons for my fascination with them, and I will list them one at a time in excruciating detail.

Firstly, I love hearing the Korean. The language is beautiful and complex—like a math puzzle that you have to concentrate on and piece together carefully before it makes any sense. Learning it was one of the most confusing and frustrating things I have ever tried to do. Even now I can’t honestly say I understand all of the words they say, but I do catch many of them and that makes me happy, and there are English subtitles for the rest. Just hearing them speak my beloved language brings back many happy memories. I am happy happy happy to be here in the beautiful United States, but sometimes I miss Korea so much I can almost smell it. Hearing the language is a happy kind of ache that reminds me it wasn't a dream--that I really was there during some of the happiest and most miserable days of my life. Until I found this corner of the entertainment world I had almost forgotten how much I love hearing the language’s swells, rhythm, and cadence. It’s not quite like being back in 안양시 or 잠실역 but it is pretty close.

Next, the plots, music videos, drama characters, song lyrics, and soundtracks are all deliciously cheesy—we are talking cheddar cheesecake with Velveeta sauce level here. The music is epic — whole orchestras that swell with each little and each dramatic event (and there are plenty of those). The facial expressions of the boys as they watch the girls hugging other guys from a distance contain almost the same expressions as they do when they are adamantly expressing their love to these same girls. The way tears course down the porcelain cheeks of the girls at least once per episode reminds me a little of water streaming from a faucet. All in all, I find myself giggling in delight at the varied and wild reactions to a lost hairpin, broken glasses, an accidental wrist bump, a shared dish of ramen noodles, and an angry response. If people in real life reacted that way we would lock them up, but instead people spend time and money to watch people do it on television. It makes me laugh a lot. The lyrics to the songs are almost as good. Singing about how his one-sided love for a girl ripped his world apart, or how her boyfriend proposed with high heels, or how breaking up was the worst decision made in his family for five and half generations, and the list goes on. This stuff is too good to miss. Like regular cheese, the more you eat the more you want, but the deeper in you get, the more weird curd you find.

Thirdly the romances (both the ones shown on the dramas and the ones portrayed in the songs) are absolutely unbelievable. Guys never fall for normal girls that hard; at least not ordinary girls without lots of money or without really good looks. I’m pretty glad that is not the case as it would make idiots pathetic idiots of a whole slew of otherwise really attractive men but all the same it is very true. The same, of course goes for girls. Dramatic endings of relationships is the same. Breaking up with someone is not the same as getting a deadly disease or losing a friend to death. Granted, I lack experience, but all the same, I refuse to believe that emotions even go that deep—especially when they are dealing with relationships that are fleeting at best. That is part of the magic though. Watching the enfolding of situations and relationships that could never exist in the real world is delightful in an almost tangy way. It makes my petty problems seem so much smaller when I compare them to a gorgeous girl who happened to grow up running from the law and camping in tents wherever she could and now is rejected by the family of her beloved because of a mole on her left shoulder that means she might have been a beaver in her past life. After all, entertainment is best found in impossibilities.

Lastly, everything is unbelievably clean. Perhaps I shouldn't say everything, as I am sure there are dark sides to their entertainment as well, but the little bit I have seen has all been colored with the extremely conservative Asian values. The kissing is what my sweet sisters would call downright unsatisfying as the girl stands like a board and the guy almost accidentally face bumps her. The one or two bad scenes I did see ended and picked up when the characters were fully clothed (with the exception of maybe a topless man with beautiful abdominal). Perhaps they swear, I couldn't say there--I never really learned those words as a missionary. The songs too whether telling of love, being happy, being in love, or just playing with words are all innocent as far as I can tell. It is a refreshing change from American media which often resorts to skin to manufacture emotion.



In the end though, I think it is the combination that makes it work. Just like carrots, tomatoes, and cumin are all disgusting by themselves but make a delicious soup, epically cheesy music, clean but unbelievable plots, and dramatic characters all portrayed in one of the planet's most beautiful language combined make for happy endings worth watching. So to my enduring shame but unbridled happiness, I will continue watching and listening to them. In the words of one of my new favorite 슈퍼 주느열 songs, Life couldn’t get better! I am both embarrassed and delighted by my new hobby.

Victory

I recently discovered that I can unwrap a star-burst in my mouth. This makes me mischievously happy. That's all.

It's a Small World After All

In a desperate effort to numb my mind to the reality that my football team just lost their spot in the playoffs to a wildcard team I thought I’d tell the funniest story of my winter vacation which really began when I was sixteen years old.

About two months after my sixteenth birthday both my best friend and I were ready to go on a date. Wearied by the complaints of expense and disappointment of dating in general we set out to prove them wrong and go out our current crushes at the time. We practiced calling said chosen boys then proceeded to do so and the planned a date around a dinner murder mystery in a box. The date was naturally a hit, and so began my enjoyment of the boxed murder dinner things. I did another in drama class in high school and two more while in college and even one here in Washington—all were fun. So when I was in a half-priced bookstore and saw one for three dollars I bought it even though it was taped shut, assuming I could replace or get along without any missing parts. I took it home, opened it up, and to my delight and surprise found I had come full circle and bought the very same box my friend and I had used on our first date almost ten years ago. There were sheets of paper with our names on it and the boy’s names circled in pink hearts. Like a lucky penny. I shall have to pick very carefully the next guy to invite to the night of murder.

Brunch with my Demon

I spoke with my demon today—the one who has haunted my thoughts and dampened my spirits lately. We didn’t meet in battle, nor did I face him with courage and strength determined to rid myself of him forever; it was more of a cautious get-to-know-you over brunch situation. I don’t think I had ever looked at him before, at least not like this without the emotional baggage or stereotypical mask I had always shrouded him in. Like the monster that I was sure infected my third dresser drawer when I was a little girl, I had allowed my fear to paint my unseen enemy with sharp angry features without even trying to discover for myself what he was really like. I found to my intense surprise he was polite, gentle, and even pleasant in a languid colorless sort of way. He laughed at my reaction—a shallow but almost musical tenor sound—and told me that my poorly hidden surprise was common and assured me it didn’t offend him. He was a little somber and much too formal, but once I got use to his stuffy manners I was able to see the ancient wisdom hidden in his gloomy eyes.

At the conversation was forced and awkward. After all, how does anyone rationally consider the future they have feared and dreaded most of their life? But necessity and time lubricated the situation effectively, and eventually we were able to address our differences head-on. I told him that he was my last preference, warned him that if I was forced to accept him as my future companion it was because I was forced to set my dreams aside and had no other option. I asked him how I could face such a prospect cheerfully and after a bit of contemplation he pointed out that he wasn’t my very last choice or I would have settled on something different a long time ago. Then he painted a very different picture of what my future would look like if I was forced to spend it with him—one colored by choice and opportunity instead of the failure and emptiness I had always stained it with. For every dream delayed there was a chance to create and pursue a new dream. He didn’t lie to me; no promises that he could create a future better than the one I want for myself, and while he never said so straight out we both knew no matter how pleasant the future he described might be it would never completely fill the spaces in my soul where my dreams belonged. Instead he showed me the emptiness I feared was really a sketchbook open to all kinds of possibilities for growth, service, learning, and happiness. Perhaps not something to be embraced, but not something to be dreaded either.

Then he showed me my present, in its vivacious reality. No matter what happens in my happily ever after, no matter who does nor does not show up, I can never consider myself unlovable when I remember the feeling of six little arms enfolding me as I tucked them into bed. The arms and women attached to them are nearly grown now, but the warmth and love are still there, love for me—more real than you will find in any fairytale. I have no need to fear a dull future when I reflect on the adventures I embarked on with my other two siblings. How can I think I am unwanted or uncared for when I remember the look in Daddy’s face when he tells me he and mom are proud of me? My demon pointed out the love I feel for them and for dozens of other friends who have carried me to where I am and with a thin smile taught me that I need never doubt my ability to love and care for others.

There were tears of course. Even the thought of sacrificing my beautiful aspirations on the altar of reality and revamping the future of my dreams caused a pain so intense my frail brunch-mate wasn’t able to comfort me for a long time, but eventually there was comfort. After all, he pointed out; painting new dreams doesn’t necessitate my killing the ones I already have. And so I made peace with the demon who has haunted my failures for the last six years. We are not friends yet, but I think we could be, someday, if necessity required it. Either way, I already have more love and vitality in my life than I deserve, and no matter what my future holds, I’m ready to go out and meet it.