Lessons Learned (practical and emotional) while taking care of my dad. RIP 2.3.2017

After being my dad's caretaker for over a year--living with him for a couple of months, going to his house every day thereafter, medicating him, scheduling his appointments and taking him to them, cooking food to fit his dietary needs, trying to diminish his alcohol intake--there are many lessons, as I'm sure you could imagine, that I learned that I am eager to share with the people I love, and people in general.

• To get the most cliche'ed one out of the way, it really is true--the grief comes in waves. I was pretty numb for the first week. The first morning that I woke up after dad's passing felt a little empty, and I could feel a hole in the world (no other way to put it), but otherwise it was a regular Saturday for the most part. But after the funeral, it really hit me. I wanted to cry yesterday night at my a cappella practice because I realized I didn't have to be in a rush to leave anymore to go to my dad's house. I cried at Giant on Monday when a coupon printed out for Ensure, which I always bought for my dad to try and get his protein and weight in check (he liked the chocolate High Protein variety). I cried today at work when I realized it's only (and already) been nineteen days since I lost my dad, and there's the rest of my life to go knowing that I'll never make new memories with or speak to him again. I'm sure I'll still be crying about random things years from now. The grief and loss never really go away; you just learn to grow around it.

• Note: I am not, in any way, an estate lawyer, and this is not intended to be taken as legal advice. This is just my personal experience. Have a "Last Will & Testament" in place, all signed and notarized. Having a "Self-Proving Affidavit" is also useful; this would mean that the witnesses to the signing of the will do not have to be present when you file the will to be probated (i.e. to be validated and recognized by law/court at probate court, which is usually a division of a jurisdictional circuit court). Unless you're under 18, you're never too young to have a will in place, especially if you have kids. In the will, you should note that the executor(s) has the power to sell real estate, if you own any property and if you don't plan on specifying in the deed who the house should go to (i.e. in my dad's will, it was a generic "divide my assets among my two children in equal parts" statement, but you can't exactly divide a house in half). Also make sure that if you appoint more than one executor that the co-executors can act independently of each other; explicitly state this fact in the will. The independence is never assumed or implied. Due to this, my brother and I must act in unison--that is, both of us must be present at every interaction regarding our dad's estate. Kind of inconvenient! If you intentionally do or do not let co-executors act independently of each other (i.e. the convenience of being able to get things done twice as fast vs. them being able to check each other), make sure that they trust each other; fortunately, my brother and I do, and I can see there being an issue of people trying to go behind each other's backs otherwise. Also make sure you have passwords, PINs, safe combinations, and other such things accessible by someone you trust upon your passing. You may also want to consider putting someone's name on your assets and certain liabilities--bank accounts, insurance, mortgages, titles--to avoid the administrative tasks of transferring things.

• Your attitude makes a world of a difference in the way you experience life, and for me, gratitude is the best attitude. I honestly think I'm doing as well as I am because of this. When my dad went into a coma, I had so many things to be angry and whiny about (in my opinion). Instead, I did something that I remember seeing another friend do on Facebook, with the hopes that my friends, too, would feel inspired: I decided to start listing three things I was thankful for every day, rather than griping about the misfortunes I was facing. So, even though my dad was in a coma, at least we had access to health care that was helping to rehabilitate him, and palliative care to ease his pain. I also live in a time where there are apps to help me communicate with people across the world; I used WeChat to tell my brother to come back, and he did, and he was the one who was able to wake our dad up just by calling for him. While I stayed overnight at the hospital for two weeks, I had blankets to keep me warm in the chilly room. Seeing my dad in his condition made me realize how much I take for granted the fact that I can walk and move freely on my own, that I can breathe with no impediments, that I can scratch that itchy spot on my back on my own, that I can eat and drink on my own with no restrictions apart from allergies. I also realize how fortunate I am to have a job that is so understanding of my circumstances and lets me telework or take off as many days as I need. As I did this type of daily exercise, I realized just how much more stuff there is to be thankful for. From access to clean water (I have enough water that I can let my shower "warm up" before I step in) to being able to watch my dad die a peaceful death (rather than a painful or sudden one), from shoes that protect my feet (no tetanus or abrasions on my feet) to decent weather on the day of my dad's funeral (it could have been raining or snowing or freezing or even windier), it really is a "glass half full" mentality that is getting me through this. Let's get this straight, though: just because someone has it worse does not mean you are not allowed to grieve. That's like saying that because someone has it better than you, you are not allowed to be happy. By all means, grieve; Lord knows I have been.

• Good or bad, rich or poor, royalty or peasantry, smart or stupid, healthy or not, we will all meet the same end. I suppose, then, that it's really about who would want to come to your funeral to say goodbye. What community did you create in your life? Did you forge lasting bonds, or did you push people away? Were you kind and empathetic, or were you egoistic and bellicose? How did you participate in this shared experience of life?

• Along with that, funerals are for the living. I understand that, as a pile of ashes, my dad may not be able to hear me. I understand that if a god does not exist, then nobody will hear or answer my prayers. I understand that my dad's spirit isn't literally clinging to my arm as I walk through the rest of my life without him. But I was there to see the people who came out to support me, to grieve my grieving of him, and I take comfort in the fact that I am, indeed, not alone.

• You can only lead a horse to water. My dad was, for a vast majority of his life, an alcoholic (aren't most Koreans, on some level?). I could keep replacing the soju in his bottles with water, do a sniff test of every liquid in the house, take away his driver's license, take away his car keys, beg and plead with him to stop drinking...but he had a hidden stash somewhere I couldn't ever seem to find. He would call a taxi to get to the ABC store. He would send for an errand runner to buy it for him. He would scream at me until I cried and let go of the bottle I was about to throw away. I could do as much as I could in my own power, over my own agency, to stop him from abusing alcohol--but it was ultimately up to him whether he let the bottle touch his lips or not.
• This is something that took me a while to learn, only because I felt so guilty about learning it. It’s important to take care of yourself, too. As much as my dad needed my help, there were times when I needed to just take time for myself. Just one night here and there not having to go to his house so I can go straight to sleep at night instead of driving 25 miles to his house, one night here and there where I hung out with my friends or boyfriend, one night here and there where I was just at home by myself watching TV with my dog. It was for my own sense of sanity. I truly burnt myself out in the whole “set myself on fire to keep someone else warm” sense, and I was destroying and neglecting myself while I was trying to put his needs before mine. But I am human. I am a person too, and I need care, too. Self-care is important.

• Anger accomplishes nothing. At best, it will coerce or intimidate people into doing what you want them to. But at worst (and as is most common), it will break off once-meaningful relationships, deter people away from you, and really only hurt you in the end. I read in Anger Management for Dummies that anger fuels the "fight" in the "fight-or-flight" instinct we get when we are confronted with a threat. We are not animals of instinct anymore. We are beings of higher sentience. Let's act like it. Sure, use the fervor to fuel you into sharpened decision making or light a fire for some passionate belief. But do not inflict your anger upon other people. This past year has been a rehabilitative effort for me as I work to get my abrasive attitude and anger problems under my own control, and life is so much better (and things get done more easily) when I am not angry.

• It is better to err on the side of compassion and care than neglect. That is, it's better to care too much than not care enough--especially if it ends up making a big difference in a life-or-death situation, or other drastic circumstance. I personally believe that the whole "you will regret what you don't say more than what you do say" thing is really true. That's why--especially as it seemed like dad's death was getting more and more imminent--I started speaking my mind more, despite my fear of retribution (our family has never been affectionate, and me speaking my mind has almost always been met with some sort of punishment). He needed to hear this. He needed to know I forgave him along time ago for his wrongdoings. He needed to know I love him. He needed to know that actions speak louder than words, and words can hit harder than fists. He needed to know that it is never too late, that even if he lives one more day, he can live that day right.

• My dad led an unnecessarily painful life, and I attribute that to him being a broken person; he didn't know how to function as anything more than a shell or a reflection of a "normal" person. But people are not born broken. Something or someone breaks them along the way of life. I mentioned this in my eulogy, and I'm glad I did, because I was able to tell the people in attendance at my father's memorial that if they are to do just one favor for me, it is that they live a life of healing in a world full of broken people. Let's get this straight: being broken does not reflect that something is intrinsically wrong with you. If anything, it is an opportunity to rebuild yourself stronger, like torn muscle. I'm not ashamed to say that I, too, have been broken in many ways throughout my short 26 years of life so far. But so far, I have also survived 100% of the worst days of my life. I have conquered, I have learned, and, most importantly, I have deepened my empathy for people. 

• I was a very, very devout Christian in my teenage years. Then, to be very honest, I took some epistemology and philosophy courses, and I became less Christian and moreso agnostic/theist. I don't believe there is absolutely nothing out there, but I also don't believe as wholeheartedly in the Christian rhetoric anymore, especially with the picture of God that the Bible paints; how is a Perfect God so angry, jealous, temperamental, and steadfastly ignoring of our pain? And I know to the still-devout Christian, I sound like a typical believer-led-astray-by-Satan case, or maybe just someone who isn't "listening when God speaks." But I digress. Before my dad's passing, I was ambivalent at best. Now, I almost feel like I have no choice but to believe. Maybe it's because I so strongly want to believe I'll see my dad again someday. Maybe it's because I want to know that we aren't trying to live righteous lives all for nothing but secular consequences. Maybe it's because I want to feel like I have a "purpose." Maybe I because I refuse to believe that human beings are the end-all, be-all to intelligence and knowledge and the whole universe's order. But my bottom line is this: losing a parent (or anyone close to you, really) shakes up your schema of the world. With such a loss, I think your mind actively works to try and make sense of the tragedy.

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I would like to thank David T, who lost his own father back in November, for holding my hand through the rocky terrain of logistics and grieving that come with losing a parent. Who knew there was so much crap to take care of once someone passes away?! I would like to thank my brother, who made it back in time from Hong Kong to see our dad one last time so that dad wouldn't have to pass away never having seen his son again. I would like to thank my boyfriend Mason N, who, despite coming from a much more different background than mine, has been a wonderful source of understanding and emotional support. He was able to even bring my keyboard to the hospital so I could play and sing for my dad as he passed (which was, incidentally, both his first and last time that he's ever heard me play piano and sing), and that is a priceless memory I will never forget. I would like to thank Mr. Gam, my dad's friend, who has been an irreplaceable and invaluable source of friendship and reliability for my dad. I would like to thank everyone who has donated to my dad's YouCaring page (and special shout out to Jen Roh for suggesting I create one in the first place). I would like to thank my mother, who was able to transcend her own feelings about my father and come to the funeral to support me. I would like to thank everybody who came to visit me and my dad in the hospital; I have your names written down in my diary so I will never forget. I would like to thank everybody that was there in person and in spirit at my dad's funeral to help me say goodbye.

If you have any questions at all, please feel free to e-mail me at alicejpark90@gmail.com.

I will win.

Depression wins. Too often.

When I was struggling with depression, I didn't imagine a future for myself. I couldn't. It was impossible, in that mindset, to believe that there would ever be a future where things would stop being so shitty. It wasn't pessimism per se; it was just all I knew, this misery, this cloud that never lifted. A Plato's Cave of indifference. I could almost physically feel it--around my neck, on my shoulders, in my lungs, around my rib cage, on my eyelids. If things wouldn't stop being shitty, why continue into a shitty future? What if the future is even shittier than the shitty present? Even if I get over this shitty phase, another one will surely be upon me soon..?

Babies cry when they're even slightly uncomfortable because it's literally the worst thing they've ever felt in their short little lives. Crying doesn't seem to bring you the same catharsis as it did before, as you transition into maturity and learn about all the other glorious pains life has to offer.

Logic almost ruined me when I was depressed. My misery would beseech probability: if I've only been alive for 18 years and life is already this shitty, how much more shittiness is waiting for me in the next 18 years? Why extend pain--life--if I can just cut it short? I have no control over my emotions--why not take control over my life and what happens to it? I'm not good for anything anymore--what's the point of me staying around? Sure, in the short run, people might be sad, but in the long run, people will be okay, and they will be stronger for it, right?

Depression lied to me. It knew exactly which lies to tell me because it lived in my head, knowing what I would or wouldn't believe. It knew me. It was me. It knew everything I dreaded, everything I hate, everything I feared. It knew what happiness was, and it didn't allow happiness in. It didn't allow anything in, really. In a weird way, it actually comforted me and relieved me of a lot of my fears. Fear, after all, is a natural response you have to some stimulus that you think will threaten your life. Fear then rests of the assumption that you don't want to lose your life and that you value it. I didn't. I didn't flinch at loud noises. I didn't panic in emergencies. I stopped being afraid--and not at all in a courageous or willfully-determined sense. It was fearlessness in a most hopeless, void resignation.

Depression used my own thoughts and logic against me. I couldn't rely on instinct and emotions anymore; I had none left. It nested in my mind, and it fed on itself. I felt guilty for being depressed, and that guilt fed the depression further. I wanted to be able to magically obey my closest friends and start enjoying things and going out and liking myself again, but when I couldn't or didn't want to, I felt like a failure, and that shame fed the depression further. I know certain people got exasperated and annoyed with me, and even downright cut me out of their lives because they couldn't handle the burden of me being the way I was. That's what I was--a burden. This only strengthens the argument that I might be doing some good by committing suicide. I can't be mad at the people who left. They have their own problems, after all. They don't follow the same logic that I do. They don't know. And that made me feel even more alone.

Suicide in the face of depression is not cowardly nor selfish. Suicide is the logical answer that I arrived at when I was depressed. I was not afraid of anything, and I was only thinking of the good it may have ended up doing to others. I couldn't even think enough of myself to be selfish. Perhaps people would band together in camaraderie and mourning, and I would create something beautiful in the wake of my death. Perhaps people will be relieved that I am gone. But suicide is not to be romanticized in any way.

Depression is not just sadness. Please don't look at it as attention-seeking or determined pessimism. Please don't dismiss it as a phase or inferiority. If you would rather sneer and turn away and be absorbed in your own certainty that you know what's right for a depressed individual without even wanting to understand them, then it is you who are cowardly and selfish.

Stop the negative stigma of antidepressants and therapy and psychiatry and psychology to treat depression. Depression has symptoms; it has treatments that may not always work; it has fatalities; and it deeply affects and even debilitates people. It is like any other serious illness. We should treat it like one. And just like any other serious illness, depression requires medical attention. Suicide is, as Robin Williams says, a permanent answer to temporary questions and problems. It's so unfortunate that he could not let himself take his own advice.

I am winning. There are days when I feel I am losing, fading. But I will win, so long as I fight.

I'm okay. It's okay.

It's like a silent panic. Like I'm underwater, and any struggle on my part is only going to hurt me. I feel very alone.

I do have both parents, living (for now). They got divorced when I was 6, and communicated solely out of necessity through written letters. I do have a sibling. He is a half-brother, on my dad's side, 20 years my senior. He is turning 46 in two months, and our dad may not be alive to wish him a happy birthday. I do have aunts and uncles and cousins on my dad's side of the family. My dad removed himself from them 22 years ago, when Uncle June--his older brother--pulled the plug on my comatose grandmother. "You killed our mother," Dad said. "For that, I will never forgive you." 

In those 22 years, his older sister (Aunt Jannie), his older brother (Uncle June), and one of his nephews (cousin Tom--uncle June's youngest son) passed away. All from cancer. Jannie's was brain tumors. June's was esophageal, and later, lung. Tom's was pancreatic. 

Dad's is liver.

I do have friends around to help me, too. Friends who will link arms with me as I walk through our family's go-to funeral home to plan out my dad's cremation. Friends who will refer me to family lawyers upon me realizing that dad doesn't have a living will. Friends who will walk me through the legalese of death and the dying: durable power of attorney, Medicare coverage of in-home hospice care, acquiring death certificates to close accounts. Friends who will come by my dad's house to fix our internet so I can work from his house as I stay with him for the remainder of his days. 

Yet I have never felt so alone. My brother is somewhere not in this country, and I can only communicate with him via email and sporadic texting. My remaining aunt and uncle--dad's younger sister and brother--are too wary of coming to see my dad, given their vicious separation 22 years ago. My mom doesn't know any more than I do about the logistics of death; she can't help me any more than I can help myself. Dad has no friends; he has managed to push away every single person in his life, except for me. Because, ironically, I am like him. I am stubborn. I will not be pushed away. 

I feel so much more alone each time a phone call to a friend goes unanswered. I feel so much more alone when I ask someone a question about lawyers and wills and hospice care and they simply say, "I don't know." I feel so much more alone now that it's the holidays and lawyers need breaks, too, so they're not picking up my calls, even if I somehow got a direct line to their personal number. I feel so much more alone when my brother responds twelve hours later to a question I ended up figuring out the answer to ten hours beforehand.

But I can't imagine how lonely my dad must feel. 

I have many amazing friends. I am very fortunate. I am, in fact, not alone. This is just something I have to do on my own, I guess. I just wish there was a mom or sibling or close friend of his to also share this emotional (and legal) burden with. But I'm okay. 

It's unsettling to see your own dad cry. Your dad, who used to frighten you with his loud voice and drunken slurs and hurtful hands. "There's nothing to be scared of anymore," Mom said. I stopped being scared of him years ago, I assured her. He is but a frail shell of the man he used to be. At 90 pounds, with hair falling out, missing a toe, sporting a bloated belly from gastrointestinal problems, barely able to sit and stand on his own, there's nothing to be scared of--except his mortality. It all became apparent when he started crying in front of me today. And in that moment, he was just a little boy to me. Not the intimidating, cold person I had resigned to accepting as my father, but a scared little boy. He apologized to me. "I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I was a bad person. I'm sorry you missed out on a father's love. I'm sorry I was such a bad father. I'm sorry," he sniffled. I kept my tears in, by some miraculous effort on my part. 

My dad shouldn't die believing he was a bad person and that nobody loves him. He was good to me in his own way. Or at least, he tried his hardest. For that, I love him. He just never could get ahold of his temper and anger. Broken people are like that, I suppose. And if it wasn't for the way he raised me, I wouldn't be the independent, self-motivated person that I am today. I have my flaws, but I like who I am for the most part, and it's because of him. Yes, my dad was temperamental and easily-infuriated and emotionally stunted and was an alcoholic, but I know he loves me and wishes he could have done more, or so I'd like to believe He was highly misunderstood and very, very particular about how things should go and how people should behave. Listening to his apology made my heart ache for him. I don't want him to die like this. Not like this. "That's not true," I said. "You were good to me. Look! I'm happy and I'm healthy. I grew up well. Don't be sorry to me. I'm okay," I smiled. "It's okay."

He looked at me and wiped away his tears. "Really?" He asked, like a child looking for reassurance that things will be okay. "I've still wronged your brother. Your mother. Your brother's mother. Everyone..." I think he notices as much as I do that nobody is by his side as he dies, other than myself.

We have never been an affectionate family. At least, not past my early childhood. I remember him doing very loving things. Always taking me crabbing and to the aquarium and to kings dominion. Singing "Oh My Darling Clementine" and "사랑은..." to me. Letting me play a game with him where I would step on his shadow and he would yell "ouch!" and pretend to be hurt. But at some point, every "merry Christmas," "happy birthday," and "I love you" to him started to be answered with a stiff and slightly embarrassed "okay." But I know that's his way of saying, "You too." It's okay. 

Close friends, as I leak the news, are asking how I'm doing, that they are sorry. 

I'm okay. It's okay. 

Where are you?

Growing up, I had a dysfunctional family. Who doesn't, right? Still, I feel I was deprived of the sense of "family" during my childhood more than my friends were. My parents divorced when I was just entering the first grade. My older half-brother, who was 20+ years my senior, moved out of my house after an altercation with our dad when I was just four or five years old, and I wouldn't see him for at least another decade. I only met my mom's side of the family once, as they all live in Korea; to this day, I don't know who all of my uncles, aunts, and cousins are in Korea. My dad forbade me from ever seeing his side of the family, and I never dared question why he hated them so much. I just obeyed.

Still, mama knew me better than I knew myself, and knew that I would one day crave for a sense of family, if I wasn't already. She went behind my dad's back to get me to start seeing his side of the family. The matriarch of the family, aunt Jannie, who I rarely ever saw. The eldest male in the family, uncle June, who potty-trained me and sympathized with me about my dad and "his ways." The youngest male in the family, my "little dad," who owned a popular restaurant in one of the biggest Asian marts in northern Virginia. The youngest female in the family, Kathy, who sadly gets dubbed as "the crazy one" and the drama queen of the family.

Aunt Jannie passed away from brain tumors in 2004. It was at her funeral that I was re-united with my own brother, and the first time I hung out with all of my cousins as a "grown-up" and not just as a child. We played poker, they let me have some beers, and my brother won me some seed money for college in poker. I would start seeing the family more regularly--and not just during the 4th of July and New Years--for the next few years. Then, I went off to college and spoke to nobody but my mom. I never heard from my brother, I heard from my dad maybe once or twice a year, and I was once again only reunited with my cousins during the 4th of July and New Years.

I graduated college after four years of learning just how selfish/selfless I am, how much I want to belong somewhere, how much I crave love & affection from friends and family, and how I can drive myself into madness with thoughts of loneliness and remorse. Shit happened during those four years. I lost quite a few friends, I gained many more, I learned secrets about still others that had been my friends this entire time that I was oblivious to. I was ostracized, I was celebrated, I was hated, my character was questioned (by both others and myself), and I was still loyal (to others, but not to myself). I lost myself, but found myself in the way I care for the people in my life. I lost myself again when I realized I care too much for the other people in my life and not enough for myself. I pushed myself. I took things for granted, and appreciated them when I lost them and promised myself I would learn more about gratitude as I entered the real world.

Graduation day, mom told me about you. And I realized just how mortal we all are.

Certain things stopped being important. I don't care if that boy loves me or not anymore. I don't care what that girl is saying about me to her sorority. I don't care if plans are cancelled, because I have somewhere more important to be anyway. I don't care if I have to spend a ton of money on gas to drive 90 miles to Maryland and back just to catch a feeble dozen crabs. I don't care if I got three useless degrees from university, because your degree was useless, too, and you still did very well in life. I don't care if much of our time together was spent in silence, watching television and drinking beer. I don't care that you never asked for anything in return, because I still wish I could have done more.

Where are you? Why are you gone? How did this happen to you? You were the best one out of all of us. Can you come back, somehow?

You were the protective, funny, street smart, cool-but-dumb, don't-fuck-with-my-family older brother that I had always wanted. Of all of us, why did you have to go? Why wasn't it me? It could have been any of us. The illness clearly runs in our family. Why was it you? Where are you? Can you hear me?

After you left us, I started working in food service. I know you would have given me so much shit for that: "Why is your life going ass backwards? You're going from working in government to serving food? Can you at least hook me up? What's good there?" And then upon learning that we had no seafood or barbecue dishes, you would have scoffed and walked out. Your dad passed away two months later, following you to the afterlife, a father going after his son. Is there an afterlife? Where are you? Can you hear me?

I then picked up a job in retail. You would have still given me shit for delving further into the service industry, but then begrudgingly would have told me you respect my work ethic and that "you gotta do what you gotta do to get by." I was working 60-70 hours a week dealing with other people so I wouldn't have to deal with myself and my grief. My dad didn't show up to either your nor your dad's funerals, by the way.

I got a job with the government around a month ago. Sub-contractor, actually. You would have given me shit for that, too. "You suck so much that you can't even work for a contractor for the government, but you work for a contractor for a contractor for the government? What's wrong with you?" You were such an asshole. You had a way of making fun of me for absolutely everything, and I loved you for it. Any time I fucked up in life in the past few years, I would tell you, and you would just laugh. You would help me realize that mistakes are just funny stories you can tell to people in the future (and to your cousin with cancer that will make you sheepishly realize that things could be worse). You helped me see the humor in life. You would sometimes tell me about your own similar fuck-ups--which actually ended up being worse than mine--which made me feel better. There was one fuck-up of mine where you didn't even want to know details, because you knew I was so ashamed, and it was no poking-fun matter. But you helped me out anyway, shoving a wad of cash in my hand and telling me not to worry about it. And I knew you knew what it was. But neither of us spoke about it out loud, and that's when I really started to get who you were as a person.

You were the one that really helped me feel like I finally had a family. You brought us together. You always talked shit at poker nights while smoking your cigars, wearing those stupid sunglasses, bragging about how you've got a huge dong. I knocked you down a peg, when you referred to your manhood as a "Jimmy Dean bratwurst," by replying: "I think you mean Vienna Sausage." Weirdly enough, I think this is when you started to respect me--when 15-year old me made an unexpected dick diss.

I have more time to myself now. I've quit my retail job. I only work about 60 hours a week now, but 40 of those hours are a desk job where I honestly have nothing to do, and so I am left alone with my thoughts--the thoughts I refused to acknowledge about your absence, about uncle's absence, about dad's self-alienation from the family, about the evanescence of life. And I've been fucking up a lot lately with friends and my mom and finances and job stuff and friends and ambition.

I need you to laugh at me again. Where the fuck are you?

Rest In Peace, 'Donger.'

You wouldn't think that when you hold your baby as he takes his first breath, you would one day be holding him as he takes his last breath. It's not something I've ever considered, at least.

It was my college graduation day--May 11, 2012--when my mom told me that cousin Tom has cancer. What kind? I asked, as if there were any good kind of cancer I could hope for. She didn't know how to translate it from Korean into English. 췌장암, she said.

Pancreatic cancer.

When I returned back home from school, I started visiting Tom every weekend I could. Sometimes just to watch Nats and Redskins games with him, sometimes just to play with his dog, and sometimes to eat some good old seafood with him. Why did it have to take cancer to bring us closer together? Nonetheless, I'm glad he got to taste some Hot N Juicy and Chasin' Tails cajun seafood before he went, and that I also got to bring him some live catch of my own.

"He's in a better place now," people tell me. Where is he? And how is it better? As someone who doesn't believe in a heaven nor hell nor nirvana nor any other sort of life after life, this consolation means almost nothing to me, but I wish it did. It's times like this that I wish I believed.

"You were so good to him," Aunt Kathy tells me--the youngest aunt in the Park family. "I know you were." I felt like I didn't do enough, though. And I know there were others who did more for him. I could have taken him to a Nationals or Redskins game. I could have taken him with me to my crabbing and fishing trips. I could have done a Marvel movie marathon with him and watched some stand-up comedy with him. But I didn't. When his mom and Aunt Kathy and others tell me that I was "good to him," I feel like I am being commended in a way a helpless child could be commended for chipping in loose change to help pay a mortgage.

He is 19 years my senior; most of the Park cousins are considerably older than me and had grown up together, and I was the baby. My very first memory of Tom is when I went over to his house to visit my aunt and uncle with my mom, just a little after my parents had divorced. He walked over to me and stuck his foot in my face and then laughed when I got scared; I thought that he was going to smother me with it. Always the jokester. He continued making us laugh even after he was gone. As we were going through his things, one of the very first things we found were two very--let's say, explicit--DVDs in his top drawer. James handed them to me before I knew what they were and said, "Do you want these?" Also, I myself have been known to steal stupid things--giant stuffed toys from Kings Dominion, dinnerware from my campus dining halls, souvenirs from vacation spots. Imagine my amusement when we were going through his things, and I saw two green fold-up chairs in his closet and room that very clearly said "Patriot Center" on them--from his alma mater, George Mason University. I also found a sketchbook with drawings by his 14-year old self. They were actually pretty decent. He and I are more similar than I thought. On the paddle he got from his fraternity, which was placed on his casket, I learned that his nickname was 'Donger.' I'm not sure why, but it somehow seems appropriate.

While he was battling his illness, there were a good amount of times when we thought he was reaching his end. Whether he was particularly beat up from chemotherapy, or when his stent had a blockage and he vomited everything he tried to keep down, or occasions when he got delusional and unaware of his surroundings. But each time, he somehow pulled through, and the next time I would see him, he would be his usual snarky self, laying on the couch watching TV with his dog while his brother James cooked some spicy pork outside on the grill. He was invincible. I got used to thinking that no matter how horrible his condition got, he would recover. I foolishly thought there would always be more time. Only, last week, he decided he couldn't fight anymore. He was done. He got to play one last round of poker with our cousins and his friends. He got to have a proper farewell with a lot of people. He requested that "Amazing Grace" be sung at his viewing, and I hope I did it justice--although I'm sure if he were alive to witness it, he would have told me that I sucked and booed me off the stage.

I was afraid of asking him out of the fear of offending him, but I finally did, because others have wondered the same thing when I tell them about him: "Why have you been fighting for so long? What makes you want to keep living?" He had no wife, no kids, and I guess for some people, if you don't have those things, then you don't really have anything to live for. Of course, they would be wrong. He had his cousins, his brother, his adorable niece Alexis. He had his mother, who was holding his hand in her sleep when she awoke to his grip loosening as he passed away; she wailed "my baby, my baby" over his body through the morning. He had his father, who collapsed on the front porch as he watched the coroners cart the body away. He had his friends, his Alpha Chi Rho fraternity brothers, his job. He had all the people that showed up to his viewing, funeral, and burial ceremonies. Indeed, when I asked him why he was holding on, he responded by saying, "Alexis. I was fighting for her. But I can't do it anymore." It's damn near miraculous that he made it over two years with pancreatic cancer, and I am in awe of his resilience.

I think of all the could-have-been's. Having been a bachelor all his life, would he have found love and settled down if it wasn't for the cancer? Would he have liked Kevin Hart and Louis C.K.? If he ever did meet any boyfriend of mine, would he really have given them a "beat down," as he always threatened to do whenever he thought I was dating somebody? "He better treat you right, or we'll give him a beat down."

They simplified his life so much in the funeral program. August 27, 1971: born in Korea. 1977: immigrated to the United States. Elementary/Middle/High school. George Mason University (English Major). Work at a bank. Work at a mortgage company. August 28, 2014: deceased at 5:20am. There was so much more to him than that (as there is to anybody, of course). The district, regional, and state wrestling championships he participated in and won. The countless people he helped out that were in trouble by giving them all sorts of money and resources without expecting anything in return--myself included. The Treasurer and Vice President positions he held with Alpha Chi Rho. The crass dick jokes. The amazing shrimp barbie recipes. The surprising secret artistic abilities. So many other things that I myself will never get to know about him firsthand.

At his viewing, his mother wept at his casket while his father repeated, "It should have been me, I should have gone first." It will take an eternity for me to forget my aunt's cries of "my baby, my poor son" over his body.

The day I found out from James that Tom's condition was rapidly deteriorating, it had been almost two months since I had last seen him. You always think there would be more time. How did I let almost two months go by? I am a fool. I am a coward.

Last Tuesday, August 26, I went to his house as soon as I got the word from James. "Good to see you," Tom greeted me while he was drinking some soup. I tried to contain my shock at his 80-pound frame. He looked like a skeleton with skin stretched over his bones. I kept him company in his room while we watched the Nats game, and that's when he started to lose it.

"Hey, is the game on?" he asked, his eyes closed. I was confused, and didn't realize what was happening to his mental state..
"Yes...? We're watching it right now," I replied, worried. He stayed silent.
Then, a few moments later: "Oh, man, do you need anything? Are you okay?" he said, his eyes half-open.
"What?" I laughed. "Do you need anything? You're the one with cancer, man."
He paused and then chuckled. "Wait, sorry. I thought you were in labor just now. Must be hallucinating," he mumbled. More silence. Suddenly, he started rambling on in gibberish and groaning, and I cried openly in front of him, knowing he wasn't aware of it and thusly couldn't make fun of me like he had in the past when I cried for him. I caught the words "plastic Indian" and "sing sang sung steam," but didn't make sense of much else--not that those phrases in themselves make any sense.

I couldn't stay to watch him anymore, but he was slowly regaining his coherence. I walked over to him and told him I would be back the next day, and that we would watch some Louis C.K., as he had never heard of him before. He groaned in agreement--I think. Then, something I had never said to him before--something I rarely say to people in general, but especially anybody in the Park family, because they (we) all think lovey-dovey stuff is cringe-worthy: "I love you." Gratifyingly enough, I got an "I love you, too," in return.

The next day, Wednesday, August 27, I went to his house. It was his 43rd birthday. He was bedridden for most of the day. I went to his room, sat down next to him, and placed a hand on his sharp hip bone. His hand slowly reached over to meet mine, and though he couldn't speak, the gesture spoke volumes. Later, while I was in his living room with his parents and friends and brother, we heard him hop out of bed. He appeared in the hallway right outside of his room, saw us, and said, "What's going on?" We looked at each other in surprise.
"It's your birthday! This is your party!" we exclaimed. He grinned like a little kid, then went back into his room. Seeing him in the hallway was a harrowing view; with no shirt on, we could count each rib, each vertebrae.

Thursday, August 28. I woke up to a voicemail from James. "My brother has passed away. My mom says he went around 5:10, 5:20." I will never forget how cold Tom's skin felt on my lips as I kissed his forehead before his body was taken away.

I will live twice as hard for him. I don't have room for fear or apprehension or awkwardness or anxiety anymore. And there will always be room for tomfoolery (how apt of a word!).

If there is a heaven, I would like to think he's feeling "aw shucks"-abashed at how many people are mourning his death and how many people cried at his funeral. There's probably unlimited cajun seafood up there, with lots of steak and cigars and football and wrestling and fishing and poker.

Four things to be thankful for today.

• Friends like Jan and Casey who will come help me at last minute's notice. My dad's BMW 750 has had battery issues in the past, but never when I was in possession of the car--until today. It was confusing enough just to open the hood and identify the positive and negative terminals (and I somehow cut my finger deeply in the process?). Jan came to the rescue with his A4 and cables and jump-started my car. :)
• My mom, who I know will help me if I'm in trouble without expecting anything in return.
• My room mate, Jasmine, who is patient with me and gives me all the constructive criticism I really need for problems I encounter, both personal and professional.
• My determination. Opportunities can be found in setbacks. To be honest, I'm glad that certain choices are made for me, even if they aren't what I expected them to be. If my biggest worry is that I have too many choices, then I am a fortunate individual.

Plans for the rest of 2014

I plan on...

• getting my credit card balance down to almost $0 by the end of this year. I have completely max'ed out my limit as of now, at the end of April, after spending moneys upon moneys on graduation gifts, birthday shenanigans, and just treating people to food in general.
• foregoing my MBA this Fall, due to the sad fact that I still have about $30,000 in student loans as well as a barely-livable salary and an apartment in Fairfax County.
• leaving my position as an Intern for DHS and getting into a permanent and higher-paying position, whether it be in public or private sector.
• getting my body fat down to 11% (I have no idea what it is right now but I'm fairly sure it's not below 15%); I don't really want to gain muscle either, so that might just end up becoming 10-15 pounds to lose.
• going crabbing at least three times a month May through September.
• buying an actual box/frame for my mattress.
• finishing at least two pieces of artwork.
• cutting certain people out of my life--and not pussyfooting around it, either.
• working harder to keep certain people in my life--and not pussyfooting around it, either.
• watching all of Orange Is the New Black. I haven't started it yet, but I hear it's a good show.
• finishing the rest of Community and Weeds. Bonus: get through at least the second and third season of Glee.
• getting a tattoo of an octopus or starfish on my shoulder or hip.
• writing the lyrics to and recording my voice for at least three original tracks--one of which I'm going to be rapping on. I know, I've only ever presented myself as a pianist or singer, but I really admire spoken word and rap and want to learn more about it.
• taking a walk by myself during a big thunderstorm around my neighborhood.
• making a spontaneous trip to a beach by myself--probably Virginia Beach or Outer Banks or even Ocean City. Who knows? It'll be spontaneous, after all.
• getting something (less controversial) published on ThoughtCatalog again.

Running

Throat closing tight
Eyes straining tight
Fists clenching tight

Mind running loose,
Lips running looser--

Wait
Did I say that out loud?
Did anybody hear me?

Can anybody hear me?

This must be what it feels like
If my mind were a prison
My thoughts convicted of crimes they did not commit

Where is the warden?
He must have dozed off into a drunken stupor again
Just like yesterday,
Just like the day before.
Still, the prisoners do not escape
Out of fear that freedom is not
What they hoped it would be

They have learned to sing in their cages.

The sun has set;
Yet another day
The prisoners' schemes have gone unnoticed
As they pass cigarettes to each other,
The warm red glow providing their only light.

Day 30: 5 Things I want to be remembered for.

• My curiosity in life. I'm that friend that will ask, "What does this do?" and then proceed to either injure herself or otherwise fuck something up because I'm curious and I want to learn things firsthand. I wish I had all the time in the world so I can learn everything there is to know about everything. Sciences, cultures, history, humanities, arts, everything.
• My artistic talents. Maybe it's a little shallow, but I hope people remember me for my voice, my piano talents, and my drawing. I am by no means professional in any of these three, nor have I had any formal training (apart from piano lessons. And an art class from my local community college, I guess). But of all the descriptors people ever use to introduce me, I hear "She's crazy artistic" or "She's a good singer" the most. Although the next descriptor that comes close is...
• My ability to eat. I am such a big glutton, and I know my body's gonna pay for it someday. But I eat like somebody four times my weight/size, and I never exercise. I'm too busy eating, after all. It is not unusual for me to have 2-3 dinners and 2-3 lunches (usually only one breakfast though). In high school, I challenged the tallest basketball player on our high school's basketball team to a chipotle burrito eating contest. He was 6'7", I'm 5'3". I ended up winning. The secret is pooping a lot. Gotta make room.
• Being a good friend. I'm not gonna be the friend that always agrees with you, and I personally am almost never biased (read: just because I'm friends with you doesn't mean I'm going to agree with you); I try to remain as objective as possible. However, no matter how much I disagree with you or how angry I am with you at the moment or how disappointed I am in you or how crazy I think you are, I will still stand by you and support you. When shit hits the fan, I will clean it up for you, because you are my friend and I care about and love you. It has nothing to do with "loyalty," which I've always thought was arbitrary; I am friends with people from absolute opposite sides of the social/political/whatever spectrum, and I am friends with people that actually hate each other. To me, it's about who I've shared my own life experiences with, and who has shared their own with me as well. I don't take sides (which some might end up saying makes me a bad friend, but I really don't like being biased/skewed in my judgments). No matter how many times you've complained to me about something, I will listen. Even if something you're doing doesn't sit well with me, why should that matter anyway? It's your life, and I respect your will to do whatever it is you want with it.
• My friendliness/affability. Yeah, sometimes when people meet me, I seem very cold and standoff-ish. I don't mean to be. I think it's just in my natural Korean bitchface, maybe, or the fact that I act casual and comfortable with everyone whether I've been friends with you for 5 years or 5 minutes (aka I don't bother with niceties and manners sometimes). But I hope people remember me for bringing them together, for being so open, for making them laugh, for asking them about how they're doing, and for being thoughtful.

Wow, done with this 30 day challenge... what next?!

Day 23: Why I love my top 3 hobbies

I have so many hobbies, though! I am a woman of many interests!

Sike. My top three hobbies (and really my only three hobbies) are smoking hookah, crabbing, and music (usually transposing popular songs into acoustic piano/guitar versions).

I love smoking hookah because it's a nice palette cleanser and, on the rare occasion, it gives me a nice, heady buzz. It's also a great social lubricant that doesn't damage my liver (just my lungs... and probably brain, from oxygen deprivation...) nor make my judgment screwy. I've met so many people at hookah lounges and developed bonds with people by just chatting by the pipes. I also have one of my own, so it's a nice way to get some one-on-one time at home with friends as well. And, of course, smoke tricks. I swear 70% of the reason I even smoke hookah in the first place is so I can perfect my smoke rings and other such tricks. But yeah, if you go out to a hookah lounge and invite me, I will say yes 80% of the time. The other 20% is a no most likely because I am already at another one.

I love crabbing because being by the water is so calming. It's hard not to feel really humbled by something as great as the sea. It also makes me feel very... primal? I mean, I think catching your own dinner is pretty cool. Lately, crabbing hasn't been too good in the Chesapeake, but hopefully this year's populations will be up. It's yet another nice way to bond with people; I almost always take at least one person with me on my crabbing trips. It's a road trip (about 1.5-2 hours' worth of driving each way), too, so there's nothing to do but listen to music and/or talk. When we get there, it's just water and sun and tanning. My cousins also love crabs, so it's nice to come back to them with a nice catch that we can all eat. Old bay, lemon juice, vinegar. Crabbing's been in my family for a very long time, so I love it for personal family reasons; it was my dad and I's primary bonding activity. Also, I'm a cancer, so there's some symbolic connection there, too. And have you HAD blue crabs?! They're called Callinectes sapidus ("savory swimmer") for a reason. So tasty. Yum. It's also pretty exciting to do in general--moreso than fishing, in my opinion (but then again, I'm not as well-versed in fishing, so there's probably more technique to it than I'm thinking); I crab with lines and bait  and not crabpots or crab traps because those are for noobs. And every now and then, I catch giant terrapins and eels, the latter of which make great bait for crabs (and the former of which make great pets for the day before I let 'em back in the water).

I love music because...I just do? Usually when I'm in a bad mood or feeling a general bout of sadness, I realize eventually that it's because I haven't done anything musical in a while. I learn a new piece on the piano, and then I feel better. And like the other two hobbies I've listed, music is a great way to connect to people. I've been fortunate to have a lot of performance opportunities lately, and I do most of them with a partner, so there's the bonding in that alone (between me and said partner). And then, of course, there's the connection between the performer and the audience. It's kind of difficult for me to explain it without sounding like a pretentious douche, but I'll just say that performing has helped me meet a lot of people in general. Harmonizing with people, creating arrangements for choirs/a cappella groups, and shit like that in general is amazing. It's like your minds come together to make sweet musical love. That's really all I can say about that. It's also nice to be able to indulge in your own creativity when you see your musical talents/inclinations/skills coming to life and to be proud of yourself for something you know you are passionate about and work very hard in.

Day 14: "Describe 5 strengths you have."

Some of these, like my weaknesses, probably overlap with each other, too.

Humor. I'd like to think I have a good sense of humor. Sure, it can be on the very dryly-witty, sarcastic, obnoxious, offensive sides of humor, but I can also just be downright corny sometimes. I like laughing, I like making people laugh, and I like hearing that people think I'm funny. One of the better things to hear about yourself. I also know how to laugh at myself, which I think is important for the lightness of the heart.

Open-minded. I am one of the least judgmental people you will ever meet. I know that doesn't sound quite right, if you know me--after all, I spew harsh judgmental statements about what people are wearing or what they look like or other sorts of superficial judgments, so let me clarify that I consider them to be just that--superficial judgments. I don't know them as a person, and I wouldn't infer anything about somebody's character just based on superficial judgments (which, in all honesty, are jokes. Jfc, I know some uptight people. I'm sorry you interpreted me to be a complete bitch because you thought I was serious about my judgments or because you thought I was implying disapproval just because I made fun of that girl's eyebrows with you). With initial judgments, I'm careful to note that someone "seems" one way or another, because I'm sure that that's not how they really are, and/or there's more to them. In fact, it's the people I have bad first impressions of that ended up being the best people in my life. Given circumstances and beliefs and morals (or lack thereof), people end up making wildly different choices from each other; I'm not one to judge, because I'm sure if I was in your situation, I would be the same way. I'd like to think that this is why people have told me some 'horrible' things they've done or thought; they are sure they can confide in me without my reprimanding or judging of them, because I can understand and perhaps even empathize with the most sinful, perverted, morbid sentiments of people. After all, I have my own secrets too. I'm also open-minded for concepts and experiences in general, not just about people and morals.

Multi-faceted. There are many dimensions to me. I am masculine and feminine; I am complicated and simple; I am dominant and submissive; I am logical and intuitive; I am a criminal and a victim; I am obedient and rebellious. I have multi-faceted interests as well, as I pick up on things pretty quickly, and it's a point of pride with me. I love learning new things in general, so the eagerness kind of drives me to adopt new processes and concepts and paradigms very readily. I want to be well-versed in the topics that interest me (which is almost everything ever). I like to have a little bit of everything in my character. From my hobbies to my fields of study to the instruments I play to the people I consider my best friends to the people I've dated to the movies to the books I love reading over and over again to I love to the music I listen to, I would like to think I don't fit into any single category or niche comfortably. I think outside the box and can be very artistic and abstract, but I also like sticking to rules and following reason.

Forgiving. Upon confiding in a friend about random stuff over this past weekend, he said to me: "You're too forgiving." I didn't know if that was a good thing or not at first, but I decided that it is, indeed, a good thing. I've learned a lot in the past few years that have helped me forgive people with the confidence that if they wronged me again, I would be able to let go because my life and I are bigger than whatever wrongdoing is in question. I also don't like holding grudges; it's a nasty weight to carry, and I don't like holding hatred in my heart for anyone. Of course, forgiveness doesn't necessarily mean that things are okay and back to normal; the relationship itself could be irreparably damaged in its own way... but it just means that I can seek and obtain closure for myself and have the decency to let go of my negative feelings towards my debtors.

Dependable. I am there for my friends (or so I'd like to think... if this doesn't sit well with you, then let me know). I can come pick them up from university and bring them back home if their ride falls through. I can pick up their phone calls at 3 in the morning when they want to mourn the end of their most recent relationship. I can listen to the same laments and complaints over and over again and give different pieces of advice depending on what I think is most appropriate for their present state of mind because I know what it is they want and need to hear. I am almost always available to hookah (and hang out in general), whether it's at my place or yours or at a lounge. I very, very rarely cancel plans or fail to follow through with something I committed to. If I say I'll do something, then I'll do it. I rarely make promises I can't keep. And as multi-faceted as I am, I am nonetheless a pretty consistent, predictable person for the most part.

Honesty. I know, 6 items instead of 5, but whatever. You can pretty much expect me to not lie to you, because I am very honest. Brutally honest. Too honest, even. Honest about things I don't have to be honest about. But I think it's better than being deceitful or manipulative by lying. Although, as Jack Sparrow says, it's the honest ones you've got to watch out for...

Day 13: "Describe 5 weaknesses you have."

I'm pretty sure a lot of these overlap or are direct effects of each other. Yay for positive feedback loops...

Hypocrisy. I tell people not to be late, and then I myself show up past due. I preach direct confrontation and straightforward honesty, and then I myself sometimes pussyfoot around things and/or twist the honest truth into a wispy white lie. I look down on arrogant people, yet I, too, hold myself in high regard at times. I despise inconsistency, yet I am inconsistent--a hypocrite. I'm definitely making an active effort to practicing what I preach, but I don't always catch it. Please help me do so, if you are one of my best friends.

Over-analysis. I have a habit of reading into things way too much. It's ironic, because I can't read between the lines and pick up on hints and identify motives for passive-aggressive behavior. However, it's because I am aware of this unawareness that I make an extra effort to analyze the crap out of things (and all the wrong things, too). I end up driving myself into insanity by contemplating different "what-if" scenarios and exploring the myriad of possible meanings of what somebody did or said and scrutinizing why what I did might have been wrong and what I need to do to ready myself for the consequences of said wrong action and wondering if someone favors me or dislikes me. I overanalyze texts, behavior, 'signs' in life, conversations, body language, everything. I have a constant headache from making mountains out of molehills. What's worse is that sometimes, I end up being right in my over-analysis, and so I am only reinforced to keep doing it.

Inconsiderateness/insensitivity. I never mean to be inconsiderate. That's just what it is: non-consideration. I never considered that something I did or said would offend or insult or hurt you. I was most likely joking and/or simply not realizing that you were sensitive to the matter at hand. Yes, I can be inconsiderate--but this does not mean I intentionally am trying to offend/insult/hurt you. Being inconsiderate really sucks because it's a self-sustaining trait, and people get mad at me without me realizing why. I then get deemed cold or selfish or bitchy or demanding because I failed to consider other people. I didn't mean to fail to consider you; I just simply didn't consider you. It wasn't an active effort. I realize this only makes me sound even more like the traits I just mentioned. And maybe people don't really care about intentions as much as I do. I would hope it's some sort of consolation to your increasingly-negative perception of me that I don't hurt you because I mean to; I hurt you because it's collateral damage of my blindness. After all, it's not like my thought process is, "Oh, have I considered his/her feelings yet? Maybe I should. Nah, I won't." It just never even crosses my mind. I'm sorry to those who have had to put up with me through this, but I am even sorrier to those who don't call me out on it--if you don't call me out on it, I'm never gonna improve, and you're most likely going to have to keep dealing with my bullshit. Please, please speak up if I am doing something you don't like or if you want to have more of a say.

Complaining. I don't realize I'm complaining until someone tells me I'm complaining. Another part of being inconsiderate, I guess. I just thought we were venting/talking... but neither the word 'complaining' nor its connotation sits well with me. So when someone tells me I'm complaining, I really try to shut the hell up. I don't even readily know what the opposite of complaining is. Appreciating? Praising? I do know, however, that I stopped expressing gratitude for positive things going on in my life because people kept saying I was just bragging. "I'm humanly unable to please everyone at the same time, so now I find my peace of mind living one day at a time..." To be frank, though, I think I would rather complain than appreciate; complaining helps me articulate what is wrong in my life, which then leads me to wonder what I can do to fix it. Please know, people, that when I complain, I don't do it for the sake of complaining. I'm trying to think out loud and brainstorm something (preferably with your input, if I'm indeed 'complaining' to you) to get rid of the dissonance in my life.

Overcommitment. I'm known as an overachiever among my friends, and it's more of a vice than a virtue, really. I tend to bite off more than I can chew, and the only reason I end up being able to follow through with everything I signed up for is because of the next item on this list. But if I could back out of things without any negative consequences, then I would. I sign myself up for all sorts of performances and events and trips and hangouts that I end up burning out. It doesn't happen often anymore, since I am rather used to it now (and I actually kind of thrive on it now), but back in college, I was just constantly running on fumes. I think I've achieved a decent balance of when to chill out and when to go full force into everything in my life, but there are times every now and then that I hate myself for not really thinking when I say 'yes' to things/people.

Stubbornness. I know it says to do only 5 weaknesses, but I have more than just 5 primary ones. There are a bunch more of secondary/tertiary weaknesses, too, I'm sure. I get my stubbornness from my dad, my family says. Too prideful to back down, too determined for negotiating or compromising, too hot-headed to yield to others' suggestions. Sometimes, I just do shit just for the sake of doing it, not because I even particularly feel like doing it anymore. I just don't want to go back on my word, and I want to try and be consistent, but also I just feel like doing things my way and my way only. I've wasted a lot of my time and resources because of my stubbornness, I'm sure, but I'm too stubborn to care.

Overapologetic. My mom raised me to believe that this is a good trait. By reinforcing me with accolades of my character, I ended up becoming a fuckin' martyr. Everything is my fault, everything is my responsibility. I need to take responsibility. If I had just done this or if I hadn't done that, then things would be fine. People would be fine. Somewhere along the road, I realized that I heard myself say the phrase "I'm sorry" more often than I heard it coming out of others' mouths. I started to resent apologizing, and I still do, honestly. I hate apologizing now. In trying to alleviate others of their guilt/responsibility, I ended up taking on the burden myself and losing myself in the process. Like I said, a martyr. Why can't people apologize to me, for once? And no, it doesn't count if you follow the phrase "I'm sorry" with a "but." No "but"s in apologies. Also, someone pointed out that it's awfully presumptuous that I apologize for everything. This kind of entails (although I never saw it this way) that I'm in control of everything and nobody else is; I knew/know what's best and nobody else does; I apologize because it's the higher road.

Day 09: What defines you?

What is this prompt even asking..?

Is this like, what is my defining trait that everybody knows me by, or what gives me and my life meaning?

For the first, I would say a lot of people know me for a few different things. I'm either the girl that hogs the hookah, the girl that can sing and play piano, or the girl that can eat a lot. I am also known as the girl with the natural bitch face, the girl that's being way too loud, or the inconsiderate and rude and arrogant girl. Whoops.

As for the second... I'm honestly not sure what gives me and my life meaning, but I would have to say the answer lies somewhere in my relationship with and respective to people. I would say my life has no meaning if there is nobody else around to live through it with me, i.e. nobody else whose life concurs with mine that I can then share my journey and whatnot with. If my life is unobserved and untouched by other people--and if I have not observed or touched others' lives myself--then what's the point?

As a Christian-turned-agnostic individual, the foundation for the essence and definition of my life shifted from divine proclamation to something more autocratic and, admittedly, arbitrary. Or maybe it's not so arbitrary. But if I am to believe there is no afterlife nor prior life nor other type of nirvana-transcending-time-and-space, then what else could count but this life? I think what gives me comfort in suffering from the idea that there is no God or afterlife is the idea that at least we are all suffering together. Our stories may be forgotten in the shadow of greater individuals and notable events later in the future, but at least they are all unfolding now, in the present, intertwining with others'.

So, yes. What defines me is my place in this world--that is, what and whom I indulge in, along with the when, where, and why of it all.

Day 08: What are 3 passions I have?

I don't even know. I have hobbies, I have things I like to do, I have things I do often... but I honestly don't know if they are passions or not.

I love singing, and most people know me for singing. I have to admit, however, that I have an actual passion for piano. It challenges me in a way singing does not, as the latter comes almost too naturally. I can't really build upon the skill level I have now as a singer, apart from nailing a few difficult runs and maybe increasing my vocal range. There's only so much I can do. With piano, however, I can always study more compositions and techniques, and it's something I actually have to practice.

Another passion is art. I don't know anything about art in the technical or scholarly or disciplined sense, but I do know that I lose myself when I start drawing. Hours can go by, and I wouldn't know. I don't think I am good enough to call myself an artist (at least, not a visual artist), but I can capture a pretty image on paper decently well.

My third passion is perhaps nature. Everything about nature--from its aesthetic values to the symbiosis of everything to greater schools of study like biology, chemistry, physics, and astronomy. My favorite place to be is anywhere near a body of water, and I love living things. Life and living things in general are such radical concepts to me.

Day 05: Five things that make me the happiest right now

• When my food is ready to be eaten. Whether that means I've finally finished assembling the food on my plate to look as pretty as it is yummy, or the hot plate or bowl is being carried my way... The salivation, the sensory experience, mlarghhh.
• Performing. I haven't done any performances in the past month or so, so I'm quite looking forward to the next ones coming up: Fundraising for the Philippines on March 29, National Cherry Blossom Festival on April 10, and maybe a performance for George Mason University's VSA (Vietnamese Student Association) on March 20. As cliche as it sounds, performing is so liberating in the sense that you are vulnerable and people still accept you. What can I say?; I live for the applause.
• Hanging out with my best friends. Jen, Min, Riz, Ann, Dan, Patrice, BLPCS (Jam sessions! with Broke Life / Pshew Crew Studios singers Jan, Tim, Chris, and Alex)... and whenever I can see them (since they're still in school), Casey, Liz, Chau, and Ashley and others I'm probably forgetting. I also love skyping with long-distance friends (Matt and Jimenez, lookin' atchu). Whether we're baking or smoking hookah or watching That 70's Show or talking about some real struggles, I get most of happiness from just being around friends.
• Pens that write really well. I don't know why, but something about pens that bring out my best penmanship just make me happy and inspire me to write more. I like writing in general, I suppose.
• Going to my cousin Tom's house. I didn't really get to know my extended family when I was younger, but now that I'm out of college and have my own car, I get to hang out with them whenever I want, albeit under some bittersweet circumstances... Also, the cutest puppy in the world.

Day 04: Five things I would tell my 16-year old self

1. Don't think about things in terms of "good enough" or "inadequacy". Everything is a lesson to be learned (or at least a memory to be made and look back on), and these are the lessons you must learn in your life; these are the days that must happen to you. You are simply not 'right' for something (or someone), but don't think that that means you are insufficient. Keep moving, because you are getting closer to what (and whom) you are meant for. Life and life choices can just be processes of elimination sometimes.
2. Save yourself for someone who deserves to know you that intimately. Don't judge other girls who do otherwise. It's their body and their choice, just as it is your body and your choice. Sex will be much more enjoyable and meaningful this way for you, though, and it will cement the distinction between whomsoever you choose to be with and the others that aren't right for you. If anybody incessantly tries to put you down for it or even change your mind, tell them to go fuck themselves. Don't give yourself away to make a boy stay or because you are afraid he won't like you otherwise. You can do better than that. 'No' means 'no,' by the way. Don't ever let someone make you feel guilty just because you know what you want (or don't want) for yourself.
3. Look into majoring in marine biology or astronomy, not economics and/or business. BUT do retain a music minor; you'll make some of your best friends this way. 
4. You will appreciate your mother much more and actually miss her upon moving out of her house. Cherish your time with her, even when she's temperamental. Especially when she's temperamental. Remember that her behavior finds root in her care for you. If she didn't yell at you, discipline you, and make you feel like shit about your bad choices, it would mean she doesn't genuinely care about you; be thankful, then, that she does, because you will know many people who have indifferent or even deceased parents. Furthermore, she is allowed to be selfish and self-centered and ignorant and oblivious. She's not just your mother. She's human, just like you and everybody else that makes mistakes.
5. There will be times when you are completely alone... suffocatingly, asphyxiatingly, excruciatingly, hopelessly, helplessly alone. People can't always be there for you, despite how many friends you have. They have their own issues to deal with, and you can also be overbearing sometimes. Don't take it personally, though. Remember that people can have moments of selfishness and inconsiderateness that has more to do with them than with you. But other people simply will abandon you, flake out on you, turn on you, refuse to help you, or otherwise make you realize that you've had the wrong people in your life. These people had to be removed from your life to make room for better people--the ones that understand you and can listen to your stories over and over again, the ones that will support you even if they don't agree with your choices, the ones that are here to stay rather than just be a temporary band-aid on some niche in your life. Some people leave because they can't bother to stay in touch; don't take it personally. 

Day 03: Greatest amount of physical pain I've endured

• When Min shot me with a BB gun. What the hell, Min.
• Duodenal ulcer. I can't believe I forgot this when I first published this entry. It just feels like a ton of acidic gas is stuck in your stomach and it just keeps building with no escape. You bloat, and you can practically feel your stomach acid just dripping and corroding your stomach lining. It's just a constant burn.
• Getting bubbling peroxide in my eye. Didn't see the warning label (because there wasn't one. Thanks, Clear Care) and so I didn't know it was one of those solutions that you keep your contacts in for six hours. I thought it was 'regular' contact lens solution fit for direct contact on the eyes. Nope. As soon as I put the lens in, my eyes welded shut and it took two hands to pry my eyeball open to take the contact lens out, and my eye was crying for three hours and I flushed it with water for about half an hour. There's irony for you... the natural defense reflex was actually what was hurting me here. I hope I don't have corneal ulcers/burns...
• It was August 25, 2005, and a red Dodge Ram 3500 rocketed into my side of the modest Honda Odyssey we were in. I recall having the wind knocked out of me and not being able to breathe. I ended up blacking out, but I could still hear everything going on around me--my best friend Elizabeth reacting in horror to the blood and her own pain, screaming my name trying to wake me up. I eventually could open my eyes again and immediately went hysterical and started bawling. I could feel the glass lodged in my forehead, the tingling in my left arm, and I feel like I had just gotten thrown around. I miraculously didn't break anything, though I did get a lot of contusions/concussions and bruises.
• It was third grade, and we were playing some catch-up game where opposing teams started out in opposite corners of the gym, and we had to run to try to catch up with the other player. I tripped and got rugburn. I don't know why, but I just remember that being one of the most startling pains ever. I still have the scar, too (inb4 some of you make perverted jokes about how I should be used to rugburns by now. I hate you all).
• I was 16 and I went to the swimming pool with my mom. I have no idea what happened, but I suddenly got the bends. I wasn't even in deep water... but I got charlie horses literally all over my body--my hands, arms, legs, abdomen, neck, feet, toes, fingers, chest. My muscles didn't stop spasming, and even my facial muscles were contracted to the point where I couldn't speak or breathe. Parademics said that the muscle spasming could have reached my heart if I didn't get helped in time. I don't know if that's quite true but it's odd to think about.
• PERIOD CRAMPS I SWEAR THEY ARE GETTING WORSE WITH EACH MONTH
• I was a stupid four-year old and I wanted to see if staplers worked on skin as well as they did on paper. 
• I got a UTI when I was in fourth grade because I wanted to see how long I could hold my pee in. 24 hours, by the way. I ended up having to go to the ER (neither my mom nor I knew of UTI's so we didn't know what was wrong with me), and got a catheter put in me. That shit hurt.
• Root canal. It wasn't as bad as I expected, but certainly one of the worse pains I've experienced just because it was so uncomfortable.
• Using "Kanka" on a canker sore. Worst pain ever for a ten-year old.

Day 02: 3 legitimate fears I have

"Describe 3 legitimate fears you have and describe how they became fears."

Butterflies.

No, this isn't some bashfully unsubtle confession about being afraid of falling in love. I am legitimately afraid of the insect itself. Alright, they're pretty from far away. I used to love butterflies. In fact, one of my favorite pastimes as a kid was to chase them around with a butterfly net, or even catch them with my bare hands. But there was a time when I was about 8 or 9 years old that I had caught a bunch of them and kept them in a jar. My teacher told me to let them go at the end of the day, so I opened the jar. They all flew out, and one flew right into my fucking mouth. As soon as I inhaled for a scream, it went down my throat and I nearly choked to death. It was painfully ticklish, and I couldn't stop coughing for a good hour. And then I cried the rest of the day about how I killed a butterfly by eating it. Nonetheless, I was traumatized, and since then I've been really scared of butterflies. They're frighteningly spastic too. And why are their wingspans so giant in proportion to their tiny-ass bodies?? Unnecessary.

Being a mother.

There was a time when I very much looked forward to being a mother. Starting in high school, I started writing in my diary in the hopes that my children would one day read it and learn from it. As of today, I have 3 full journals for them. I know what to do during pregnancy (what vitamins to take, what to expect, what foods and shit to avoid, etc), and I actually looked forward to it--even the labor. I plan on doing a natural birth, so I put up with cramps every month without taking any Midol or birth control to ease the pain because I want to prep myself for it. I'm realizing in the past few years, however, just how difficult motherhood is. Maybe I've got a stunted perspective on it because I myself was an only child raised by a single mother who struggled to get by in a foreign country. I can't begin to understand how difficult it was for my mother, nor how she managed to raise me by herself. I also know what a horrible little demon-child I myself was, and I don't know how the hell I would handle a child like myself. Nonetheless, I never did drugs, I am responsible with sex, and I turned out pretty decent in general. What if I fail as a mother and I raise a menace to society? What if my child doesn't respect me? What if I don't respect my child (i.e. as an individual)? What if I become the overprotective, micromanaging, suffocating mother I told myself I never wanted to be? What if I can't provide for my child the way I would want to? What if my child ever goes missing, or gets a terminal disease at a young age, or starts hanging out with a bad crowd? What if my child has some sort of disability that I'm too impatient or ignorant to understand and accommodate? What if my child ends up resenting me and pushing me out of his/her life--the life that I helped come into fruition--the way I've observed my half-brother resent our dad? With these worries, I start to think more and more each day that I am undeserving of and unfit for motherhood.

Losing my singing voice.

I'm not worried enough about it to the point where I would stop drinking alcohol and smoking hookah altogether (after all, I'm starting to get the sultry smoky sound), but it does frighten me that my most prized livelihood could be taken away from me. I fear for it every time I am recovering from illness and my voice isn't back to normal. I had swine flu in sophomore year of college, and that was probably the longest time I'd ever gone without singing. You know how muscles work--use it or lose it. When I started singing again after recovering from good ol' H1N1, my voice felt unfamiliar and wobbly. I've also got some unfounded belief that if I can't sing anymore, people won't like me anymore. It's almost like I believe that that is my only redeeming quality (I'm fairly sure a lot of people would agree. They could say they're joking, but I'm not so sure...). I've met so many people from singing (e.g. from performances, audiences/listeners that become friends, etc) that I believe my friends will be gone once the reason for our initial friendship is gone. I think ultimately, then, this could probably translate to a fear of being alone more than a fear of losing my voice itself, if it were not for the fact that singing in itself intrinsically gives me much happiness. Hearing my voice harmonize with songs, being able to sing along with the radio, it all makes me feel... fulfilled. I've been singing my whole life. I can't imagine my life without it. I would rather be blind than not be able to sing.

Day 01: List 10 random facts about yourself.

1. My middle name, contrary to what it used to say on Facebook, is not JWoww; it's Joon. My family decided that Joon should not be a part of my Korean name because it was to be assigned only to the males of the family (e.g. my brother is Hee-Joon, cousin Tom is Sung-Joon, cousin James is Il-Joon, etc). But go figure, it became a part of my name anyway, and I am the only female in the Park family for this generation. Perhaps that explains my masculinity?


2. I can make a tendon in my right ankle move in isolation. Ask me about it next time. It's my party trick. I'll do it for ya.


3. I zone out rather frequently, and my tongue usually pushes out of my mouth when I do. If you're talking to me and I'm looking at you but my tongue is sticking out of my mouth, there's a very good chance I'm not even listening to you. I'm sorry, friends.


4. Almost all of my dreams are lucid. There was like a 3-week period of time recently where they weren't lucid, and it was just so... dull and frustrating. Like your face.


5. If I didn't major in Economics or Psychology or Philosophy, I would have liked to major in Marine Biology, Astronomy, or Music.


6. I'm allergic to alcohol and usually can't have more than 2-3 "drinks" before swelling up and getting hives everywhere. Basically, I'm DD by genetic default.


7. My childhood dream was to become an astronaut. My interest in astronomy was first sparked by a big book of our solar system given to me by my mom.


8. I was born in Arlington, Virginia, but my first (and only) language was Korean for the first 4-5 years of my life. It took me a long time to get assimilated into the American school system.


9. One of the earliest memories I have is sneezing into my hand on the playground, seeing the snot/mucus spread out all over my palm, wiping it on my pink fleece pants and continuing to climb some pole to chase after some kid while playing tag.


10. I was thought to be autistic when I was younger because I had high intelligence but very, very poor social skills (and yes, you can argue that I still need to work on my social skills. Shut up). I regularly recited scripts from movies to myself (my favorites were The Lion King and The Little Mermaid and Hercules--and yes, I memorized the movies in their entirety), stayed away from and never joined my classmates during play time, and felt incredibly detached and ostracized.

The pursuit of...

When I was 14, I very much looked forward to February 11, 2005--that was the date of the final round of Robinson Idol, my high school's version of American Idol. This was something I'd been looking forward to since my 12-year old self first saw the signs for Robinson Idol in 7th grade posted up along the high school corridors (my school was a secondary school, i.e. middle and high schools combined in one building). After getting through semi-finals and auditions in September, I had to wait five long months full of excitement and anticipation and anxiety. I remember thinking to myself: "What is there gonna be to look forward to after this? My life is gonna be so boring after this." I was naive, I know. Probably still am. Hoping I still am, actually. Back then, I had so many things to look forward to, and I had no idea. I'm hoping that I'm being just as blind right now, because I legitimately do not know what to look forward to anymore.

Five months go by very quickly now, as someone in her early- to mid-20's who works for pay periods and quarters and fiscal years. We're in the third month of 2014, and I'm still stuck on writing "2013" when I date papers and contracts.

I've always had something to pursue and anticipate--some set future goal or event or plan. In high school, I had American Idol auditions to look forward to for when I turned 16. This was something I had looked forward to since I was 11. As a part of an a cappella group in high school with 3 other girls who would turn out to be my best friends, I had many more things to look forward to. I performed at the Kennedy Center, and also performed at Six Flags with the Redskins sitting at tables in front of us signing autographs, and performed at the Verizon Center with them to sing the national anthem for a Mystics game. And after that, I had college acceptance and high school graduation, making new friends at Virginia Tech, getting my first job... teaching at Teen Arts Performing camp with my two best friends the summer after freshman year under the direction of a Grammy Award-winning individual. Starting at Department of Homeland Security the day after my 19th birthday. Meeting my brother for the first time since I was a toddler. My 21st birthday. Performances with my dance crew (Bamboom) and a cappella group (Soulstice) and with my cultural organizations (Asian-American Student Union, Vietnamese Student Association, Filipino American Student Association, Korean American Student Association--you name it, I was probably in it). Hearing my song arrangements sung for the first time by Soulstice. Singing my solos at the Lyric Theatre in Blacksburg. Performing with Bamboom at Prelude and Coalescence. Beating my throughput numbers from the previous week as a cashier at Chipotle. Getting my first car. Having my first apartment at college. Moving out of my mom's house. Performing at the Verizon Center. Twice. Starting a YouTube channel and actually getting some views on my videos.

Now, the only things I look forward to are my payday, fulfilling groupon purchases, seeing friends, and the occasional performances. I don't seem to have set goals anymore--no projects to work towards, no thresholds or records to beat in competing with and improving myself, nothing to really accomplish. Honestly, I think some of it is just because I don't believe in myself anymore. I feel like I have come to a standstill. I am stagnant, collecting the dust of "what could have been"s and "what if"s that I feel I will never bring myself to pursue.

Things that used to excite me have become commonplace for me; I'm afraid I'm starting to take them for granted. Seeing friends, performing at venues. I feel like these are things I would only truly appreciate once they're gone, and I really hope that they're never gone. I still love hanging out with my friends, of course; social interaction gives me a sense of fulfillment that solitude does not. Performing is still very liberating; as Lady Gaga says, I live for the applause. But it's like Stacie Orrico said in her song "More to Life": 'There's gotta be more to life than chasing down every temporary high to satisfy me ... I'm sure there's gotta be more than wanting more.' My best friend Jen said something to me a few days ago that I've been thinking about lately; it had to do with the idea that maybe things that happen with regularity would actually mean more if they were to happen less often. I think she might be right. It's like Ted said in How I Met Your Mother: you can't make every night legendary, or else no night is legendary. Does that mean I'm going to stop what I'm doing? Absolutely not. I don't think that's what Jen meant, anyway. I already know that I would be sad without seeing my friends or being on stage, but when those are the only things going on in my life, they start to lose their meaning. I don't think it's a matter of stopping or slowing anything I'm currently doing, but rather starting what I'm currently not doing, and doing more with my life to the point where I can bring meaning to my current indulges while stimulating myself with the novelty of the new ones.

I've come to speculate different things that could be the cause of my feeling of monotony. Is it loneliness? Do I need a boyfriend (or girlfriend, to try something new perhaps)? I would hope not. I'm very happy where I am, and I really don't want to have to depend on my being in a romantic relationship for that. Plus, relationships give me anxiety (though that could be because I've had shitty boyfriends). Is it laziness? I would hope not. I've always thought of myself as a pretty motivated and driven person that always seeks opportunity... who, as aforementioned, always had something to look forward to. But as of late, I can't say that I am that same person anymore. Apart from looking for performance opportunities and auditions, I'm not as proactive about my job and career direction as I used to be. The only real goal I have right now is to get my credit card balance down and to try and show up to work on time. Could it also be my geographical location? I've heard people say that they're "sick of nova," and I never understood why. I love it here. It's where I grew up, DC is right there, and there are so many things to do (despite what people say. Come on, we live in a fuckin metropolitan area. There are shops, lounges, restaurants, parks, sightseeing locations, museums, and amusement parks, all not too far away). But I did come to realize in the past few months that despite being very big, nova is a small place; everybody knows each other, and everybody knows about each other. Not good, for a girl like me (i.e "with a past"). Sometimes I think I do need to move, even if it's just for a year or so, to somewhere completely different. I've been thinking about LA, San Fran, San Diego, Portland, Chicago, or even Atlanta or Boston... somewhere where nobody knows about how I grew up and what I went through. But it would be a long ways away before that can happen, financially and logistically.

Let me get one thing straight: I am happy. I just know that I can be happier. Is that asking too much? Does that make me selfish? Do I even care? I heard somewhere that happiness shouldn't be attributed to this or that reason, and I think that's pretty accurate. Happiness is a state of mind, not a direct consequence or result of some input variable in your life. But I do find myself wanting more, only I don't know what "more" entails. I like my job. I like being unattached and single. I love my friends and family. I love my location. I know I have other things to look forward to, but it's just not my time yet to look forward to them: meeting my husband, my first child, my very own BMW, my first house, perhaps setting a record in an eating contest... Besides, for now, I have Arizona to look forward to in March, New York to look forward to in April, Miami to look forward to in May, and crabbing every weekend starting in late May. My 24th birthday in July (oh God), starting my MBA in August, renewing my lease in August... all the Marvel movies coming out soon... but before I know it, it'll be 2015.