How adulthood is slowly steeping into my life

When I check a guy out, I look at his left ring finger. I didn't have to worry about this before.

The thing I most look forward to at the beginning of each day is the end of that same day when I can be back in bed to fall asleep. I wearily groan at the number of hours left in the day before this can happen.

I've started noticing age thresholds and requirements. 24 years old max for Miss America pageant? 25 years minimum to rent a car without all the excessive fees? 26 years old max to be under my parent's health insurance? 25 years old minimum to be a House Representative? 30 years old minimum to be a Senator? 35 years old minimum to be a president? That's ridiculously young. Wasn't there a time when I thought 35 was incomprehensibly old? Also, the demographic surveys that ask for your age in range intervals... You're either 17-24 or 25-33 or 34-45 or 46-55 or just plain old "55+". What the fuck.

I find myself actually laughing at 'jokes' that 'older people' tell in speeches and meetings and at the office. Is my sense of humor fading with my youth?

I have an Excel spreadsheet with a budget plan, delegating my money down to the dollar for car insurance, renters insurance, rent, phone bill, cable, electricity, groceries, savings (yeah right), lunches, and "other expenses" for the next six months, denoting when I get paid, when I can expect extra income, and when I can expect to maybe get caught speeding and have to pay off a ticket.

I monitor my credit score.

Anybody 16 and younger disgusts me with their rude manners and tactlessness and stunted social skills and dependency on technology.

I don't know any of the new pokemon. Not even the starters. Not even the region. Is Ash Ketchum still the protagonist on the show? Or is it a new guy?

There are 'listicles' coming out about the decade I grew up in.

I am suddenly very aware of my fertility and the fact that I am, indeed, not getting any younger. I start half-considering freezing my eggs, or maybe even selling them. I then start considering whether I want kids at all.

I get excited about savings, discounts, coupons, and deals.

I have more business/formal clothing and dresses than casual clothing. And I like it.

I play around with facial expressions in the mirror to see if I have any new wrinkles.

I pay attention to commercials and infomercials.

I say "when I was your age" to my friends' younger siblings and to my cousins' kids.

I'm actually not completely terrified to network and socialize with people in a professional setting. I don't know when it happened, but I suddenly have the confidence and self-assurance to talk to people without panicking or feeling awkward.

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.

science and Reddit trivia that changed my perspective on things

• Technically, you're not necessarily looking "up" at the stars--since directions can be arbitrary/relative, you could also be looking "down" at the stars, considering where you are on earth and where we could consider to be "up" (i.e. outwards of the perimeters of the earth? upwards in terms of the "plane" that the orbits of the planets are generally forming? north pole?).
• Everybody that was alive when the oldest living person was born is dead now. All of them. On the planet.
• In fact, 54 million people that are alive right now will be dead within the next 12 months.
• In 100-120 years, it will be a whole new crop of people inhabiting this earth. Rinse and repeat.
• Before wishing for invisibility as your superpower, think again--being invisible means you would be blind as well. If your eyes are invisible, then the light has nothing to bounce back to, rendering you incapable of seeing anything.
• There are many bug-parts in chocolate, as bugs can't really be kept out of the cocoa beans. The FDA allows a certain percentage of bug parts per ounce. When someone is allergic to chocolate, generally, they are allergic to the bugs and not the chocolate itself.
• The smell of fresh-cut grass is actually a distress signal from the grass being cut. It 'warns' other grass blades that destruction is near, and upon being warned, the grass redistributes most of its nutrients closer to its roots so that its losses are minimized. Basically, plants are more metal than I thought.
• Eating one single banana exposes you to more radiation than being within 50 miles of a nuclear power plant for one year. Note that this is a testament to the safety of nuclear power plants (so long as it is in compliance with regulations), not the radioactivity of bananas; the stigma around nuclear power plants is rather misleading.
• Arthur C. Clarke: "Two possibilities exist: either we are alone in the Universe or we are not. Both are equally terrifying."
• Mathematically, there have to be other lifeforms in the galaxy, and it's almost certain that some of them are intelligent--maybe as many as 10,000 different civilizations. The catch is, space is so big that as far as we can determine right now (some 15 billion light-years across), given an even random distribution (unless it's not so random... but that's to contemplate another time I suppose), none of us will ever likely meet each other or even detect each other. For all intents and purposes, then, we are alone in the universe. Any intelligent alien races likely suffer the same lack of significance as humans do. Not only is it improbable that alien life exists within reach, but it's even more improbable that we are co-existing at the same time.
• If the acceleration model of the expansion of the universe is correct, things will start disappearing from our visible sky. People of the future (provided that human civilization can last that long) will have no way of knowing these things ever existed through their own direct observation; they'll have to rely on our documentation.
• We don't use "10% of our brains." We use all 100%. There is no secretly-unexplored chasm of superpowers in our brain. We just happen to not use all 100% at the same time, since each part of the brain does something different. We aren't doing math and writing a symphony and playing soccer at the same time (although I'd like to see that).
• The stronger the smell of chlorine in a swimming pool, the more contaminated it is with sweat/fecal matter/urine. Sometimes I forget that the nostalgic smell of summer is really the smell of stank.
• Our monetary system has been set up so that there will always be more debt in existence than there is money to pay it all off. We will never be out of debt until the USD (and subsequently every other world currency) collapses.
• Eggs are basically a chicken's menstruation.
• When you eat figs, you are basically eating wasps; figs can't become the way they are without a female fig wasp flying into the center of the syconium to lay her eggs; one inside, there's no getting back out.
• Ladybugs have the highest STD-rate among animals.
• Green apple seeds contain cyanide.
• Red-colored candy and soda is made out of ground up beetles; see if you can find "carmine" as an ingredient in these items. Gelatin is also made out of horse/cow hooves and is an ingredient in most types of candy and gum.
• Flipper (the dolphin) committed suicide. The majority of dolphins held in captivity commit suicide.
• You have never actually been 'touched' the way you think you have. Our atoms all repel each other and don't actually 'touch' because of the electron cloud. The tactile sense you feel is really just the repulsive forces occuring on the molecular level.
• Statistically, American women have a better chance at becoming princesses than Supreme Court Justices. More American women have become (or always been) a part of some royal ancestry than they have become Supreme Court Justices.
• The idea that racism is bad is newer than the automobile.
• Bread is actually bad for ducks. You are slowly killing them when you feed them bread.
• Sometime in the future, you will be thought of for the last time.
• Bats have the highest percentage of homosexuality among all animals. (Keep this in mind when Batman vs. Superman comes out...)
• Every dog in that movie or TV show you like so much is dead now.
• Hugo Boss designed and produced the uniforms for the Nazis.

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.

Four things to be thankful for today.

Jan, who I know will help me out no matter what kind of trouble I'm in. Thanks for the Big Mac and the shisha.

Same with Ann, who also bought me Thai iced tea tonight.

Training sessions and courses I get to attend as an employee for the U.S. government, which have given me a lot of opportunities to meet highly-ranked military officials, presitigious federal SES's, and just some pretty cool people in general.

My mattress warmer, which keeps me cozy and snug when my room mate blasts the air conditioning. Very thankful to have a warm bed to sleep in, especially during the cruel winters.