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Flight

And He sang, “come fly with me,” and He took me in His arms and we took to the sky.
We flew above mountains and valleys, deserts and oceans, through the day and through the night, through clouds and sunshine and starlight.
He brought me to the highest mountain, tall and straight and white, and set me upon it.
He said, “I have set you apart, and the whole world can see.”
Again, we flew, and I could feel the most invigoratingly refreshing wind on my skin. It was just His arms holding me, and I turned around away from the earth toward Him.
I thought, I always wanted to go to the moon, and in an instant, we were there, reclining and watching the earth on the horizon, gleaming like a marble.
Then, He brought the planets before me, beautiful in their splendor.
“They are the pearls in your necklace,” He told me. “Beloved, I love you more than these.”

Two Years

Today marks the second anniversary of my mother’s passing. It has been two years since my life got flipped and turned over on its head, even though it started to tip over months before that.

Life has those moments- defining moments that mark the beginning or ending of an era. There are moments that shook everyone’s lives, such as September 11, 2001, when the world as we knew it changed. There are happy moments that change things. Weddings. Births. Graduations. Promotions.

A death is a defining moment of a life. In a split second, I went from having two parents, a brother, a sister, and a brother-in-law, to only having one parent, along with my brother, sister, and brother-in-law. It’s a weird feeling to lose a parent. It’s even weirder when you try to “opt out” of the grieving process. They tell you “be strong” and “you don’t have to be strong.” I remember this clearly- the conflicting messages that I was given during my mom’s memorial service. I was never quite sure which one I chose, but listening to your father sob at night didn’t really give me the option of not being strong. I couldn’t have both of us falling apart.

People still ask me how my dad is. He got married last December, and I have been blessed with a huge extended family that I haven’t even met half of (not even close!) and I now have two stepsisters and a stepbrother-in-law, and of course, there’s my stepmom. Because God put her in our lives, I can see how happy my dad is, and that means the world to me.

I probably still haven’t entirely adjusted to things, but then, do I ever? Just when something feels sort of comfortable, something changes, and it takes me a long time to adjust to things. It’s amazing just how many major adjustment periods I’ve had to go through in the past two years. My sister got married, my mom got sick, and then she died, then it was just me and my dad, and then my brother moved back in with us, and then he moved out, and then my dad got married and they moved out. It’s been a lot for a person who doesn’t like change. I don’t seem to handle it very well.

Oh, well, I’ll keep moving forward. I don’t have a choice. My best days are ahead of me.

Numbness, Faith, and Moving On.

I feel numb. Apparently, that is my default setting when things go wrong, or what I perceive to be wrong.

I don’t blame God. I know that He is in control, and He can fix any situation to work out for good. It just doesn’t feel good right now. It feels like a piece of the world has ended.

And there are the questions. Why? Was faith not enough? What went wrong? I refuse to think myself into insanity by dwelling on the questions. What is done is done.

What I wish I could do is to just let the pain out instead of burying it inside this numbness. What seems like a coping mechanism only serves to slowly suffocate me until I explode. I know how that goes, and I don’t want to repeat that cycle.

This is not about me. This is about a dear friend who needs my support. This is about resting in God and trusting that He is working this out to the best possible end.

I may not feel like I can talk about it with my mouth, so maybe this is my way of letting it out. I will not bury my feelings or pain over the situation, I will cry and move on. I will not make that mistake again. I just need to allow myself to feel.

Happy Birthday. To Me.

I feel like my birthday is the one day that exists solely to be a disappointment for me. And, if today had been a normal day, it would’ve been a decent/good one. But no, it was my birthday, and I’m going to bed early wanting to bawl my eyes out. I tried to forget that it was my birthday, and when I managed to sort of forget, those were the better points of my day. That and the points of the day when I was with my friends. I baked my own cake, but I forgot to buy myself candles. 

I don’t even understand why I get like this on my birthday. Year after year. But I’m not supposed to go to bed crying, and I don’t even know why, so it must be my fault. Birthdays are something that everybody else gets to enjoy, and when my day comes up, I end up feeling miserable. I dread knowing that it’s coming up. It’s like I’m preparing myself to be disappointed, and I try not to have any expectations. 

And no- the problem is not that I’m another year older. Age is just a number. I think it’s that when I think about my birthdays, all of the bad ones come to mind. I can only think of a few really good birthdays… and technically, only one of those was on the actual day. My fifth birthday was fun… had a party and everything, but on the actual day, I ran down the stairs and flew onto my dad’s lap and hurt him, and I was so upset that I hurt my daddy that I cried… and then my mom came in with one of those chocolate cupcakes with the white swirl on top with the creme filling that had a candle in it, and how can you not cheer up with one of those cupcakes?

I just thought of my fourth birthday. All that I know is that most of the day, my mom was getting the house ready for the party, and I kept asking her if I was four yet… and at some point, during the party, my mom turned to me and said, “Now you’re four.”

My sixth birthday party was the best, although it was not technically on my birthday. I had a slumber party, and we had “Miss Birthday America”. I was nervous and didn’t think I would win (but of course I won, it was my birthday). And then when “sharing” my crown, I poked my sister in the eye with it by accident. It’s on video. And then we made our own pizzas, and made our own ice cream, and watched “The Little Mermaid” and we all slept in sleeping bags on the living room floor.

On my seventh or eighth birthday (I’m thinking seventh, though I may be wrong), we went to Chuck E Cheese (just my family) and all I remember was that we had cake, but I was extremely upset that it was vanilla. And it tasted like it had been frozen and defrosted, you know… kinda watery. It was gross. I still remember it. Maybe that is why I so loathe store bought cake. I prefer Duncan Hines and Pillsbury.

On my ninth birthday, my mom bought a frozen cake and stuck a couple candles in it. At least that one was chocolate. I think she had choir rehearsal or something that night, so we really didn’t do anything. I remember being upset (probably mostly about the cake).

There was another birthday when a few friends came over (tenth?)… I don’t remember much of anything about that one, except a friend of mine gave me a stuffed white tiger that I loved.

The preteen years I usually ended up going bowling with my family, but then my brother would make fun of me so badly when I lost that i would cry. That ended that.

I don’t remember my thirteenth except that I got my first cd player.

Fourteenth and fifteenth I don’t remember… more bowling? I’m not sure.

Sixteenth- I had a party at Arirang, but it wasn’t a typical sweet sixteen. It was just a party at a hibachi place, and there were 20 seats and they weren’t all filled because people kept not being able to come. My dad was even running around the church the Wednesday before just asking people to come to my party. The party itself was fun… but on my actual birthday, my dad gave me flowers, but the rest of the day, my mom was all like “we already celebrated your birthday, now clean the house”.

Seventeenth- Baked my own cake, lit my own candles, and sang “Happy Birthday to Me” after my mom got mad that I waited until ten to have cake and went to bed.

Eighteenth- One of the best ones. Had some friends over, played Balderdash, ate pizza, threw m&ms down my sister’s shirt. Classic.

Nineteenth- Friends turned our usual “Coffeehouse” gathering into a “surprise party”. I know they meant well, but I was so upset that I was getting to coffeehouse late, that I was thinking “this had better be a surprise party, or I am going to be really annoyed.”

Twentieth- I can’t remember.

Twenty-first- Went to Madame Toussaud’s in the city and walked over thirty blocks to the Bloch store to buy pointe shoes (my parents didn’t want to pay another subway fare).

Twenty second- I can’t remember

Twenty third- I can’t remember

Twenty fourth- I can’t remember 

(On one of the above that I don’t really remember, I had cake after dance class/rehearsal, and then I came home and had cake again).

Twenty fifth- Worst. Birthday. Ever. My best friend’s dog died. (And another, sort of funny memory was going out to dinner the day before… which tried to be a surprise party that I wasn’t surprised at, and my other best friend tried everybody’s drinks. We don’t let her do that anymore).

Twenty sixth- Went out for lunch, then had class.

Twenty seventh- Today. Yep.

Anywho, happy International Talk Like a Pirate Day!

New Yorkers Aren’t Rude. You Are.

johnskylar:

And I mean that title with the utmost of respect.

I’ve been a denizen of this fair[ly crappy] city my entire life, in one way or another.  I spent some time in LA during college, but don’t worry, I got over it.  The one thing, though, that I’ve consistently heard from around the US is that New York is a rude city.

This is, I feel, based on a fundamental misunderstanding of what this place is.  

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Why Superman is my favorite

So, being that I went to see “Man of Steel” on Sunday night, I decided that I should blog about Superman.

It’s not really a secret that I sort of have this Superman fetish. Come on, he’s a nerd that looks good in spandex. I like both sides of him- there’s the geeky “mild mannered reporter” that’s sort of clumsy… You know, Clark Kent. And then, you get the strong unitard and cape clad Superman, with his jet black hair all perfect, with the smile and the muscles… Not to mention the fact that he can fly (and also see through objects, and shoot heat from his eyes, and has super hearing and super cooling breath, oh, and he’s bulletproof).

So, Superman is smart, strong, and beautiful, and he has a strong moral compass- so he’s definitely a good boy. He is also, sadly, fictional, and impossible for any human man to live up to. (Although, Hollywood has done a good job picking guys to play Superman… Just saying ;) )

Don’t even get me started with the Biblical parallels… I’ll just say that Jesus is my Superman and leave it at that.

Life in the twilight zone

It’s strange where I find myself sometimes. On this particular night, I find myself in a pool hall in a spooky, extra dark corner of town. I have a friend who is in a tournament, so we’re here to cheer him on. I’m the weird girl in the corner that was eating a bag of chips and drinking orange fanta, who made an origami paper crane out of a starburst wrapper, and is now blogging on her phone.

It’s not where you are- its who you’re with, and I’m with awesome people. Those awesome people are the only people in the room that I know.

My life is weird right now. There are a lot of strange transitions going on. This has nothing to do with being in a pool hall on a Monday night.

My dad has a girlfriend (significant other… My dad doesn’t like the term girlfriend. He says its juvenile). My day job has gotten interesting. Also, I have begun to take gymnastics classes. I have accomplished my right handed cartwheel so far (left is my good side). Now I can do that on stage in less than two weeks.

Why am I out tonight? Oh right. I don’t like to miss out on life. Can’t have anything epic happen without me. I feel like I’ve already missed half of my life like that, so if I’m available, I will always hang out- with the right people, of course.

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