This is timeless love - June 29, 2009

Sarah Shin is one of my closest and longest-standing friends (from fifth grade).  We’ve been through a lot together, even after fights, I remember making up with her, introducing ourselves to each other again to signal a “fresh start”.  There were moments when we weren’t very close but in the last few years of high school (and cont.) we’ve gotten to be extremely close and I can easily call her one of my most trustworthy friends.

She’s very much interested in fashion and styles and she recently told me that she sometimes saves articles of clothing she thinks would look good on me on her computer/files.  I think that’s one of the most touching things I’ve ever heard, really.  She thinks it makes her sound like a loser, but honestly, wouldn’t you be flattered to have someone who considers your style (or lack thereof) and is willing to dedicate almost an entire folder to it? 

I’ve long been bothered by the fact that I don’t have a distinct appearance or impact when it comes to fashion.  I’m not a huge fan of shopping whatsoever, because I know that I don’t have an ‘eye’ for things that may flatter my body type or compliment my skin color.  I’m usually satisfied with walking around in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, but it doesn’t make me happy.  I seriously admire those who can pick out accessories that match a certain-colored shirt, and shoes that will look good with those pants. 

Sarah says I’m the edgy rocker type, which I absolutely love and wish I had.  (Maybe someday, when I get the $$)  She mentioned Kate Moss, so I looked her up.

She's so stylish.

OR

So svelte and casual.

Anyway, I should stop before I totally get carried away.  (Packing and moving is SUCH A B!TCH.)  I wanted to find more outfits she wears, but what do you google when you look for such things?  “Kate Moss at the airport?”  Hahaha.

Again & again & again … June 24, 2009

(a snippet of my newest project – steal this & I will come after you.)

Her fingers flicker and the cigarette quivers, a delicate toy for her hands to crush.  Her mouth kisses the stick, puckering up to inhale the chemicals – willing those chemicals to go inside her body to destroy her cells.

“Mom will find out sooner or later.” The voice is soft, but uneven, new to puberty and she scowls at the sound.

“She won’t if you keep your mouth shut.”  The puffy white smoke from her cigarette curls itself in the air, briefly blurring the sunset in the distance.  She exhales, and automatically feels better.

He lingers behind her for a while, awkward and silent before he lumbers off, his footsteps fading until she hears the door shut.   The grasshoppers are starting to come out now, and it’s time for her to go inside before her parents arrive home.

It’s routine – too routine.  When her parents get home, she’ll be studying in her room, studying for her Advanced Placement exams, writing her essays, and previewing the chapters they haven’t gone over yet.

Her teeth will be white and perfect and blinding when she smiles, and the surgically altered appearances of her nose and eyes make her beautiful.  Her parents will be so proud of her, their lovely bookworm daughter who is destined for success.  She will smell nothing like the gritty, ashy taste of cigarette smoke in the air.

The shriveled stick crumples easily under her sandals, and she smiles bitterly; only a depressed fool would find her life and death relatable to that of a cigarette.

////

“No. 284302, please.”

She gets up, hesitant and slow, but he beckons toward her impatiently, and she stumbles forward.  He reads her name out loud and she nods, unsure for the first time in forever.

“Death by gun, eh?  Well, at least you had guts,” the stranger says as he begins perusing through her papers.  “Most others would’ve chosen pills in your situation.”

She opens her mouth to ask him – what is this place? why am I here?  what does this mean? – “How do you know?”

He looks at her with a look not far from pity.  “I’m not human, therefore it took me a while to understand how your minds worked.  But I’ve been here for centuries now and I’ve discovered that your kind is incessantly predictable.”

She frowns at him before she knows what she’s doing and he laughs a bit, amused.  “I can see you’re not happy with my answer.  But you’re the type that always searches to break out, right?  Never satisfied with what you’re given?”

She considers his answer for a while, before, “I guess so.”

He smiles at her and she’s troubled by the sheer sincerity by it; he’s truly not human.  “I hope you do well here, then.  If any one type deserves a second chance, it’s your kind.  Good luck.”

Please don’t stop the music - June 22, 2009

I am a proud member of STAND – Strong ‘Till All Nine Disappear - a group (that is slowly growing every day) that calls for the disbanding of the Korean girl band, Girl’s Generation (So Nyuh Shi Dae). 

Some people can call me a hater and that’s fine, because it’s true.  I absolutely hate their music and their concept and their mere representation of Korean culture.  I find it offensive and ridiculous and embarrassing.

It’s true that I don’t know them personally, I will admit that I have no idea what type of people they really may be.  But if the racist comments (“For a black person, she’s really pretty!”) and the rude imitations of their sunbaes (Shinhwa) are of any indication, I don’t want to know them.  Sometimes I think that SM keeps SNSD out in the entertainment world just to attract anti-fans. 

To defend myself against most common protests against my STAND status, I must say the following.

I don’t care if they did plastic surgery.  I mean, yeah, they were hella fugly before they did the procedures but plastic surgery is pretty much an expectation in Korea.  If you’re not worth looking at, you’re not worth much as a singer is the message that is dominant in Korean culture.  I mean, look at one of my previous posts.  I have no qualms about produced beauty.  However, I would expect that with the amount of surgery gone into creating nine mannequin-ish individuals, they would have some talent, which is not the case.  Studio-induced sounds and high-pitched, scary giggles are seriously not considered talent in my book, unfortunately.  I listen to ‘Gee’ and my heart breaks because I know that people around the world will listen to it and immediately get a horrible impression of K-POP, of Korean culture in general.  If you’re a singer, you’ve got to love singing and entertaining and dedicate yourself wholly to that responsibility, which I’ve yet to see from any of the nine dolls. (before & after shown below – credit to ily_hyewon @ soompi.com)

Don't remember her name.

Taeyeon - racist leader.

Tiffany - embarrassing all Korean Americans.

Yoona - not too bad, really.

Don't remember her name, either.

Darling Sunny - LSM's niece.

Yuri - I think?

HAHAHA, MY FAVORITE - Jessica.

Hyoyeon - dancer.

And there you have it.  And no, I’m not mocking their ugly before pictures.  I just want to show you that there is no possible way that they DID NOT do plastic surgery (as many fans claim that they are all natural); maturity does NOT drastically change the shape of your nose – I would know. 

And secondly, I am not jealous of the relationship SNSD has with DBSK and Super Junior.  Guys need females in their lives, I understand that.  They could secretly be having a relationship, I understand that, too.  I’m not a rabid fan who wants to keep the dream alive by isolating my favorite boy bands from females they might know and be friends with. 

Apparently, evidence. (Taeyeon/Junsu)

Admittedly, as a singer and a representative of Korean culture, I think Junsu could do better.  HOWEVER, I fully realize that Taeyeon may be the sweetest girl alive and the right girl for him.  If that’s the case, I am very happy for them and I hope that fans will not go crazy (on both sides) trying to tear them apart.

However, SNSD fans are another issue entirely.  I understand that males (especially Korean males) may be turned on by the sweet, seductive image that SNSD has conquered with their shy attitudes and short skirts, but that does not excuse their fans’ rude and violent reactions to other group’s fans in Dream Concert 2008.  SNSD has, admittedly, more anti-fans than fans and during their performance, it seems as if many of the audience members turned off their glow sticks in protest, which infuriated SNSD’s fans who resorted to rape, knife stabs, and other brutal tactics to scare the anti-fans.  (Please correct me if I’m wrong on this).  I’m not saying SNSD’s entirely to blame for their fans, but I would at least EXPECT and HOPE that SNSD would issue a statement asking their fans to calm down and be more respectful to other groups and their fans. 

Of course not.

SNSD is notorious among netizens for their disrespectful, rather childish and overdone antics.  And almost insulting responses, such as Tiffany giggling at a report of the Sichuan earthquake – apparently the deaths and devastation of thousands of lives are hilarious! I can handle raunchy, but I still don’t want to see your underwear, thanks. 

In any case, I can go on forever (which I have).  This is only a bit of why I really truly do not like Girls’ Generation.

SOME OTHER ANTI-FAN MATERIAL:
http://www.standintl.net/
http://shenyuepop.com/2008/05/24/get-to-know-snsd-tiffany/
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AEUjU488Aac
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FNxPUOXaOl0&feature=related
http://www.youtube.com/user/STANDsubs
http://shenyuepop.com/2008/06/11/why-did-it-happen/

NOTE – I do not condone violence or any harm done to SNSD members.  I and my fellow STAND members believe in civil action until they are disbanded.  Please do not see us as a group of crazy anti-fans like many others.

Sequenz: No. 6 (Lacrimosa) June 20, 2009

Sometimes, I really fucking hate my life.  

Honest to God.  There are so many things about myself I need to fix.

I just want back in your head - June 7, 2009

I haven’t been able to sleep very well lately.  It’s 3:42 in the morning and I’m still up – a terrible, terrible thing for me, since I most ardently love sleeping.  But in any case, I’m listening to classical music in an attempt to lure me to some mild form of peace so that I can sleep.  First I tried Vivaldi, but ended up with Tchaikovsky.

Listening to his work reminds me of summer ‘08 when I went to the Hollywood Bowl three times: once for a Warner Bros./LA Philharmonic special (amazing, hilarious, truly classic), once for a Sound of Music thing (not very interesting at all), and third, for Lang Lang/LA Philharmonic.  Lang Lang, in case you don’t know, is a very famous pianist who fought poverty and hardship to get to where he is now.  I believe he played in the Beijing Olympics Opening Ceremony.  Years before I saw him perform, I read a snippet he wrote about his past and how he had to enlist the support and help of his parents to do what he loved.

But anyway, I watched Lang Lang play the piano, and it just struck me as amazing that anyone could love – and show that love – something so much.  I mean prodigies.  That sort of unnatural, rare person who comes along, bursting with passion for something random.  People like Beethoven, Mozart, Tchaikovsky, Vivaldi, even the cartoonist for Warner Bros. (his name escapes me right now).   How can someone be so talented in what he or she loves doing?  I think I see it as a miracle, a happy ending in the midst of reality.

Isn’t it?  Honestly, truly?  Sometimes I think I would rather fail in everything else if it meant that I was extremely wonderful at one thing.  But the world no longer functions that way, so I guess, not anymore.

In any case, I should sleep.  My stomach is starting to get hungry and I have to wake up in less than four hours to attempt to go to church.

Such great heights - June 5, 2009

There are times when utter loneliness creep up behind me, swallow me whole, and render me motionless.  I can sit for hours and hours, and not really hear, see, or absorb anything at all.  I think, though.  My thoughts are jumbled and blurred and I think I prefer it that way because clarity can be sharp and hurtful.  This isn’t even about fake smiles or sweet moments spent with other people.  It’s about the problem I have when I’m alone, doing God knows what because I’m so bored and scared and confused and lost.

My throat feels acidic and I keep tasting the food I gorged on today/tonight in the back of my mouth, threatening to overflow into the trash bin I have sitting next to my desk.  No, I’m not bulimic, but I’ve been choking by myself again.  I drank three bottles of water, hoping that the sick feeling in my stomach would disappear, slide away, vanish.  God.  I can see why people eat food for comfort.  Your taste buds never betray you unless you betray them first.

Am I alive?