(Chang) An apology and a resolution

Out of the past 366 days, there were many I despised -- and I let it show. I would be obviously stressed, frustrated, anxious, unprepared, resistant, or hopeless. Friends would ask me why, and most of the time, I would tell them of my problems. This is an apology for those days that I didn't.


Everyone rides their own rollercoasters. There are some times when we wish life could pause so we'd be able to savor the moment forever; there are others when we wish life could fast-foward itself so we wouldn't have to sit through the pain. Fortunately, no one is meant to ride alone. When you hit a low, rest assured, there are always those who you can turn to for help. They will always be there to stand by your side until you get up.

But to disregard their presence would be, in my opinion, one of the strongest forms of selfishness. I sincerely apologize for those days when I did indeed reach those levels of inattention. There are those who care so much about me, yet I chose to ignore them. Having been in the shoes of those people a number of times, I know what it's like to try to help a friend, yet be greeted with a mere cold shoulder. For this, I'm sorry.

In these final minutes of what has been my greatest of nineteen rollercoaster rides, I resolve that in the new year, I won't be so self-absorbed. Undoubtedly, there will be times when I will feel like driving a car off a cliff, but I'll make sure I'll let my close ones have an opportunity to talk me out of it (or at least drive on the highway instead).

Happy new year!

Bravery

He was brave, they said. Determined, loyal, confident, and everything they ever wanted. And yet here, now, in the shade of some thick canopy growth, he felt himself gently shaking, and a layer of sweat was gathering upon his forehead.

He glanced towards the village. The sun, though slowly descending towards the horizon, beat down upon the humble huts, casting a golden aura as if angels had built the place. But a dog was chasing a chicken around one of the huts, and a heavy woman was screaming hysterics at two children while waving a plantain. He chuckled. It was no different from anywhere else.

A soccer ball was being kicked around in the dust by a few children. Their smiles shone brightly in the evening sun, and he felt an urge to burst from the comfort of the jungle to join them, but he restrained himself. He was not that brave.

In the distance, he saw a shirtless man returning from the fields. There was a large bundle of wheat, or barley, perhaps, on his head, and though he looked emaciated, he stood up straight and did not waver. From the trees, the brave man looked on with admiration and remembered his father. Just for an instant, he was sorry he ran away from home as a child.

Then he saw a woman. She was tending a fire with a long stick, and her dark skin glowed from the flame. There was something incredibly soothing about her, the way she laid down the stick, the way she gently caressed a chicken so that it did not fly about as the others did. Then, with the grace of a ballerina, she twisted her slender fingers and snapped the chicken's neck. There was no pain, no suffering. It was a simple hiccup in the flow of life, but somehow, she managed to conceal even the slightest hint of an interruption. With those same slender fingers, she slowly plucked the feathers off, as if undressing a newborn. The sun was half consumed by the earth when the chicken was finally naked, and she proceeded to bathe it in a tub of salt and spices. For once, he felt himself envious of dead poultry.

As the chicken roasted, the fragrance wafted throughout the village and mixed with the laughter of the children and the chortling of the men. Somewhere, a woman broke into song as the sun slowly became a simple sliver in the distance. He could almost call the village home.

The sun was barely above the horizon now. He glanced around him and bit his lower lip. There it was, not fifty meters away, the village, standing in the last few minutes of the day's sunlight; the village he could almost call home, that was home to a beautiful woman, and children that played soccer, and a hardworking man that resembled his father; there it also was, his greatest opportunity. He glanced around him once more. Only a faint glow remained of the sun.

He was brave, he told himself, and determined, and loyal, and confident. Everything they could ever want in a general, a general that would fulfill their destiny of wiping out villages like this, full of this other race of people they supposedly loathed. 

The sun was gone. With a tear in his eye, he unlocked the safety on his submachine gun and ordered his soldiers to go forth.

The 2008 Song

While I'm very impressed that Trent updated the blog, I'm still making a post today...because Trent's post shows up as yesterday. As Chang would say: -___-. But mostly because I want to post it up while it's still fresh in my mind.

This was posted on facebook, of course, but it is only here that I'll mention the myriad secrets that are quietly tucked between all those flamboyant words and the tagging order on facebook. Why do I mention this here and not on facebook? Because I figure anybody that cares enough to read both probably deserves to know, even if they didn't figure it out themselves (not that I made it easy).

I sat down at my piano today and played.
This is how the song went:

Lonely footsteps searching for reason behind death’s untimely call,
Weary thoughts locating refuge beneath unspoken understanding,
Sleepless nights seeking equilibrium among confused heads and hearts,
Consciously descending into a downward spiral of embracing disgust,
A teardrop of truth in a St. Louis emergency ward,
Dark Missourian highways shining with the singing of sore throats,
Uncovering true friendship through predawn postnight agony,
Complications drugging relationships faster than medications ever could,
Streetlights illuminating the recognition of perfection a little too late,
Feeling the wind blow whiffs of disappointment and contentment upon the Pacific,
Universal wrinkles under the guise of a bar in Hong Kong,
Learning to maneuver unalterable hands with timeless comforts,
Guilt-induced prayer that resurrected mistakes can be someday forgiven,
Crash.

Shaking knees being thrown back into the water,
Fragments being cleverly masked with frozen champagne masquerades,
Acceptance of the financial ashes from the great economic fire,
Genuine smiles that redefine the world,
Discovering perspective within ancient stone,
Shamelessly cavorting beneath the blinding Shanghai skyline,
Millions of lights watching as the top of the world unveiled itself in a dark silence,
Miracles breaking seemingly indestructible chains,
Opportunity and hope arising from inopportune and hopeless circumstances,
Warm contentment in the blistering rain and cold three hundred meters high,
Unexpectedly witnessing the most honest happiness within unthinkable poverty,

Finding all the beautiful colors coming together among black and white.

I gently closed the keyboard cover and walked away,
reverberations of the greatest year still ringing in my ears.

(Trent) Slumdog Millionaire

WOW. I just saw it, and that movie blew my mind. Definitely my favorite movie I've seen this year. It was totally different from anything else I've seen, but in a very good way. As my friend I went with said, you feel it in the pit of your stomach, and it's been awhile since I've felt that walking out of the theater.

Annnd it's in limited release, which is an absolute travesty. I mean, I guess that's expected given it's an "awards film," but...yeah. Seriously, if it's playing anywhere near you (whoever reads this), go see it as soon as possible. 

(Chang) Food for thought

Here's something to munch on for the day:

You have a brain tumor. Though there is no discomfort at the moment, this tumor would unquestionably kill you in six months. However, your life can (and will) be saved by an operation; the only downside is that there will be a brutal incision to your frontal lobe. After the surgery, you will be significantly less intelligent. You will still be a fully functioning adult, but you will be less logical, you will have a terrible memory, and you will have little ability to understand complex concepts or difficult ideas. The surgery is in two weeks.

How do you spend the next fourteen days?

This is just one of 23 questions from Chuck Klosterman's book "Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs: A Low Culture Manifesto." Click here if you'd like to read the other 22 questions (trust me, they're very interesting).


I wanna read this book.

Closed (Due to the End of the World)

A dream used to live here, about France and Starbucks and baked goods and poverty and people you hardly know and how it would all lead to the end of the world.



The end of the world took too long, so I deleted it.

(Chang) Self-analysis

Below is a list of sixteen different random tidbits about myself. I originally posted this as a Facebook note, but I figured I could also put it here as well, just to get this blog up and running. Enjoy!

1. Lack of motivation always keeps me from concentrating on studying or doing schoolwork. I have believed and continue to believe that I have ADD (but am too lazy to check if I actually do).
2. Beautiful photographs (like the one on the right) inspire me. Photography is one of the few things I never get tired of. Since a few months ago, I've had thoughts of becoming a part-time photographer in the future.
3. I don't watch much TV, nor do I play very many video games.
4. I love to sing (albeit privately). Whenever I get the chance, I turn on my playlist with songs that I've played at least 50 times each, and sing my heart out. I excitedly squeal whenever they harmonize in songs, and always try to imitate it. I tend to sing much better in falsetto than in my regular voice.
5. I've had my tears flow for only one movie: 태극기 휘날리며 (Taegukgi). Call me sensitive, but that was an epic movie.
6. For nearly everything that I'm going to do, I analyze every possible outcome. For nearly everything that I've already done, I analyze every possible alternative route I could've taken.
7. I don't understand people who don't support gay marriage.
8. My favorite food is made fresh at Chipotle: chicken bowl with rice, mild and medium salsas, corn, sour cream, cheese, lettuce, and guac. Stirred, not shaken. Heaven if there ever was one.
9. I'm 6', 145 lbs. That means if I lose only 9 more pounds, I'm officially underweight. I've been trying to put on some weight for the longest time, but it seems like whenever I eat a lot, I manage to LOSE weight instead. Quite a turnaround for someone who used to be grossly fat about 9 years ago.
10. As of today, I have no clue what I want to do for my career.
11. More often than not, I expect the worst to happen, making me a pretty big pessimist. Plus, like everyone else, I'm afraid of rejection. So when there's a girl I like, I tend to just wait out all other variables... until it's too late. What a sad life I lead.
12. Sometimes, when I meet someone who's out of my league, I get intimidated, and feel awkward talking to the person.
13. I've always been interested in the God vs. science debate. I can't say that I'm very knowledgeable about it, but the subject simply intrigues me like no other.
14. I've never been the leader of a group before, but have recently become one. I haven't done much yet, though. I was initially deathly scared, but others' kind words of encouragement have kept my confidence up to par.
15. I secretly write in a blog, visible for only my own eyes. I treat it like a journal -- a place where I can record my thoughts and feelings into my own words, only for me.
16. The one thing that attracts me to people (excluding personality) is their smile. Thus, I try hard to make others laugh, because the mere sight of happy faces brings me satisfaction, knowing that I brightened someone's day. Ironic, though, because I myself don't smile as much as I should.

For everyone who's reading this blog: thank you and happy new year!

The Greatest Gift (Silent Night)

"Get on home, it's Christmas, for cryin' out loud!"

A single streetlamp bore witness as he stumbled his way out of The Happy Oyster. It was only seven, but already the sky was dark and forlorn. Winter had a way of making nightfall arrive prematurely, like an awkward, unwanted party guest.

The snow clung to his boots as he trudged down the empty street, and he paused to study the delicate flakes as they silently fell from the heavens. How very different it was this Christmas. Plunging numb fingers into this pocket, he emerged with a tattered wallet. From the void a pair of Washingtons scrutinized him, their pitiful scorning slowly being pelted by drops of snow. Maybe the sky was bright elsewhere.

Hands in his pockets, mind swimming with whiskey, and followed only by misshaped footsteps. Walking alone with his shadow, memories of hopes and dreams, of the mistakes that had changed everything. He glanced down at his hand, and a snowflake found his ring finger. How he wished the stars were out tonight.

A church slowly emerged from the street's dark edges. Soaring voices, comforting assurances of warmth, wafted from its walls, and he ascended the stairs to its promises.

But there were no angels to welcome him, only dusty pews and vacant aisles and a single candle, burning away its very existence by the altar. In the corner, an ancient phonograph scratched out O Holy Night in rippling reverberations that flowed through the dusky sanctity.

He made a step towards the altar and felt his lungs tighten. The pews lay in perfect stillness and symmetry, neither shiver nor stir. He took another step. The light of the candle grew and shed its flickering glow upon a cross behind the altar. He slowly approached the altar until the cross stood in full illumination. O Holy Night soared in its divine glory. Fall on your knees, and he did. He clasped his hands together as tightly as they would, and prayed.

He had nothing left to give for Christmas.

*

He let the door slowly creak open. The lights were off, but he could distinguish her figure curled up in the armchair, facing the door. He stepped into the foyer, slipped the door shut behind him, and slowly made his way towards her. She was sniffling.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, "I love you."

And in the darkness, he touched her face and knew she was still beautiful. Nothing left to give, but to forgive.

"I love you," he whispered back, "Merry Christmas, my angel."

New Beginnings

So it's Christmas eve, the snow outside is a foot and a half high, and I suddenly had the impulse to start a blog. Well, actually, I tried to start one in Shanghai, but that just kept redirecting me to a page in Chinese so I forgot all about it until now.

Anyhow, welcome!, ladies and gentlemen. I will be writing about all kinds of shenanigans in here, and, if it is at all possible, Chang and Trent will possibly be contributing. Actually, we haven't told Trent about this yet, but here's a warm welcome from Chang:

"HEY THIS IS OUR BLOG BYE"

Anyways, we're enormously grateful you're here. It means a lot to us that you are willing to spend your time reading our oftentimes meaningless rants and stories and such. We'll try to write in this often, we promise. Kinda. :)

In the meantime, Happy Holidays!! and thank you so much for being here. We (well, Chang and I, at least) envision this as picking up one of those bottles with messages inside them from the ocean. Except the message is some weird star-pattern. Whoa.