Wednesday, October 24, 2012
Wordless Wednesday: Ladies!
...and gentlemen.
(image credit: Facebook Page [my alarm clock is clearly jealous of my amazing relationship with my bed])
Best Friends
I
I could tell you a lot of things.
I could say that he smiles at me every day
I could tell you that he makes me laugh and has half of my heart
I could say that he holds me when I cry
I could tell you that he makes everything better
I could say that he's always the highlight of my day
I could tell you that we stay up until half past too late
talking and talking and talking and talking
But all I will tell you
And all I will say
Is that he is my best friend.
Inspired by Stay Beautiful by Taylor Swift
* * *
II
II
i can't count
how many times
i have said
i've had enough
this is the last straw, don't want to hurt anymore
i can't count
how many times
i have cried
i can't count every little scar
i can't count
how many times i have said
to myself
in defeat
'forgive and forget'
for my best friend
Inspired by You're Not Sorry by Taylor Swift
* * *
III
III
words...fail...i can't even...begin...to say...
how beautiful, flawless, fearless
life is, my friend.
and...i...can't tell you...just...
how blessed, thankful, grateful
i am, my friend.
i love you to the moon and back
stay
beautiful.
Inspired by Long Live by Taylor Swift
* * *
IV
IV
I am tired of faking smiles
What can I say,
To them,
Without 'I told you so'?
I am broken by living on borrowed time
A stolen kiss,
Robbed from you
Or me?
But I dread the inevitable goodbyes
Maybe I should let go
To find
Something more right than wrong?
We are missed opportunities
And deafening silences
And broken hearts
And sleepless nights
And breaking down
And could have beens
And best friends...
Inspired by Girl at Home by Taylor Swift
* * *
Inspired by T.S. Eliot's Preludes
Click here for a discussion of Best Friends
Monday, October 22, 2012
Music Monday: this is why I don't like gangnam style.
I hate Gangnam Style.
You know why I hate Gangnam Style? Because I get it. It's such a perfect parody. I've been to Korea - I am Korean. Only a Korean who's spent time in Korea recognises how flawless Psy's mimicry is of the nouveau riche that are emerging in Korea's gadget-happy long boom - Psy himself said that only 'losers and wannabees' say that they have 'gangnam' style. I recognize every single one of the larger-than-life characters in the music video - even Psy himself. There are actually people like that in Korea.
The problem is that nobody else gets Gangnam Style. Everyone thinks it's funny to laugh at the fat guy making a fool of the entire Asian continent. That's what I don't like. Gangnam Style went viral because at the heart of Western society is a desperate need to outlet xenophobia. Psy's parody is wasted on a WASP audience - he's making a mockery, but only a mockery of himself. And that's what I don't like.
I mean, seriously, it would be like taking this video as a literal representation for contemporary American society. Admittedly, it's not much of a stretch, but if it wasn't so evidently a parody it would have been rather offensive. Nobody seems to understand that whilst they laugh at Psy's horse dance.
And then there is, of course, the objectification of women. When I went back to Korea I was about eight or nine kilos heavier than I am now - mildly chubby, but not an extreme cause for concern. I swear most of the hype about my weight and how I looked was purely because I was a girl - because I wasn't 'pretty' and couldn't fit into the 'pretty' clothes (read: the biggest size is about a size 8). If I was a boy it would be brushed off as a 'growing boy's appetite'. I saw this in how some of my other cousins was treated and I was like yeah, okay, I'm fat, but SO IS HE!
Psy is not exactly the contemporary Western definition of 'the hot guy' - and he's not the Korean ideal, either, if you look at how the more mainstream K-Pop stars are like. But he gets away with it. I did not see a single girl who could be his equal in girth in the entire music video. And the remix of Gangnam Style, Dakneh Style, featured some pretty full on dancing from Hyuna, who can't sing but that seems to be besides the point. I'm a sex positive feminist, I have no problem with sex in the media, but there's a difference between 'portraying sexy women' and 'objectifying women'. That video did not walk the right side of the line.
Do you know what else didn't walk the right side of the line?
This:
The sad thing is, this is how the world sees Korean girls - I don't know whether Korea's uber-patriarchal and highly commercialized society realizes this, but this is how the world sees Korean girls. People don't believe I'm half Korean because I'm not anorexic and I don't dance like a pole dancer and pretend I don't enjoy it (I mean, I wouldn't enjoy it therefore I don't). People probably think I'm half Korean, half Jabba the Hutt, just to explain my distinct lack of Korean sex appeal. This is not a healthy image to broadcast to girls, and this is not a healthy image for Korean girls. Not all Korean girls like creeps on the internet talking about how much they jerk off thinking about them.Seriously, all the comments about this video has something to do with fucking Korean girls or wanking or getting hard ons etc etc etc. It's disgusting. The reason why I hate K-Pop is that it is so blatantly sexist - just look at the difference between the boy bands and the girl groups - and nobody gives a damn, because all this Americanized shit is so new and patriarchy (which is still a big thing over there) turns a blind eye. It's the boy bands who get the expensive Michael Jackson choreographers and the girl groups who are told their only appeal is sex appeal.
So this is why I hate Gangnam Style.
Sunday, October 21, 2012
A Thousand Thousand Fearless Things #85
Now Playing: Withdraw by Kimbra (I can't withdraw your heart from mine)
#801: On the bus in a fairy costume. No, I am not on drugs.
#802: Tardis robe
#803: Winter Melon Tea
#804: 93%. My baby.
#805: eggplant love
#806: I'M UNTYING HER BRA!!!! (thanks, Belephant.)
#808: sleepovers ❤
#809: I lost my (burger) virginity
#810: rumour has it
#811: State of Grace
#812: I knew you were trouble when you walked in, so shame on me now, flew me to places I'd never been, but now I'm lying on the cold hard ground
#813: guacamole and tacos
#801: On the bus in a fairy costume. No, I am not on drugs.
#802: Tardis robe
#803: Winter Melon Tea
#804: 93%. My baby.
#805: eggplant love
#806: I'M UNTYING HER BRA!!!! (thanks, Belephant.)
#808: sleepovers ❤
#809: I lost my (burger) virginity
#810: rumour has it
#811: State of Grace
#812: I knew you were trouble when you walked in, so shame on me now, flew me to places I'd never been, but now I'm lying on the cold hard ground
#813: guacamole and tacos
Sunday Wordle: People
So here's a new thing...
I love Wordles.
Every week I'll be publishing a Wordle made from my blog - but it only really counts the first few posts, so it'll always be changing. I think it's a neat way to capture the mood of the blog and how that changes.
Stay beautiful.
(click image to enlarge)
Friday, October 19, 2012
Wednesday, October 17, 2012
Wordless Wednesday: beauty
It was pointed out to me by a friend a little while ago that whilst we are becoming more and more accepting and desensitized to violence, sexuality and nudity is still something that is heavily censored and stigmatized.
Look at how movies are classified these days. Explicit violence may get a PG or an M at most. One artsy love scene or more than five seconds of nudity and it's at least MA. Last time I checked a gun did more damage than a human body.
Put it this way. Safe, legal, consensual sexual activities? Probably not going to hurt anyone.
Walking around a safe, intimate environment with no clothes on? Probably not going to hurt anyone.
Stabbing someone?
...ya know, might hurt someone.
This is an image a classmate has on her Facebook page, and I think it is very beautiful. It is a realistic depiction of the human body, at least, and isn't overtly sexualized to the point of hardcore-porn stupidity. If you're offended by this image but wouldn't be offended if I posted a still from a movie that involves graphic violence (and I for one can name...a few...)
Look at how movies are classified these days. Explicit violence may get a PG or an M at most. One artsy love scene or more than five seconds of nudity and it's at least MA. Last time I checked a gun did more damage than a human body.
Put it this way. Safe, legal, consensual sexual activities? Probably not going to hurt anyone.
Walking around a safe, intimate environment with no clothes on? Probably not going to hurt anyone.
Stabbing someone?
...ya know, might hurt someone.
This is an image a classmate has on her Facebook page, and I think it is very beautiful. It is a realistic depiction of the human body, at least, and isn't overtly sexualized to the point of hardcore-porn stupidity. If you're offended by this image but wouldn't be offended if I posted a still from a movie that involves graphic violence (and I for one can name...a few...)
Tuesday, October 16, 2012
everything to me.
Now Playing: Hard to Say Goodbye (Naked) by Bryarly Bishop (I've got your melodies to keep me company, I've got your face on the screen, I've got these memories on my mind constantly, I've got myself resigned to waiting patiently)
Am I in too deep?
The reason why I am so introverted is that, in my experience, when I open up people start to think that I'm in too deep. I get attached to things, to people, too easily. I don't take a lot of things lightly.
If you ever see me at school, or in the library, or any place where I'm sitting by myself with my headphones and a vacant, dreamy expression, I am almost always reminiscing. I think the reason why I'm always 'in too deep' is that I remember absolutely everything, and my memory is very easily triggered by everyday objects.
I know I don't mean that much to that many people. And sometimes it's awkward, knowing that you're in far deeper than someone else. I can't give people the flippant, 'don't worry about it', black and white answers to difficult questions. It's not my fault that I can't explain away the way I feel.
They always say that you 'can't talk to boys about feelings'. Can you just imagine now many friendships, relationships, marriages etc have dissolved based on that stupid fallacy? It's a stereotype everyone hides behind. Boys and sex are so tied up with feelings it's absurd to say that you can't talk to them about how you're feeling.
There's still so much of me that nobody knows about, so much that I hide away, so much that I'm too afraid to show. It's easier to smile and say that I'm okay than to open up about everything that is raw and weird and vulnerable. It's easier to cry when nobody is looking. Even when I do open up it normally falls on deaf ears anyway. People don't want to hear what they don't want to hear.
Everyone thinks that I've done so much more than I've done. Everyone seems to forget that there is a first time for everything. In a way its endlessly frustrating, but it affords me a kind of emotional privacy that I find strangely comforting. I hate my insecurities, I hate them so much that I hate to see them in other people. Its why I've always been attracted to the bold and the reckless, the people who take what they want without asking. They have what I don't and I can't help but admire them. And I love what happens in the rush, in the heat of the moment, I love the excitement and fear of knowing that everything could so easily go so terribly wrong.
It's not too often that people think of me as an emotionally private person. I have a blog, for Christ's sake. If anyone's wearing their heart on their sleeve, it's me. But I'm only open because I'm tired of misunderstandings, I'm tired of the assumptions that come when you try and keep secrets. But in other ways I have...I have become private. I don't feel like anyone understands what I'm trying to say, so why bother explaining? Or it's not so much that they don't understand, but they don't listen. My stories are the same stories we all know, and I don't know why people think that I am somehow different, that I am without these stories, that I am not worthy of them. They treat me as if I don't have what everyone else has. Everyone asks me why I became so opinionated, so eager to let my voice be heard. The truth is, I'm not one of those people who can let other people speak for me - they always get it wrong. I have to speak just to remind people that I too am human.
Everything means so much to me. I can recall so many beautiful moments with perfect clarity. I have so many precious bittersweet memories in my heart and words can't describe how dear they are to me. But what is a milestone to me is next to nothing to everyone else. But if I let go as they do I have nothing; I would be empty. I have nothing else to fill my empty heart with.
It always baffles people why someone like me lets everyone else call the shots - why I can be so headstrong and stubborn and determined in some things and totally easygoing in others. I let other people call the shots because I don't want people to know how deep I'm in, how attached I am. I spend most of my time trying to make sure that the people closest to me don't know it. I've never understood how poeple work. I don't understand why people only want to be attached to people who keep running away from them. The second they stop and reconsider we suddenly become the ones who are running.
It's not like I'm not independent or incapable of self sufficiency. I work alone. I've managed my blog alone for four years and everything I've ever done worth talking about has been done single handedly. But this capacity for capability doesn't stop me from feeling isolated or insecure or lonely. I can explain to people the inner workings of my brain - everyone seems to want a piece of my mind. But its my heart that is harder to translate, especially to the people who mean everything to me.
Am I in too deep?
The reason why I am so introverted is that, in my experience, when I open up people start to think that I'm in too deep. I get attached to things, to people, too easily. I don't take a lot of things lightly.
If you ever see me at school, or in the library, or any place where I'm sitting by myself with my headphones and a vacant, dreamy expression, I am almost always reminiscing. I think the reason why I'm always 'in too deep' is that I remember absolutely everything, and my memory is very easily triggered by everyday objects.
I know I don't mean that much to that many people. And sometimes it's awkward, knowing that you're in far deeper than someone else. I can't give people the flippant, 'don't worry about it', black and white answers to difficult questions. It's not my fault that I can't explain away the way I feel.
They always say that you 'can't talk to boys about feelings'. Can you just imagine now many friendships, relationships, marriages etc have dissolved based on that stupid fallacy? It's a stereotype everyone hides behind. Boys and sex are so tied up with feelings it's absurd to say that you can't talk to them about how you're feeling.
There's still so much of me that nobody knows about, so much that I hide away, so much that I'm too afraid to show. It's easier to smile and say that I'm okay than to open up about everything that is raw and weird and vulnerable. It's easier to cry when nobody is looking. Even when I do open up it normally falls on deaf ears anyway. People don't want to hear what they don't want to hear.
Everyone thinks that I've done so much more than I've done. Everyone seems to forget that there is a first time for everything. In a way its endlessly frustrating, but it affords me a kind of emotional privacy that I find strangely comforting. I hate my insecurities, I hate them so much that I hate to see them in other people. Its why I've always been attracted to the bold and the reckless, the people who take what they want without asking. They have what I don't and I can't help but admire them. And I love what happens in the rush, in the heat of the moment, I love the excitement and fear of knowing that everything could so easily go so terribly wrong.
It's not too often that people think of me as an emotionally private person. I have a blog, for Christ's sake. If anyone's wearing their heart on their sleeve, it's me. But I'm only open because I'm tired of misunderstandings, I'm tired of the assumptions that come when you try and keep secrets. But in other ways I have...I have become private. I don't feel like anyone understands what I'm trying to say, so why bother explaining? Or it's not so much that they don't understand, but they don't listen. My stories are the same stories we all know, and I don't know why people think that I am somehow different, that I am without these stories, that I am not worthy of them. They treat me as if I don't have what everyone else has. Everyone asks me why I became so opinionated, so eager to let my voice be heard. The truth is, I'm not one of those people who can let other people speak for me - they always get it wrong. I have to speak just to remind people that I too am human.
Everything means so much to me. I can recall so many beautiful moments with perfect clarity. I have so many precious bittersweet memories in my heart and words can't describe how dear they are to me. But what is a milestone to me is next to nothing to everyone else. But if I let go as they do I have nothing; I would be empty. I have nothing else to fill my empty heart with.
It always baffles people why someone like me lets everyone else call the shots - why I can be so headstrong and stubborn and determined in some things and totally easygoing in others. I let other people call the shots because I don't want people to know how deep I'm in, how attached I am. I spend most of my time trying to make sure that the people closest to me don't know it. I've never understood how poeple work. I don't understand why people only want to be attached to people who keep running away from them. The second they stop and reconsider we suddenly become the ones who are running.
It's not like I'm not independent or incapable of self sufficiency. I work alone. I've managed my blog alone for four years and everything I've ever done worth talking about has been done single handedly. But this capacity for capability doesn't stop me from feeling isolated or insecure or lonely. I can explain to people the inner workings of my brain - everyone seems to want a piece of my mind. But its my heart that is harder to translate, especially to the people who mean everything to me.
Monday, October 15, 2012
Music Monday: Some Study That I Used To Know
...I'm sure we're all feeling this at the moment :)
Soooo tempted to write an essay on 'puritans are boring even when one is a slut'.
Soooo tempted to write an essay on 'puritans are boring even when one is a slut'.
Sunday, October 14, 2012
on edge.
Now Playing: Hurts Like Heaven by Coldplay (cause you, you use your heart as a weapon, and it hurts like heaven)
Twelve years of school has taught me one thing.
I am always super super high at the beginning of the year and virtually suicidal by the end of it.
I lose sight of the bigger picture very easily. When I'm excited I forget the tears, the tantrums, the lows, the depression, the break ups, the fights, cheating and being cheated on. When I'm down I forget the rush, the thrill, all the nerve tingling anticipation, the euphoric highs and chocolate-induced giggle fests.
This is made worse by the fact that a) I'm silly and sixteen, b) emotionally I am a hop and a step away from FUCKING PSYCHO and c) it's the last/most intense/seriously godawful year of school I can remember
I think it's safe to say that everyone's pretty on edge at the moment.
I'm silly and sixteen. In an alternate universe I'd take as much time as I needed this year to just be sixteen - run around in converse sneakers and my ever-expanding collection of sundresses and talk boys and sex and feelings until the cows come home instead of trying to compress my entire emotional spectrum into the odd sleepover and endless facebook chats. In an alternate universe 'talk later' would be replaced with 'fucking WHAT?' and I'd never have to postpone a tantrum so that my poor unsuspecting victim could sod off to sit a spec exam. This is the first year that I've really felt like it is a lost cause trying to reconcile my school career with whatever the fuck is going on with hormones and people and etc. I don't understand either because I'm trying to do both at the same time. I can't shut off my emotions and I sure as hell can't shut off school. If you want to know the true source of my slightly unhealthy obsession with Taylor Swift music is that she conveniently sums up all the shit swirling through my head in neat, easy to swallow, three minute capsules.
Which is a shame, really, because I've always prided myself in being an excellent multitasker and quite good at getting my way.
I'm a romantic, aesthetic sort of person. I value all the things and feelings and people that I have stumbled across and fumbled my way naively through equally with my academic pursuits. Yes, I want to be a writer. I also want to fall in love and get married. I'm trying to work on both dreams at the same time because I value them equally and both have a time limit and both are absolutely killing me with anticipation. I know I will not be happy as an uber sophisticated college professor with more degrees than a thermometer but no baby in the cradle, just as I will not be happy as the uneducated frumpy housewife with a million screaming babies and a cheating asshole for a husband. I know I will not be happy with one or the other - I want it all. I feel like school and life and people are constantly forcing me to choose, and it's a choice I don't have to and don't want to make.
I have to daydream and fantasize just as I need to eat and drink and breathe. I live on the abstract and the bliss of satisfying curiosities and it is impossible to convince people of how real my need for these things are and how utterly bereft I am without them. Anticipation quite literally kills me - I can't stand it. It's exactly the same to me as the low dull ache of hunger and has me constantly on the verge of tears. I keep whinging about how this year has been horrible but it hasn't been horrible so much as horribly intense - the bullying got worse. The love got stronger. The friendships got weirder. The relationships got deeper. The stress went into overdrive and the hormones spiralled totally out of control. This is the year of blood and sweat and tears and I have no energy left for the papercuts and inkstains of final exams. I really should have timed things a bit better. I'm constantly telling my friends to time their 'harbinger of doom' moments around exams so that I don't totally lose my shit. The highs have been wonderful, too. But I've flipped from being totally starved of intensity or anything more emotional or passionate than LOL JKS from being whacked repeatedly over the head and heart with the intensity hammer.
And then, of course, there is the rumour mill. Telling me to ignore the rumour mill is like telling someone to ignore the pride when you're in a lion enclosure at the zoo. Sure, chances are ignoring them will help avoid a panic attack and knowing a lion's temperament they'll probably leave you the fuck alone, but there is nothing sane or wise or normal or feasible about ignoring a giant man-killing animal with teeth the size of carving knives. The rumour mill is like that. Ignoring it might allow me to indulge in the bliss of ignorance and chances are the rumours will just be like insubstantial if slightly annoying pokes but occasionally something big rears its fat ugly head and I thank God that I'm a sensitive emotional little shit because at least I had my eyes open.
I know it looks like I've just totally let myself loose and that I'm being totally open and honest about my emotions - I know I've been chucking tantrums every other day and crying more than a newborn and I've had more sugar-induced highs than is probably healthy. But the truth is I've been keeping a lot of things under wraps, pushed beneath the surface, 'later' and 'now is not the time or place' - and it's slowly driving me insane. I am so on edge I nearly burst into tears after my nail polish chipped. I'm not exactly seeing red, but to paraphrase Taylor Swift there is NOTHING BEIGE about what I'm feeling and doing and seeing right now.
And of course after all this mindfuck of the end of the year is over I'll be pumped for next year. Women never change.
Twelve years of school has taught me one thing.
I am always super super high at the beginning of the year and virtually suicidal by the end of it.
I lose sight of the bigger picture very easily. When I'm excited I forget the tears, the tantrums, the lows, the depression, the break ups, the fights, cheating and being cheated on. When I'm down I forget the rush, the thrill, all the nerve tingling anticipation, the euphoric highs and chocolate-induced giggle fests.
This is made worse by the fact that a) I'm silly and sixteen, b) emotionally I am a hop and a step away from FUCKING PSYCHO and c) it's the last/most intense/seriously godawful year of school I can remember
I think it's safe to say that everyone's pretty on edge at the moment.
I'm silly and sixteen. In an alternate universe I'd take as much time as I needed this year to just be sixteen - run around in converse sneakers and my ever-expanding collection of sundresses and talk boys and sex and feelings until the cows come home instead of trying to compress my entire emotional spectrum into the odd sleepover and endless facebook chats. In an alternate universe 'talk later' would be replaced with 'fucking WHAT?' and I'd never have to postpone a tantrum so that my poor unsuspecting victim could sod off to sit a spec exam. This is the first year that I've really felt like it is a lost cause trying to reconcile my school career with whatever the fuck is going on with hormones and people and etc. I don't understand either because I'm trying to do both at the same time. I can't shut off my emotions and I sure as hell can't shut off school. If you want to know the true source of my slightly unhealthy obsession with Taylor Swift music is that she conveniently sums up all the shit swirling through my head in neat, easy to swallow, three minute capsules.
Which is a shame, really, because I've always prided myself in being an excellent multitasker and quite good at getting my way.
I'm a romantic, aesthetic sort of person. I value all the things and feelings and people that I have stumbled across and fumbled my way naively through equally with my academic pursuits. Yes, I want to be a writer. I also want to fall in love and get married. I'm trying to work on both dreams at the same time because I value them equally and both have a time limit and both are absolutely killing me with anticipation. I know I will not be happy as an uber sophisticated college professor with more degrees than a thermometer but no baby in the cradle, just as I will not be happy as the uneducated frumpy housewife with a million screaming babies and a cheating asshole for a husband. I know I will not be happy with one or the other - I want it all. I feel like school and life and people are constantly forcing me to choose, and it's a choice I don't have to and don't want to make.
I have to daydream and fantasize just as I need to eat and drink and breathe. I live on the abstract and the bliss of satisfying curiosities and it is impossible to convince people of how real my need for these things are and how utterly bereft I am without them. Anticipation quite literally kills me - I can't stand it. It's exactly the same to me as the low dull ache of hunger and has me constantly on the verge of tears. I keep whinging about how this year has been horrible but it hasn't been horrible so much as horribly intense - the bullying got worse. The love got stronger. The friendships got weirder. The relationships got deeper. The stress went into overdrive and the hormones spiralled totally out of control. This is the year of blood and sweat and tears and I have no energy left for the papercuts and inkstains of final exams. I really should have timed things a bit better. I'm constantly telling my friends to time their 'harbinger of doom' moments around exams so that I don't totally lose my shit. The highs have been wonderful, too. But I've flipped from being totally starved of intensity or anything more emotional or passionate than LOL JKS from being whacked repeatedly over the head and heart with the intensity hammer.
And then, of course, there is the rumour mill. Telling me to ignore the rumour mill is like telling someone to ignore the pride when you're in a lion enclosure at the zoo. Sure, chances are ignoring them will help avoid a panic attack and knowing a lion's temperament they'll probably leave you the fuck alone, but there is nothing sane or wise or normal or feasible about ignoring a giant man-killing animal with teeth the size of carving knives. The rumour mill is like that. Ignoring it might allow me to indulge in the bliss of ignorance and chances are the rumours will just be like insubstantial if slightly annoying pokes but occasionally something big rears its fat ugly head and I thank God that I'm a sensitive emotional little shit because at least I had my eyes open.
I know it looks like I've just totally let myself loose and that I'm being totally open and honest about my emotions - I know I've been chucking tantrums every other day and crying more than a newborn and I've had more sugar-induced highs than is probably healthy. But the truth is I've been keeping a lot of things under wraps, pushed beneath the surface, 'later' and 'now is not the time or place' - and it's slowly driving me insane. I am so on edge I nearly burst into tears after my nail polish chipped. I'm not exactly seeing red, but to paraphrase Taylor Swift there is NOTHING BEIGE about what I'm feeling and doing and seeing right now.
And of course after all this mindfuck of the end of the year is over I'll be pumped for next year. Women never change.
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