The first post of 2012 has come later than I would have liked - a combination of having a lot of different things I’ve been wanting to post about and an inability to work on that writing has made it so that, until tonight, I’ve had to put it to the side. There’s just been so much to do lately: between school, finding work, taking care of my temporarily disabled father, unfortunate events and even just regular day-to-day chores, there hasn’t been much time for me to work on personal projects, including (much to my chagrin) this blog.
Even more distressing to me, the inability to schedule down-time means that Warden and I haven’t been able to indulge in much romance, a fact that rang particularly true just a few nights ago on the date marking our second year together.
“This isn’t how I wanted to spend our anniversary,” he told me towards the end of a long day, sitting in the car at parking lot to our school. His tone communicated annoyance with himself and life in general. We weren’t able to celebrate that night: the beginning of the day before had been a lot of running around and driving back and forth to take care of errands that couldn’t wait, ending with both of us too tired to stay up together for very long. The morning-of had started early to attend the funeral of one of the most influential teachers (and people in general) of my life, and ended with hanging out with friends - time that seems precious given the looming dissolution of our close-knit group as everyone makes plans for the future, for work, for moving and for transferring schools. Even so, we would have gone out to dinner on our own - but Warden was feeling nauseous, which only lent to his frustration. Both of us were in much better moods by the time we went to bed that night, but the whole day was a bitter-sweet reminder of the importance of just having time for the things you want to do.
Saturday, January 28, 2012
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Lou Engle's 'The Call' in Detroit
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| Lou Engle |
Understandably, the event - the preparation for which seemed to do little more than raise hostility from all sides - drew protesters from all walks of life. Members of the LGBT community, the Islamic faith and even clergy from several Christian churches of various denominations gathered to stand outside and protest ’The Call,’ which they said in practice encouraged hate rather than love, and was not Christianity as Jesus envisioned it. The organization and actual execution of the rally raised a lot of concerns, especially from the Muslim population of Detroit, and across the United States. Were they justified?
Sunday, October 16, 2011
Both and Neither (Pt. II)
(For pt. I see here)
Sometime last year when my mom took Warden and I out for lunch, she brought up the idea of travel - how nice it would be if she could take me to Korea to meet her siblings, see the cities, the countryside, the ocean. I reminded her that my paperwork was inadequate - that if I had maybe just one or two more pieces of identification to prove I was a citizen for the process of getting a passport, that it would be possible. I paused, turning to Warden with a joking smile.
“Actually, now that I think of it, if I were to get married to an American, in addition to my other papers the marriage certificate would probably be enough for me to get a new passport.”
Though Warden and I laughed, my mom became very thoughtful. “Yes,” she said, thinking: “Yes, that would work. About… three years from now, that would be a good time to travel.”
“No pressure,” Warden quipped, but we’ve been talking about it ever since - everyone from both of our families views it as an inevitability that we’ll marry, and though we joke and pretend it’s only a maybe, we both talk about it the same way, dreaming of our future together. As strange as it feels to me, one day going to Korea has become a possibility again.
I decided that I needed to take learning the language seriously, and subscribed to a website that taught it (though admittedly I don‘t study as hard as I should). Excited and grateful that all the resources I needed to teach myself the language and the history of Korea were now at my fingertips (not to mention free or very cheap) I also started researching the culture of the country that had led to me, and was shocked by what I found.
Sometime last year when my mom took Warden and I out for lunch, she brought up the idea of travel - how nice it would be if she could take me to Korea to meet her siblings, see the cities, the countryside, the ocean. I reminded her that my paperwork was inadequate - that if I had maybe just one or two more pieces of identification to prove I was a citizen for the process of getting a passport, that it would be possible. I paused, turning to Warden with a joking smile.
“Actually, now that I think of it, if I were to get married to an American, in addition to my other papers the marriage certificate would probably be enough for me to get a new passport.”
Though Warden and I laughed, my mom became very thoughtful. “Yes,” she said, thinking: “Yes, that would work. About… three years from now, that would be a good time to travel.”
“No pressure,” Warden quipped, but we’ve been talking about it ever since - everyone from both of our families views it as an inevitability that we’ll marry, and though we joke and pretend it’s only a maybe, we both talk about it the same way, dreaming of our future together. As strange as it feels to me, one day going to Korea has become a possibility again.
I decided that I needed to take learning the language seriously, and subscribed to a website that taught it (though admittedly I don‘t study as hard as I should). Excited and grateful that all the resources I needed to teach myself the language and the history of Korea were now at my fingertips (not to mention free or very cheap) I also started researching the culture of the country that had led to me, and was shocked by what I found.
Friday, October 14, 2011
Both and Neither (Pt. I)
I feel like I haven’t posted in an ETERNITY, though it’s only been a month or so. Samhain is coming soon, and personal work/play, school and family has kept me busy. Still no excuse (even if no one actually reads these), so here we are finally putting up something new.
Today’s post is part one of a two part entry, and a little bit off topic for this blog - but it‘s important nonetheless. It’s about something that’s played a large part in my life over the years. Something that’s affected people’s perceptions of me, and influenced their reactions to me. It’s resulted in biases (both for and against me), it’s colored the humor and hate in my life, and despite all this, it’s been something I’ve pretty much ignored for most of my existence.
It’s my race.
As I’ve mentioned before, I’m half-white, half-Korean. I say ‘white’ because, though that bit of my ancestry most likely comes from Germany, not a lot of the history on that side is accessible to me. My father’s side of the family hasn’t gone through a great deal of effort of trace the family tree back very far, and the matter has been made foggier by the numerous divorces and second-marriages that tied in additional blood and history. On my mom’s side, it’s Korean all the way back.
Not that it meant much to me until recently.
Last year, performing in a Stand-up Comedy competition at my school, I made the comment that “I’m about as Korean as Taco Bell.” The routine - which won me first place, by-the-by - mostly focused on my relationship with my Mom, a Korean who came to the states as the wife of a G.I., my father. I didn’t realize until sometime in my preteens that there was a history of Korean women coming to the US in such a way for nearly half a century. It was something I mistakenly thought that had little to nothing to do with ‘me.’
Today’s post is part one of a two part entry, and a little bit off topic for this blog - but it‘s important nonetheless. It’s about something that’s played a large part in my life over the years. Something that’s affected people’s perceptions of me, and influenced their reactions to me. It’s resulted in biases (both for and against me), it’s colored the humor and hate in my life, and despite all this, it’s been something I’ve pretty much ignored for most of my existence.
It’s my race.
As I’ve mentioned before, I’m half-white, half-Korean. I say ‘white’ because, though that bit of my ancestry most likely comes from Germany, not a lot of the history on that side is accessible to me. My father’s side of the family hasn’t gone through a great deal of effort of trace the family tree back very far, and the matter has been made foggier by the numerous divorces and second-marriages that tied in additional blood and history. On my mom’s side, it’s Korean all the way back.
Not that it meant much to me until recently.
Last year, performing in a Stand-up Comedy competition at my school, I made the comment that “I’m about as Korean as Taco Bell.” The routine - which won me first place, by-the-by - mostly focused on my relationship with my Mom, a Korean who came to the states as the wife of a G.I., my father. I didn’t realize until sometime in my preteens that there was a history of Korean women coming to the US in such a way for nearly half a century. It was something I mistakenly thought that had little to nothing to do with ‘me.’
Saturday, August 27, 2011
Here we go again - AGAIN
As mentioned way back when in May in my post “When is it right to hurt someone?” and the post “un-home-like” in June, the club I belong to at school has had issues with two people in particular whom I’ve dubbed Michel* and Joe.*
I’ll get to Joe in a minute, but the focus of today’s post is Michel, and keeping track of what is apparently an ongoing situation.
In the first post I linked to above, I explained how Michel ended up leaving the room in a huff during a club meeting when the tension between her and group came to a head. Within a week of her leaving the room, Michel’s mother came to the school and caused a fuss with Student Life, complaining about her daughter’s treatment by our club. Student Life asked to our President about what happened, and once they understood they didn’t tell us to do anything specific, they didn’t reprimand us, and they certainly didn’t tell us that we had to let her back into the room (though we weren’t actively banning her, so it really didn’t matter). After all, who in the world, with any common sense, would continue trying to interact with a group that was hostile towards them at worse, and tolerates them at best?
They thanked us for handling it as best we could, gave us a heads-up that Michel’s mother came in complaining on her behalf, and asked us to try to be a little less aggressive if it happened again (the implication being with someone else, as they too assumed that the issue was settled).
Still, a month or so later, Michel resumed coming into club. Mostly she sat towards the back of the room, avoiding conversation, but she had returned despite knowing that most of the group had no interest in interacting with her.
Why?
I’ll get to Joe in a minute, but the focus of today’s post is Michel, and keeping track of what is apparently an ongoing situation.
In the first post I linked to above, I explained how Michel ended up leaving the room in a huff during a club meeting when the tension between her and group came to a head. Within a week of her leaving the room, Michel’s mother came to the school and caused a fuss with Student Life, complaining about her daughter’s treatment by our club. Student Life asked to our President about what happened, and once they understood they didn’t tell us to do anything specific, they didn’t reprimand us, and they certainly didn’t tell us that we had to let her back into the room (though we weren’t actively banning her, so it really didn’t matter). After all, who in the world, with any common sense, would continue trying to interact with a group that was hostile towards them at worse, and tolerates them at best?
They thanked us for handling it as best we could, gave us a heads-up that Michel’s mother came in complaining on her behalf, and asked us to try to be a little less aggressive if it happened again (the implication being with someone else, as they too assumed that the issue was settled).
Still, a month or so later, Michel resumed coming into club. Mostly she sat towards the back of the room, avoiding conversation, but she had returned despite knowing that most of the group had no interest in interacting with her.
Why?
Monday, August 15, 2011
Depth in Shallow Water
As I mentioned in my last post, I recently went canoeing for the first time. One of my friends - whom we’ll call Ardelis - invited me to join her on a group camping trip. Her ex-boyfriend was originally supposed to accompany her, but (due to his recent status as ‘ex’) she had no one to go with her. Being that I haven’t been camping for a few years, and I’d never been canoeing, I decided this would be fun change of pace. If nothing else, more time to bond with Ardelis, one of Warden’s friends from early childhood on who has become a fairly close friend of my own in the short time I’ve known her.
I had little to no idea of what to expect - I didn’t even know if we were going to be way out in the wilderness, or at a camp site with electricity and water (we were) - so I packed only what I felt were necessities, and whatever I’d need to get by. Supplies-wise, I did more than fine (I had leaned towards the idea of being nowhere near bathrooms or running water and so on) but when it came to our fellow campers, I wasn’t sure how to feel.
While Ardie had warned me about her brothers, I had taken most of the descriptions I’d heard as hyperbole. I quickly learned my mistake. I commented at one point, laughing, that I felt like I was in ‘hostile territory.’ When she asked what I meant, I replied, “Well, remember: I’m kind of a witch, so…” She nodded, understanding quickly: the portable sound system which blared near constantly the duration of the trip was at the moment playing a song about wanting a ‘country-music Jesus’ to come and “save us all.”
I was, after all, camping with a large group of service men and their women - men who, at a glance, could pretty quickly be identified with one word: rednecks.
I had little to no idea of what to expect - I didn’t even know if we were going to be way out in the wilderness, or at a camp site with electricity and water (we were) - so I packed only what I felt were necessities, and whatever I’d need to get by. Supplies-wise, I did more than fine (I had leaned towards the idea of being nowhere near bathrooms or running water and so on) but when it came to our fellow campers, I wasn’t sure how to feel.
While Ardie had warned me about her brothers, I had taken most of the descriptions I’d heard as hyperbole. I quickly learned my mistake. I commented at one point, laughing, that I felt like I was in ‘hostile territory.’ When she asked what I meant, I replied, “Well, remember: I’m kind of a witch, so…” She nodded, understanding quickly: the portable sound system which blared near constantly the duration of the trip was at the moment playing a song about wanting a ‘country-music Jesus’ to come and “save us all.”
I was, after all, camping with a large group of service men and their women - men who, at a glance, could pretty quickly be identified with one word: rednecks.
Sunday, August 7, 2011
Dedication - a Year of Blogging
Following my Dream about Doors, I’ve been re-examining my goals and priorities. My year-and-a-day has passed, August 1st 2010 being the day I got my blog running in the first place and Lammas - the holiday I discussed in that post - is today. While it’s not required of me (not to mention I’m not exactly in any sort of initiatory order) I really wanted to perform some sort of dedication to mark the time that‘s gone by and to set a definitive goal for the future.
But what would I dedicate myself to? Like I said before, a ritual without a purpose is like a door that doesn’t lead anywhere. It can be a beautiful door, and a real experience to pass through it, but if it doesn’t actually take you anywhere then the exercise is pointless… right?
All of the study, the reading, all the research, the talking to people - it’s been a real trip, and I don’t plan on stopping any time soon. It’s changed how I think, opened up my mind, and shown me a lot of good things. Admittedly, it‘s led to some really depressing realizations about just how bad the world can be - but it‘s also shown me that it‘s alright to hope as well.
Still, what does this all mean? What is my goal? Do I have any plans for what to do with all the things I’m learning? What has anything I’ve learned actually done for me?
But what would I dedicate myself to? Like I said before, a ritual without a purpose is like a door that doesn’t lead anywhere. It can be a beautiful door, and a real experience to pass through it, but if it doesn’t actually take you anywhere then the exercise is pointless… right?
All of the study, the reading, all the research, the talking to people - it’s been a real trip, and I don’t plan on stopping any time soon. It’s changed how I think, opened up my mind, and shown me a lot of good things. Admittedly, it‘s led to some really depressing realizations about just how bad the world can be - but it‘s also shown me that it‘s alright to hope as well. Still, what does this all mean? What is my goal? Do I have any plans for what to do with all the things I’m learning? What has anything I’ve learned actually done for me?
Saturday, July 9, 2011
Cracked Views on Mysticism
A recent article from the popular humor website Cracked.com was titled “7 ‘Ancient’ Forms of Mysticism That Are Recent Inventions.”
I took a deep breath and braced myself for a semi-humorous anti-religion smear - because though I love the website and visit it daily, any time an article pops up on any topic having to do with something touchy (politics, religion, etc) it not only tends to lean strongly in one direction or the other opinion-wise, but they also stir up a lot of bad feelings. That, and the trend lately seems to be for Numbered Lists of ‘Facts’ (usually more along the line of facts + opinions) to make the front page as the three main articles of the day.
The “7 ‘Ancient’ Forms” addressed were Yoga, Tarot, Satanism, Ouija boards, Ninjitsu, Friday the 13th (though I’m not sure how a superstition about a date qualifies as a Form of Mysticism comparable with a religion), and - drum roll please - The Viking Religion.
I laughed a little as I read - this was an extremely sarcastic article, in which the writer C. Coville (who’s profile declares “preachin' Jesus and blowing up meth labs”) did her best to compare the systems examined with things like Dungeons & Dragons and angry teenagers rebelling against the church. Though I did smile at times, there wasn’t much humor to be found. I nodded at the dates and facts she presented, having come across most of the same things on my own during my reading and research this past year, I couldn’t help but sense a strong dislike of ‘New Age’ systems. What surprised me (though it shouldn’t have, especially coming from a white, Christian woman in the US military, with the website like http://www.godgirlsguns.com) was the venom dished out against reconstructionist religions, especially Asatru - for example, the caption beneath a rather famous depiction of Odin calling him a hobo seemed a little much.
Still, one person’s opinion is just an opinion. Facts are facts, and how you react to them and treat them individually are what’s important.
I took a deep breath and braced myself for a semi-humorous anti-religion smear - because though I love the website and visit it daily, any time an article pops up on any topic having to do with something touchy (politics, religion, etc) it not only tends to lean strongly in one direction or the other opinion-wise, but they also stir up a lot of bad feelings. That, and the trend lately seems to be for Numbered Lists of ‘Facts’ (usually more along the line of facts + opinions) to make the front page as the three main articles of the day.
The “7 ‘Ancient’ Forms” addressed were Yoga, Tarot, Satanism, Ouija boards, Ninjitsu, Friday the 13th (though I’m not sure how a superstition about a date qualifies as a Form of Mysticism comparable with a religion), and - drum roll please - The Viking Religion.
I laughed a little as I read - this was an extremely sarcastic article, in which the writer C. Coville (who’s profile declares “preachin' Jesus and blowing up meth labs”) did her best to compare the systems examined with things like Dungeons & Dragons and angry teenagers rebelling against the church. Though I did smile at times, there wasn’t much humor to be found. I nodded at the dates and facts she presented, having come across most of the same things on my own during my reading and research this past year, I couldn’t help but sense a strong dislike of ‘New Age’ systems. What surprised me (though it shouldn’t have, especially coming from a white, Christian woman in the US military, with the website like http://www.godgirlsguns.com) was the venom dished out against reconstructionist religions, especially Asatru - for example, the caption beneath a rather famous depiction of Odin calling him a hobo seemed a little much.
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| Really? |
Thursday, July 7, 2011
No Rockets, No Red Glare
A bit of a discourse from my usual subject matter, but I felt I had to address this.
This past 4th of July, I had dinner with my dad - a thankfully much less awkward encounter than I thought it would be, with lots of laughter and good feelings all around. After we had dinner, he had to rush home to pack and rest up (being that he had to get up and get on the road around 4 am the next day), leaving Warden and I to our own devices for the evening. There weren’t actually any fireworks shows within a convenient driving distance (go figure) but we decided that some sparklers would be good enough for two people, since all we were going to do was cook hot dogs and marshmallows over a fire.
We hit Meijer’s first - “no,” we were told, they “don’t sell sparklers. Sorry.”
I insisted we go to Krogers instead: I distinctly remembered my friends’ parents purchasing fireworks (whoo black cat!) there when I was in high school. Again, no - and this time, we were told, it was illegal for them to sell sparklers. A quick run to a Rite Aid down the street (since we both figured maybe the drugstore would have some) was fruitless.
In the next neighborhood over, we heard the occasional pop and whistle of festive explosions going off: but in our own yard, we sat quietly beside the fire, considering the holiday and where it is today.
Thinking of what we’d been told at Krogers, I did some googling.
This past 4th of July, I had dinner with my dad - a thankfully much less awkward encounter than I thought it would be, with lots of laughter and good feelings all around. After we had dinner, he had to rush home to pack and rest up (being that he had to get up and get on the road around 4 am the next day), leaving Warden and I to our own devices for the evening. There weren’t actually any fireworks shows within a convenient driving distance (go figure) but we decided that some sparklers would be good enough for two people, since all we were going to do was cook hot dogs and marshmallows over a fire.
We hit Meijer’s first - “no,” we were told, they “don’t sell sparklers. Sorry.”
I insisted we go to Krogers instead: I distinctly remembered my friends’ parents purchasing fireworks (whoo black cat!) there when I was in high school. Again, no - and this time, we were told, it was illegal for them to sell sparklers. A quick run to a Rite Aid down the street (since we both figured maybe the drugstore would have some) was fruitless.
In the next neighborhood over, we heard the occasional pop and whistle of festive explosions going off: but in our own yard, we sat quietly beside the fire, considering the holiday and where it is today.
Thinking of what we’d been told at Krogers, I did some googling.
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