Mexico

As you all may or may not know, on Tuesday this spring break, I am going off to Mexico, where for the first time in five months, I will finally be able to play golf. Thank God. For the past week I have been dreaming off, spacing out, continuously lost in thought over the vacation. Golf is one of my great passions, and the thought of finally being able to play it consumes my mind and my thoughts. It pervades my dreams, and I can visualize myself playing golf at any given moment. Trying to write about the wonders of the game and the great time I will have in Mexico won't do any justice to the vision I have in my head, so I decided to draw it out:

*erhm* *cough* ...WELL THEN, I hope that my...umm...truthful* depiction of golf has some meaning to you now. However, I of course will verbalize it out for those of you who may not appreciate my art as much as I do.

*warning- may not be truthful

---

I take a deep breath, inhaling the honey-sweet air of the golf course, and quickly exhale. I kneel down near to the ground, picking out a few blades of the dark green grass and, in an attempt to analyze my situation, I let go of the grass, seeing where the wind will take it. Immediately the grass floats out of my fingers and drifts out to my left. Eastward. I look to my right, and for a few moments I take in the beauty of the majestic Pacific, which is crashing into the rocky beach far below. The deep blue ocean pleasures my eyes for a few moments, but then my head swivels back left, to the green about a 150 yards ahead. It is oddly-shaped, the flagstick jutting out on the very right side of the green, the red flag blowing about, the wind gently tossing it from right to left. I loosen myself once more, rotating my head along my shoulders, and I am ready. I pull out my eight-iron, and take a few gentle, loose swings, my focus on the left side of the green, where I want to aim the ball. Stepping up to the ball, I begin my backswing, my eyes now facing the ball. I then bring the club down with speed and fluidity, and make contact. Click. Beautiful. The ball soars up high in the air and, as if hesitant, wobbles down and bounces onto the green. I have to shield my eyes, the bright sun still beating. But I'm still happy. I pick up my golf bag, and with confidence, I fix my divot, and walk towards the challenging, yet inviting, green ahead.

---

Well, I think that went pretty well. However, I still enjoy my picture better than I do my written out version. *Sigh*

A fine balance

I have no idea how this works. First semester was filled with sleepless nights, impossible lab assignments, in-depth essays, tension-filled studying sessions after golf matches. It was filled with stress, and sleep was in scarce quantity. Now though, I find that I can sleep at 9:30 most nights without too much tension. Nights in which I have to stay up until 2:00 AM are incredibly uncommon, and life has become much easier. Is it because the golf season ended long ago, and now I have much more free time on my hands? No. Track consumes most of my after-school time, meets lasting up till 9:00 PM. My time before school is non-existent, as I go to 6:00 AM practices, forcing me to wake up at 5:15. Then is the workload decreasing? No, definitely not. Labs attack me constantly and homework and tests are ever-present. Do I have a study hall? No, that was replaced with a web design class. Then what happened? Have I gained time? The fact is, I don't know. My grades for some reason are still in tact as I juggle several difficult courses with greatly limited time. However, it may be my laziness getting to me. Coming into the first semester, I had an intense need to do extremely well in all my courses, but that desire is completely out of my system. Now, my easier courses, such as spanish and global studies have become less of a problem as I discontinue to study for the tests and quizzes and continue to do well. My more difficult classes, english and biology, still are highly prioritized though, providing me with healthy amounts of homework.

---

My bio teacher told us today that to be successful is to be able to do well in school, while keeping our lives stress-free, with free time and a maintained social life. This freshman year has been treating me well, and I pray that I will also remain successful in that same way my bio teacher wanted us to be.

Postmortem

I am drowning. At first, the water is refreshing, cool. And then, the realization sets in. Being in the water for so long, I have dropped down too far. Looking up, I see a small glint of light, and around me, a darkness pulling me down. My arms and legs thrash about me, but it is too late. I am too deep in. My lungs are at its bursting point, and eventually, I am forced to exhale my breath forcefully, the bubbles of air, floating free to the sky. I scream and thrash, scream and thrash, but the glint of light grows smaller as I continue my descent down. My head is pounding and finally, I am forced to breathe in the cold, unforgiving water. My lungs scream out in pain, my entire body in convulsions of agony. Each movement of my arms and legs becomes weighted, and eventually all movement stops. In anger, fear, and pain I scream, in a last act of desperation. But it is too late. The light has disappeared, and no voice emits from my burning throat. I am alone, dying the worst possible death anyone can go through, next to a crucifixion. My brain cells are dying in scores as my oxygen-deprived body screams out an indescribable anguish, in defeat. Suddenly, it is over. The darkness overcomes, and death overtakes my body and my soul floats out of the water.

---

Suddenly, the Mexican music pounds into my left ear as my alarm clock blinks: 6:00 AM. I slam my radio off, as I stumble out of bed and into the shower. It's a Monday, go figure.

Pushing oneself

The 600 meter dash: a 3 and 3/4 lapper that requires of the runners a kind of mental toughness like no other. Over a quarter mile, the 600 is an all-out sprint amongst those with a good combination of speed and stamina, but those who have both, but do not carry the extreme mental task of forcing oneself beyond physical limits cannot make it, cannot succeed.

---

"Aw, dang it!" I exclaimed. I clutched onto my left knee as I attempted to straighten it out. Only a close minute to the beginning of my race, the 600 meter dash, I wasn't in good shape. Out of a combination of both nervousness and of working oneself too hard earlier in the week, my knee suddenly began hurting. The referee placed each one of us in our lanes and explained the mundane rules of running and indoor track. I looked around to find a group of large freshmen and sophomores, being that both grade levels were put together for this specific race. I gulped. There were several runners from other schools, and Niles West only had three participants in this race. The referee backed off several strides, and began the ritual for beginning any race by taking out his starting gun:

Ready...Set...

BANG!

I got off to a terrible start. My bad knee, coupled with my deer-in-headlights fear of running the race brought me into a terrible start. The first five strides consisted of limping awkwardly. I was in last place out of eight or nine participants. Seeing the large group of runners ahead of me, I pushed as hard as my legs could take me.

Two laps into the race, and I wasn't doing much better. Although passing up a few people, there was still one specific runner just ahead of me. My sweat dripped down my face, and my breathing was shallow and racked with difficulty. I had already run out of energy, and still there was over a lap to go. I began to cough as I ran, my throat dry. My legs began to slow down, atrophied and done out. The runner ahead of me was beginning to speed up, pumping his arms and legs quickly. Bystanders and teammates were cheering on, yelling loudly for their favorite runner.

Suddenly, all sound stopped. Only less than a lap to go, the only sound being emitted was my breathing and footsteps. The cheering voices of my friends and teammates drowned away, the yelling of coaches drowned away. The track became near silent. The runner ahead of me was several strides ahead. I began to "kick it in," ignoring the pain, and forcing myself to go at an all-out sprint. My arms were pumping wildly ahead as legs were speeding up. A wrenching cramp formed up in my abdomen, and the sweat was dripping off my nose. I was gaining on him. I merged into the second lane from the first, and pushed myself even beyond the threshold of my speed from before. It was the last quarter lap and it was a battle to the finish. I had beaten him. I had won.

I received 5th place, but the satisfaction that ensued far outweighed the glory that comes from even getting in 1st.

Entertainment these days...

"I said a hip hop the hippie the hippie
to the hip hip hop, a you dont stop
the rock it to the bang bang boogie say up jumped the boogie
to the rhythm of the boogie, the beat,"

These famous words were the the first major rap song in 1979, Rapper's Delight by the Sugarhill Gang. Since then, though, things have changed quite a bit in the music industry. Now messages of sex, violence, anger, pain, and hatred come through in the forms of modern pop culture. Rap is no longer about having fun and a good time: now it's about gangsta's, violence, sex, etc. which leads me to wonder, "What happened?" Did these messages somehow root from the Sugarhill Gang?. I don't think so. But it leads me to think: there was once a time when the vintage songs from the days of old used to be progressive, evil, taboo. As each decade of America has come and gone, the meaning of the word "taboo," has had a different meaning each time, the bar being raised constantly. Each generation from before sees the modern entertainment being shown to the young and becomes horrified at what gets shown to their children. Now though, in an age where near-nudity is shown constantly in commercials, where the loss of virginity is something to be achieved before twenty years of age, where violence in video games and in television is constant, where Justin Timberlake can rip off Janet Jackson's bra on national television, I am scared of what kinds of things will be exposed to my children in the future. However, like the generation before could never have imagined the kind of culture that exists today, I also cannot even begin to imagine what kind of culture the future will have. Decades ago, Gordon Moore created a postulate relating to the world of technology known as "Moore's Law": that processor speeds would always continue to grow at an exponential rate. The people in 1965 could never imagine the kind of sheer power, speed, and memory that is reflected in the average computer of an average household. Likewise, trying to imagine culture in the future in the useless. Things will have become so radically different that my wildest imaginations will not be able to imagine the kinds of things that my kids will have to face. Will it be drugs? Will it be sex? I don't know. But as I put my headphones on and bob my head to Rapper's Delight, I am relaxed, my thoughts resting on the powerful waves of the Sugarhill Gang's music. There will be a day when I will have to face a new culture with new meanings, but let that come another time. This music is great.

The Culture Barrier

Not long ago, while eating dinner with my family, I was shocked to learn that I was holding my chopsticks incorrectly. My uncle was the first to realize this, and, speaking in Korean to my mother, he pointed to my right hand. I gave a questioning look at my mom, being that I couldn't hear what my uncle was saying. My mom glanced at my chopstick-gripped hand and looked at me. "Judgahrag jalmot dirrudtdah," she said. I was confused. I knew and understood the meaning of the phrase: You're holding your chopsticks incorrectly, but, looking down at my hands, I couldn't possibly believe that, being a full-blooded Korean-American with a raised with over a decade of bhabb (rice), kalbi, ramyun, kimchi and multitudes of other Korean food, I did not know how to even hold chopsticks. My mom spent the next minute explaining to me my mistake in pinching the upper judgahrag between my thumb and forefinger, instead of between my index and middle finger with my thumb as a support, but for the next half-hour, I was ashamed of myself. Although it was no big deal with my mother and the rest of my family, it was for me. Added onto the fact that I cannot even fluently speak in Korean, my identity was slipping away.

Probably one of the largest regrets that I have now, is that I do not know how to speak the language of my parents, Korean, Hangil. It was my first language, and as an infant I grew up with it, being able to speak it with great fluency, though I was actually born in Chicago. However, sometime in kindergarten or first grade, my language went away as another took its place, English. I don't exactly remember how or when, but it happened, and now, the very essence of my Korean culture, the language, is nonexistent in my speech. Looking back at old family videos, one can see me speaking quickly and fluently in Korean. But what is left now is only a comprehension of that speech, the ability to translate it into English, but that is nothing. I can read the language, slowly, but still I can read. That too, now that I think of it, is nothing. I eat Korean food every single day, sometimes eating it several times a day. That too, is nothing. These things, I have tried to use in order to fill up the gap left, but by not being able to speak Korean, no surrogate can possibly fill up the cultural emptiness inside, because language is the very essence of a culture. America is a giant melting pot of cultures, and as I think about it more, I feel that I am caught up in that very melting pot, because the only language I can speak with fluency is English, the common language, the standard. I am no more Korean or Asian than Joe Bob from Alabama. I am what is called a gyopoh, a Korean foreigner, if that makes any sense.

Now one of my greatest insecurities is my inability to speak. I can try, and my mom tells me that I have the potential to speak, and that my pronunciation is near-perfect, but speaking, especially to a non-relative is absolutely nerve-racking. The fear of mispronunciation or of using the incorrect verb tense scares me, to the point where I prefere English over Korean when speaking to a Korean person. Even when visiting Korea I spoke in English, further labeling myself as an American.

Who am I? That question daunts over me more often each day. Will my kids be raised as Koreans? Or as Americans? Will my wife even be Korean? But, in the end, I am only fourteen. I still have time before it's too late. I still have time to learn how to speak my language, and in doing so, learn my identity. Someday, I will go back to Korea and be able to speak with confidence and act with confidence. I have already taken my first step in learning how: my chopstick holding ability is better than ever.

Where life ends...

When you are inches away from death, your life doesn't flash before your eyes. No, that is just a cliche. Instead you are overcome with a fear so great that even the most descriptive imagery cannot serve as a substitute for the real thing. You may think, "What the hell is this guy talking about?" but believe me, I know very well what I'm talking about. So much that it hurts.

---

"Hassan, Nick, Manait, come on guys, let's go out again." All of us had just finished a T-Run, a running path simply and affectionately referred to as the "T," among Niles West track runners. Going down and back Menard Street, it is a grueling 4.5 mile run and being the fourth personto come back from finishing it, I was proud, considering I was one of the slower guys on team. To further show my toughness and speed I decided to go outside again, ready to take on the cold, unforgiving weather that Chicagoans learn to love and hate.

"Dude...I dunno'. Tomorrow's a meet, and we're not really supposed to be overworking ourselves..." This was Hassan speaking, the second-fastest freshman on the team. He was sitting on a heater by the entrance, and bit his lip. "I got here like, fifteen minutes ago... I ran the last T pretty fast. I don't think I could do another one."

"Aww, come on man. I'm not even tired!" I goaded him,"If we want to improve, we need to run more. Come with me, guys. With or without you, I'm gonna' run anyways."

He fell for my bluff. "Fine...let's run then...but, how about we just run to Dempster instead of the whole thing?" Hassan asked. I nodded in agreement. "Well, lets run then." He got up from the heater, and the other two, Nick and Manait, followed suit. We stretched out for a bit and jogged out the entrance.

I felt good. The wind in my face, I took a deep breath of cool, refreshing air, and running a few strides ahead of my teammates, I felt that I could handle anything, no matter how difficult or strenuous. Even after running several miles, I was filled with a limitless amount of energy, my arms and legs pumping. In my ecstatic glee, I accelerated, going faster with each step I took. Stop. Did I hear something? I ignored it and continued running. Brian, stop. I was on top of the world, and the energy and joy I felt was so great. "BRIAN! STOP!" Suddenly, I snapped back into reality as I felt a strong hand grip down on my left shoulder, completely bringing me to a stop. Before I could react, a silver Mercedes zoomed across me, going at least 40 mph, a few inches from my body. I was in shock. If I had taken a mere baby step farther, I would have been hit. Foolishly, in my euphoria, I had taken a few steps into Oakton Street, without even bothering to look and see if traffic had stopped. Of course, it didn't stop. Cars were still zooming across at high speeds as I stumbled back into the sidewalk.

"S***!" I exclaimed. My palms grew sweaty as my adrenaline was forcefully being pumped into my blood. I took several deep breaths as I looked behind me and saw Hassan stare back at me in amazement, still grabbing my shoulder. Tears began to well up in my eyes. "Oh my God," I croaked out, my voice trembling with fear. I closed my eyes and took several more deep, shaky breaths. "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry." I was babbling nonsense, and I felt scared as hell. My legs became shaky as I understood what had just happened. I was enveloped in darkness as I continued to mumble out nonsensical apologies addressed to nobody. I was hysterical.

"Oh crap, I just saved your life." He looked calmly at me as he went on, "Dude, if you took another step, you would have died." I slowly regained my composure, and I nodded in silent agreement. The stoplight turned green, and we continued running.

It's good to have friends.

---

This happened on Thursday. Hassan and the others on the track team all told me after practice that I would have died had I taken another step. I don't doubt that for a second. I address this to Hassan: Hassan, I thank you so much for stopping me back there and pulling me back to reality. I owe you an infinite amount of gratitude for saving my life, and I know that for saving my life, you deserve so much more. If you weren't there, I wouldn't even be alive now. I still see that Mercedes almost hitting me so vividly still, and I constantly think of what would have happened if you weren't there, but I hope that during senior year, we could just look back at this incident and laugh. Once again, thank you.

100things

1. My name is Brian.
2. I am Korean.
3. I was born in Chicago.
4. I was born on August 18, 1989.
5. I am sexy.
6. I am tall: 6' 1".
7. I am popular.
8. I am a liar. Is this post a lie or not? Think about it.
9. I hold a warped view of myself.
10. I am a student.
11. I am not ghetto, and proud of it.
12. What is ghetto anyway? It used to be a noun, but now it's an adjective.
13. I like to write about myself.
14. I eat rice everyday.
15. I love rice.
16. My little brother's name is Jeffrey.
17. He's my favorite brother of all-time.
18. He's my only brother.
19. My mom makes awesome kimchi.
20. My mom makes awesome korean food.
21. Golf is an awesome sport.
22. Golf is a SPORT, not an activity or a hobby, or, "a game, like Monopoly."
23. I am on my high school's golf team.
24. Michael Crichton is a great writer.
25. I've read Disclosure, Rising sun, Andromeda Strain, Prey, Timeline, Terminal Man, Sphere, The Great Train Robbery, and probably another one. These of course, are all books by Crichton.
26. They are awesome books.
27. He is by far the best techno-thriller novelist.
28. I try too hard.
29. Getting past post 29 is the hardest part of making this list.
30. I like video games.
31. I have a GameCube.
32. I don't have any Playstations: you can't trust 'em.
33. Ikaruga's an awesome game, though nobody knows about it.
34. Super Smash Brothers: an awesome game.
35. Final Fantasy I-VI: you gotta' love 'em. I unfortunately haven't played FF VII and on.
36. Chrono Trigger is an awesome SNES RPG (Super Nintendo Role Playing Game).
37. I love anime and manga.
38. I have 48.77 gigabytes of manga and anime combined.
39. Naruto is an awesome manga and anime.
40. Chrno Crusade and Samurai Deeper Kyo is a great anime.
41. Black Cat, Prince of Tennis, Saiyuki, HunterxHunter, Monster, and 20th Century Boys are excellent manga titles.
42. I am so lost.
43. I feel given up on.
44. It hurts a lot to be all alone, being deemed as a lost cause.
45. I need to sort some stuff out with the Big Guy.
46. Why? That's all I ask. Why?
47. The frustration that I feel makes me want to yell as loud as I can and cry and beat the crap out of myself.
48. I am an extroverted introvert.
49. I am an introverted extrovert.
50. Is that contradicting?
51. If so, then come one, come all, take a look at the living Contradiction!
52. I am a hypocrite.
53. I have never gone out on a date...yet.
54. I also don't feel like going out on a date anytime soon. Unless there were a golf-playing, manga-reading, anime-watching, track-running, non-smoking, computer-loving, out-going, and in-going kind of girl. That would be cool.
55. But hey, nobody's perfect.
56. I strive for attention.
57. I say and do dumb things for a laugh, and over half the time, nobody laughs.
58. I love saying or doing clever things.
58. I love laughing.
59. Hence, I love jokes.
60. Just not knock-knock jokes, or corny junk like that.
61. Or really cruel jokes: some just aren't funny.
62. I love running.
63. I am on the NW track team.
64. Running outside, cold or warm, is awesome. It's a lot better than running around in a track: that's boring.
65. I have track practice before and after school from Monday to Friday, Saturday, and Sunday (though it's optional).
66. I am on the Math Team and on Academic Bowl.
67. My favorite classes: English, Biology.
68. My funniest teachers: my english teacher, my biology teacher, and my geometry teacher.
69. See the connection?
70. I find it exponentially harder to write something about myself as this list grows longer and longer with each post. It is especially hard to write something clever about myself.
71. It's amazing that I've been around for about 14 years and I find it difficult to say only 100 things about myself. I know so little about someone I've known my entire life.
72. I don't have a favorite color. It used to be blue, then it went to red, now I don't really know anymore. The color's gone out of my life, so what's the point?
73. A lot of the time, I ponder about completely useless stuff for long periods of time.
74. For example, if someone were truly tolerant, they would also have to tolerate intolerant ideas. That's some brain food for ya'.
75. Or another one: why is there braille on the drive through bank teller.
76. Also, I wonder whats greater, adding infinity to a number, or multiplying it to that same number.
77. Stupid stuff like that.
78. For about a week I tried to train myself to write with my left hand. I wrote the letter "a" at least a couple hundred times.
79. Currently the lowercase "a" is the only letter I can write well with my left hand.
80. My favorite oxymoron would probably be, "Microsoft Works."
81. I have gone to South Korea once.
82. My ability to play the arcade game "Pump it Up!" increased exponentially throughout my stay at Korea.
83. My ability to hold chopsticks increased exponentially throughout my stay at Korea.
84. I love verbing words.
85. To verb: to use a noun as a verb. Ex. "verb."
86. Some common examples in the English language: access, blog, e-mail, etc.
87. 1 0f73N f1nD 17 4nN0y1nG wh3n 50m30n3 7yp35 1n 1337. D0n'7 y0u?
88. Or when sum homie tryz ta' type all ghetto, G. Cuz wen' you type lyke dat', u soun' stupid.
89. I like listening to a wide assortment of music, not including rap, hip hop, r & b, pop, etc.
90. But I do like techno.
91. And I also like two rap songs.
92. Rapper's Delight by the Sugarhill Gang.
93. And the Superbowl Shuffle, baby!
94. I also like Buttercup, by the Temptations, which you are listening to right now!
95. Argh! I have a mental roadblock right now
96. But I must think of more witty things to say!
97. I am so tired.
98. I dislike getting my right contact ripped while it is istill in my eye. This just happened right now.
99. I can barely see right now.
100. I'm getting...dizzy...


--Wow. I can't believe I just did that. Looking back at this list, I just realized that 100 things is nowhere near enough to give some insight into my life, to define it. Most of it is superficial nonsense, and some doesn't even make sense. Anyway, my point is that if my life were defined by the 100 things above, then I would be a nobody, a loser, a mere shell of what I am.

Believe it or not, but right now you are being brain-washed with subliminal messaging in this very post! Yvan Eht Nioj! Of course subliminal messaging comes in many shapes and forms...DRINK MILK...so you should always remain wary of advertisements, blogs, etc. because of these messages. DRINK MILK!