New Blog at www.mommy-diary.com

www.mommy-diary.com

I've wrestled with the idea of sharing my stories for many years, perhaps since my daughters were born. A part of me wanted to share and connect, while another part of me wanted to keep my life private and free from public scrutiny. So I wrote. Erased. Wrote. Deleted. Yet this innate desire to write truthfully never goes away and I think it's time to follow my heart. 

I now share my honest story of motherhood with other moms- because stories without truth is not worth reading or telling. I've begun a new journey as a mommy writer. 

I hope you will join me! 

When Motherhood Gets Complicated...Again

Today was my daughters' picture day. 

I awoke earlier than usual to help prepare my daughters for Picture Day and learned that they are outgrowing me faster than I can say wait! I'm not ready for that yet.  They are growing too fast, right under my nose, and I'm glad I chose to be a SAHM over a full time working mom two years ago. It was a difficult decision- as it often is for ambitious mothers- but judging by how fast my kids are growing, I couldn't have done anything more worthwhile.   

Gone are the days when I can choose pretty, frilly dresses with matching bows and instead, my daughter settled for her old favorite shirt with flower leggings for her spring pictures. Nowadays she refuses to wear anything new and loves everything old and boyish. She hates pink and likes loose T-shirts with big bold prints. She wants pink and blue highlights in her hair. She loves Arianna Grande (who the heck?) and these adolescent Disney stars who act like they are far too grown up for their age. How old are they anyway? I guess I can google it but I refuse, until I absolutely have to.

My daughters are 9 and 7 and I'm already starting to feel this. This. This generational gap. This mother-daughter power struggle. This innate urge to just yell you do as I say! but can't, because that's what my mother used to say and I made her pay for it when I became a teenager. 

Motherhood is so complicated, and it's getting more so now that they are getting older. In a weird, twisted way, I miss diapers and baby food. Even wearing breast pads. 

My husband tells me my younger daughter is going to the nurse's office way too often. He worries that she is using it as an escape from uncomfortable situations on the playground during recess. He knows because she is just like him. They are two peas in a pod; polar opposites from me.

As she gets older, I find that she tends to be too sensitive to people's comments and actions. She is too shy. I tell her not to take everything so personally. I tell her she needs thicker skin to live in this world.  The world is tough, and people too, are sometimes tough to deal with.

And that's okay my dear. Sometimes, you just need to move on. 

I've become that mom- lecturing, coaxing, repeating-- knowing there is little I can do to fix the situation.

My daughter is brilliant but too vulnerable, smart enough to achieve what her heart desires, but too much of a perfectionist. She is a part of him, a part of me.

And just like it was to me at one point of my life, this world is starting to appear confusing and difficult to my daughters' growing minds and it hurts to know there is little I can do. This is their world, and a part of growing up is learning to navigate on their own.

I once thought I mastered it all, during a period in which feeding, diapering, bathing, holding and comforting were enough to meet my children's daily needs. Nowadays I'm starting to feel lost--again--as I face situations where my control means nothing.

Sometimes not doing is harder than doing.

Korean Ferry Disaster & Confucianism Gone Wrong: A Mother's Perspective

Nicolas Asfouri /AFP/Getty Images

As a child growing up in Korea, I remember often getting in trouble by teachers and adults for "talking back," "questioning authority," and "being bossy.” There were two leaders for my large class of about sixty students- one boy and one girl- and I was the girl leader who acted too much like the boy leader.

We were given the same tasks and roles in the classroom, yet I was often told that I was "too bossy," while the boy leader was considered to exhibit "good leadership skills." I was too young and naive to understand gender roles at this time and I was simply being true to myself, not realizing that I was expected to behave differently than boys.

About one week before my family came to America, the boy leader who was also my close friend killed himself in his home after school. I don't know the exact details because adults tried hard to keep them from me- but I do know his death involved an imperfect report card, doorknob and scarf.

My friend, this smart and capable young boy, was barely ten years old and already laden with pressure, guilt and fear of parents and teachers. One bad report card was enough for him to think his life was worthless. I don't know exactly what went on in his personal life at home, but it's not difficult to deduce that he was victimized by a system that he was too young to understand.

I too, was too young to understand the implications of my friend's death at the time, but as a child growing up in 80's Korea, I always sensed that something was wrong with the place I called home.

HUNDREDS OF HIGH SCHOOL STUDENTS ARE DEAD OR MISSING

On April 16, 2014, a South Korean ferry called Sewol capsized en route to Jeju island, submerging about 300 people under its dark waters. Of the 476 people who were on the boat, only 174 were rescued including the captain and most of the employees. The rest- mostly 16 & 17-year old high school students on a school field trip, are confirmed dead or still missing.

This of course, is not the first time a ferry capsized killing its passengers. But this incident is especially disturbing because the captain and his crewmembers abandoned their duties and left behind hundreds of trusting minors to die under water.

Pictures and video clips of final moments inside the ferry show students solemnly lined up against the wall and awaiting further instructions by the crewmembers.  You can tell that the ship is slowly sinking but everyone looks calm and orderly. Most of them are wearing life vests, which indicates that there could've been more survivors if the crewmembers made efforts to aid the passengers. 

Instead, the crewmembers ordered everyone to stay put and escaped the ferry by the first rescue boat, leaving behind hundreds of unsuspecting teenagers to die.

No survivors have been reported since then.

AP photo/ Woo Hae Cho

Through this tragedy, I finally came to understand why my world felt so wrong as a girl living in Korea.

 

KOREAN CONFUCIANISM AND ITS IMPLICATIONS ON WOMEN & CHILDREN

The Korean culture is based on Confucianism that deems children and women as inferior and less valuable.  Its rigid hierarchy places males, elders and authorities on top while teaching women and children to obey and follow directions. In Confucianism, a child must obey her parents, then after marriage, obey her husband.

I thought much has changed over the years, but this tragedy reveals that the foundation remains the same. Confucianism must be uprooted. 

Many Koreans to this day wear their age, power and money like badges of honor and bark orders at younger people by acting as if they are untouchable. The worst part of it all--most do as they are told.

These children, so-called "future leaders of Korea," eventually learn to follow the same system they were bred to survive in. They become politicians, executives and captains who create laws, make important decisions and maintain existing institutions. As they age, their status and power increases- and they compensate for their childhood by exercising and abusing their power.

Therefore, it's no surprise that those at the lower end of the hierarchy- children, women and the disabled- are often victims of senseless murders, rapes, abuse and indirect mass killings as evident by the recent ferry incident.

The price for not being taught how to think critically, to question authority, to speak up against wrongdoings, to freely express oneself regardless of gender and social status, to protect oneself against harm, to know one's God given rights and to protect the weak is collective ignorance, which to me, is synonymous with a dead society.

My heart continues to ache for the victims and their families and yes- I will not be afraid to call them victims. They are victims of collective ignorance, indifference and selfishness; victims of a generation that cannot think and act on its own.

The numerous deaths of innocent high school students have stirred the entire country to tears, uncovering layers and layers of corruption, irresponsibility and indifference. The entire nation is grieving and filled with shame, guilt and helplessness. They know something is wrong, and they know something must change- but who and how?

I have lived outside of Korea for more than 20 years yet I still find myself surrounded by the same kind of collective ignorance. Even though I'm an American, I can’t run from my Korean roots. I am American and I am Korean. Both cultures and identities are equally important and meaningful to me.

A culture of repression engenders another generation of repressed and oppressive people. There may be a few revolutionary voices demanding change, yet no one hears or cares if the voice comes from the bottom-- much like the weeping of students that are forever buried deep inside the murky water.

My heart aches for all the missing children. They must've been so cold, so scared and so disappointed that no one came to save them.

I'm grieving yet I know there is little I can change. After all I'm only a mother who sits at the bottom of the hierarchy.

Only a mother.

Yonhap/AP

Hello Spring: Simple Lessons From a 7-Year Old

My 7-year old daughter has a habit of marking off her calendar every morning. Her calendar is one of her most prized possessions in her room, and this year's calendar contains pictures of dogs & puppies in various shapes and sizes.

As I lazily drag my weak and tired body out of my bed into her room, this simple morning routine of my young daughter teaches me one of life's greatest lessons- that EVERYDAY IS A BLESSING and I should begin every morning with such zeal.

Today as always, she grabs a pen by her desk, runs to her calendar and marks off her day with a big X. Then she shrieks, "MOM, GUESS WHAT??? Today is the first day of SPRING!!!"

Nowadays my daughter is the one who reminds me when St. Patrick's Day is and when Spring begins.
She is the one to remind me what leprechauns are; that they are tiny, mischievous little beings who leave behind gold chocolate coins.

She believes in unicorns, magic and pot of gold at the end of a rainbow.

She reminds me what jinx is and that I need someone to say my name not one but three times to speak again. When I tell her "Adults don't play jinx," she looks at me with confused puppy eyes and genuinely asks why. Her curiosity and wonder makes me ashamed of my loss of innocence.

She reminds me daily that perhaps God's greatest gifts to mankind is children's innocence and the joy it brings to their parents.

She makes me rollerblade at a park, fall on my ass, and laugh out loud at myself. While watching TV she tells me there is this great product for my pimples at only $19.99. She tells me she wishes she never gets spots on her face when she grows up.

I love the simplicity of her thought process, her unfiltered honesty and how she still believes in promises, even the false claims made by advertisements.

TODAY IS THE FIRST DAY OF SPRING.

Today will never come back. Today will one day be a distant memory. Today is the youngest I will ever be. The clock is ticking and I will one day be an old lady.

Today I realize why we have children. We all age, lose volume and gain wrinkles. And during this natural course of life called aging, our children are here to teach and re-teach us lessons in life that we must encounter to fully grow as adults.

A real woman must continue to grow until her death, and without children, that learning process can come to a halt like a broken machine.

Thank God for children and their fervor for life. Thank God for their innocence and honesty. Thank God for their beauty both inside and out. Thank God for their sweet smiles and belly laughters.

If I had a chance to go back in time and do it all over again- the weight gain, postpartum depression, crazy woman hormones and all----- I would. And coming from me who never regarded herself as a natural born mother, that means a lot.

Fishing at Big Bear Lake, Last weekend of Winter

A Rainy Morning in So Cal

I had a harder time than usual waking up this morning and sure enough, it was raining outside. After rushing to get the girls ready and sending them off to school I'm finally in full relaxation mode, the kind of relaxation that is only possible on rainy mornings with a warm cup of coffee.  My room is still dark, gently illuminated by a candlelight. My heart is content and I feel full.

Even though nothing is going exactly as planned and the Universe asks me to be patient over and over again, my heart is full.

Before going to bed last night I decided to write again in my old journal. There it was, abandoned and isolated inside a neglected drawer, just sitting there...this poor pink thing...just sitting there like its given up on being recovered.

The first page began with some sort of hysterical rant and I had written a big Fuck you XXX across the top of the page. Wow, I never realized I was so hurt and angry back then.

All the shameful memories came rushing back like a storm--the memories of coming down with postpartum depression after my second child, of being on anti-depressants when she was just four months old, of not being able to find myself in midst of motherhood, of struggling to pick up the pieces after a marriage that seemed to be slowly falling apart, of being completely disconnected with myself and others emotionally, of being regretful of my decisions, of not being able to overcome my fears, of cutting other people too much slack while not giving myself enough room to grieve.

I came such a long way since then; it's amazing to see how much strength and perseverance I carry deep down inside. I'm not proud of all my decisions and actions, yet I'm proud of overcoming a series of obstacles that could've easily broken me down.

So today, nothing is really going as planned in the big picture. I'm still finding solace in accomplishing daily duties as a mother and wife. But it's the beginning of another day and there is so much room and time for another serendipitous encounter, another revelation, another epiphany. It's not here yet, but it will be here. Soon.

Meanwhile I'm going to make myself another cup of coffee, enjoy the sound of the rain, and give myself a big hug for doing such a damn good job of living this crazy thing called life.

The journey to happiness begins over and over and over again. 

One Morning of an Imperfect Mother

Mother and Child, Gustav Klimt c. 1905

This morning I heard a tragic news: a close friend has cervical cancer and had to abort her second child to prevent the cancer from spreading. Luckily she found out early enough--thanks to a routine check up necessitated by her pregnancy-- and is now recovering from a hysterectomy.

As a mother and friend, the news hit me pretty hard and as I was sending positive thoughts and prayers her way, my heart began to ache. I could only imagine how hard it must've been for her to go through such immense stress and worry while carrying a new life in her womb. I wonder how much grief she felt knowing she may not be able to keep her child. I wonder if she blamed herself for not taking better care of herself or for not being attuned to her body like 'good' mothers are expected to.

I hope she didn't. I hope she is stronger than the mother I am.

Such self-deprecating thoughts began to haunt my mind as soon as my first daughter started showing signs of developmental delays. She didn't wave, babble or crawl like other babies and I knew pretty early on that she was different. As a young 25-year old mother I didn't know how to handle the weight placed in my life and I resorted to isolation, self-contempt and unhealthy patterns of thoughts that included many angry "why me?" rants into the air as if someone up there can do something to help me.

Miracles occurred in the bible all the time. Why couldn't God let that miracle happen to me? Just once, is all I ask. If you can somehow heal my child and make my life right again, I'll do anything you ask. I'll even start going back to sunday mass like I used to. Please Lord, just once! Just once is all I ask!!

Fast forward eight years- I now realize how empty and vain my prayers were. This wasn't the first time I tried to bargain with God with my manipulative prayers. I once prayed like this when I lost my dog in high school. I told God I'll start going to Sunday mass every week if He lets us find him.

We found the dog after a few days and sure enough, I forgot all about my prayers. I followed my parents to Sunday mass many more times thereafter but not because I was grateful that God found our, but because I had no choice but to obey my parents until I leave home for college.

How convenient.

So this morning, I crawled back into bed after sending off the girls to school and began to pray for my friend. My heart began to ache for her, her lost child and for all the pain and grief she may be going through.

Just then my husband walked through the bedroom door and told me Elise had a horrible morning at school. She didn't like the blue jeans she was wearing and screamed all the way to her class while kicking and trying to take off her pants. We're lucky that the school staff and teachers are so understanding of her needs and always try to be warm and kind to her in spite of her explosive tantrums, no matter how loud and piercing her cries travel down the hallway.

And as always, guilt creeps in. 

I should've been there to drop off the kids. I should've never put those blue jeans on her. I shouldn't be in bed right now. I wonder if those teachers think I'm a bad mom for not being there, for giving my husband the morning drop-off duty. I should've never taken that melatonin last night. I should be able to handle my child better. I wonder if T feels embarrassed by her older sister who lacks self control at times. I hope she doesn't get teased at school. What is wrong with me? What is wrong with her? Is this ever going to get better? Will this ever end?

Then I remember I still have an entire afternoon and evening to make up for the bad morning. I still have a lifetime to try harder, to become a better mom, to learn more, to criticize less. I still have a chance to hold my children and tell them I love them. I still have not one, but two beautiful children to hug and kiss.

Despite my daughter's different needs, she has the sweetest smile and the biggest belly laugh in the world. She can tell me she loves me. She can walk, she can talk and she can scream when something upsets her.

I've been wrestling with the possibility of having a third child. Suddenly this so-called-mommy-dilemma feels like luxury. Suddenly I feel like a spoiled brat who cries over not getting that ice cream for dessert when her belly is full.

Perhaps I'm at exactly where I'm supposed to be, learning through other's stories and my own imperfections.

Perhaps this is all, that really matters.

Happy birthday Angela, you've come a long way.

Another year came and left swiftly; I celebrated another birthday. This year's birthday was low key and hangover free as my humble celebration consisted of a relaxing lunch date with my mother and dinner at my favorite sushi restaurant with family.

I realized this may be the year when I stop counting publicly, no more "happy xx-th birthday!" from family and friends. I prefer it this way as the number of my age is slowly becoming cumbersome, a source of unwarranted regret and trepidation about remaining years.

Instead of planning a lavish birthday party with friends and buying myself a new birthday outfit, this year consisted of a consultation-gone-wrong (maybe I will share one day) and a series of desperate questions aimed toward God, the Universe and self.

I have so much to be thankful for- a supportive husband, two beautifully imperfect children and loving parents and siblings who appear proud of how I turned out at this age. I too, am proud of my achievements as a mother and wife and hold myself a little tighter for all the trials I've managed to overcome.

As always though, I remain hungry and thirsty. I'm blessed yet unfulfilled; I'm thankful yet still not whole. I've been searching for answers and realize God still wants me to wait. He wants to teach me patience, a virtue I lack since birth.

This birthday I agreed I'll wait a little longer. I told Him I'm sorry I'm so impatient and temperamental. I told Him I love him regardless and thanked Him for loving me regardless of my greatest flaw- my perfectionist ideals that drive everyone, including myself crazy at times.

And finally I asked that the fruit of my labor is great enough to satisfy my internal yearnings. If the fruit turns out to be trivial and mediocre (by my standards, not the world's) I would have a series of lifelong disappointments to face. I would endure it of course, but I want to remain womanly and graceful in my later years and not become that bitter-faced middle aged woman I come across so often at churches and school functions nowadays.

Happy birthday Angela, you've come a long way. I'm proud of you and love you... now go back to your roots and start doing what you do best. Now, go.

DOING is the hardest part, especially considering my inactive & contemplative personality where spending time and energy on preformed ideals feel like a cardinal sin.

God gave me a gift, and the opposite side of that leaf is the monstrous gape of my greatest fear.

Women re-defined

      

It's been awfully windy lately with no sign of slowing down. This winter has been much colder than usual, which I embrace quietly as I pull out my fur, beanies & boots from the closet.

I find myself wearing lots of black and dark neutrals during this time of the year and frankly, black is what I feel most comfortable in. I used to love white and other bright colors in late teen's & 20's but they feel too loud and vibrant for my present state.

I began college as an art history major and later switched to English mainly because I wanted to take more film & modern british literature courses. At the time majoring in film wasn't a viable option, especially for my traditional parents who'd ask "what can you possibly do by majoring in THAT?"-- in Korean of course.

I settled with English because it left me with most career choices. If worse comes to worst and I can't further my career as a writer & literary critic, I'd become a teacher..if not, I'll just live doing what I love the most- read, write, get married and have a few children along the way...

Looking back now it's true. EVERYTHING happens for a reason.

The first few months of my second child, the lack of sleep & fluctuating hormones left me with an episode of postpartum depression which led me to go see a therapist in desperation. Along with some promising feedback about the importance of positive thinking, the doctor recommended I start a gratitude journal--which inspired this blog.

Secondly, walking away from a career to stay home with my children taught me many invaluable lessons in which there are too many to list..

One of them being the importance of staying grateful, counting blessings, and finding joy in smaller, trivial moments of daily life. And finding beauty in the dull and grotesque- even on days of messy hair & no make-up, lounging around and feeling like the unproductive, uncontrollable crazed mother I never wanted to be.

I often crawled through many sleepless days & nights in the past years but looking back now, there was a light at the end of the tunnel. I needed to mourn, learn & grow into a new woman. Today I love & appreciate my husband more than ever before and I never take anything for granted when it comes to my children's health & happiness.

I don't think I was ever really a girly girl, which could've amplified my difficulty transitioning from a young woman to a stay at home mother. But I'm definitely glad God placed me into this role (albeit against my wishes) because now I understand He knew what I needed better than myself.

I needed to find myself, not simply discover a new me but REDISCOVER who I really was meant to be.

REDISCOVERY

That woman is one best defined by black & white; a woman who doesn't beg attention yet still radiates confidence, individuality & femininity in an understated manner.

I'm a woman who appreciates light & beauty yet captivated by elements of darkness and subtlety; a woman with nude face who enjoys red lipstick on rare occasions, a quiet yet rebellious soul with love for killer heels, electronic music & hidden tattoos.

I don't like to stand out and often feel uncomfortable with attention, yet there's always a desire to express myself.  My soul cannot be contained in silence. I want to share my passions with the world not to gain praise or fame but simply to connect with other artistic, creative & soulful beings.

As E.M. Forester expressed in these two simple words,

Only connect...

Without connection, what else is left?

Self-portrait at 32

I'm 32 years old and no longer a naive, carefree girl in my 20's. I've failed in numerous relationships and made countless mistakes in my lifetime.

I've cried over unworthy men, been betrayed by manipulative girlfriends, hurt people I shouldn't have hurt and stayed loyal to those who didn't deserve my loyalty. I've been heartbroken; I've broken people's hearts.

Yet I've never loved myself as much as today. I don't know why, I have a dull, lingering headache and my body is fighting a cold. My hair needs a trim and I can really use facials. I no longer have the youthful glow every morning and am starting to see fine lines around my eyes. The height of my youth is passing by and I'm no longer idealistic about life, career and men.

Yet, I love myself wholeheartedly.

I finally realize what womanhood is all about. Womanhood is about loving oneself despite her past mistakes and present imperfections.

It's not about loving ourselves in vain without truly understanding our flaws and weaknesses. Rather, it's about fully acknowledging our shortcomings and being regretful of our mistakes yet not being bound by guilt, shame and resentment toward oneself or others.

It's about becoming one's best friend first before turning to others for happiness and truly understanding herself- both her strengths and weaknesses- while being mindful of her surroundings.

It's about refusing to let others define what it means to be a woman, mom and wife and instead, defining what it means for her by learning, growing and striving everyday to make herself happy first and foremost.

It's about making sacrifices for others without regret or bitterness, and loving others despite their flaws and pains. A real woman stands by her family despite their inherent weakness, because she understands that it is only through her strength and courage that the structure can withstand trials of life.

It's about learning to be selfish about her dreams and desires without forgetting to be selfless when it comes to other people. It's about keeping her love under control and in moderation, and not letting it become controlling, superfluous or fleeting.

It's about setting boundaries, especially with those she loves and not letting her love get in the way of other's passions and dreams.

Today, I truly love myself. And I plan to love myself more and more each day, not by wishing for things that have already passed, but by embracing who I am at this very moment.

So stop trying to define how a mom is supposed to look or act like, I don't even know what that means. I'm just me, that's all. I've always been me, and I will always be me.

No passing of time or trials of life can take that away from me.

I hope all women will realize that womanhood is boundless, timeless and eternally beautiful. We are all beautiful in our imperfections, geniuses in our madness.  Anything is fine, as long as we remember to judge a little less and care for ourselves from within.

In remembrance, I snap a self-portrait and mark this moment of clarity. These days I find myself more comfortable behind the camera but today I'll defy my usual boundaries and appreciate who I am today.

Thank you for loving me still

"I'm selfish, impatient, and a little insecure. I make mistakes, I am out of control, and at times hard to handle. But if you can't handle me at my worst, then you sure as hell don't deserve me at my best." 

                                                                                                                                                              - Marilyn Monroe

I make mistakes....plenty of them, and often do and say things I know I shouldn't have. This past weekend was no different and I ended up doing what I did best in my 20's...being selfish, impatient and unpredictable. On Friday I ran into an old friend who commented that I still seem like the old Angie from college and asked why I haven't changed after becoming a mom?

Then I thought, hmmm I don't know, perhaps it's because that old Angie is still there? Perhaps not enough time passed since then? Perhaps there's still a part of me that refuses to be lost through marriage, motherhood & passing of time?

But the fact is, I did change since then. I can still be selfish, impatient & insecure at times but I now know what it means to be selfless, patient and confident even with my imperfect self.

I'm imperfect but still beautiful; I'm a little mad but know there is still genius in me and despite still making mistakes as a 30-something woman, I finally have the courage to love myself through it all.

Today I'm thankful for a few significant people in my life, those who saw me at my worst but still remained by my side. These are people who truly deserve me at my best, and I promise to never forget the warmth you made me feel, the comfort I felt in your arms.

I'm sorry I can't be there for you every time you need me; I'm sorry for my imperfect decisions and actions at times.

Thank you though, for loving me still.

Love burns

I'll never leave you by Jamie Beck

Many years ago, an overprotective and over-jealous boyfriend burned my old pictures and old letters in the small patio of my college apartment. I was appalled by his actions but so appalled that I was at a loss of words.  I thought I loved him at the time, and judged that the best thing to do was to let him be as something was obviously bothering him, and I wanted to be the one to provide some relief for him even at the sake of my memories.

Tonight I look back and realize I was simply caught in middle of someone else's dark passions and his actions had nothing to do with me or his love for me, but with his own insecurities and desires.

I've never been angry enough to burn any part of my past; perhaps this was the problem.  I wish I never have to do this but simultaneously hope I had enough courage to do this at a few pivotal moments in my life.

Love is passionate. For some love boils and glowers like fire. My love was quiet, gentle and reserved and somehow, somewhere along the way, my coy love began to ignite once it caught someone else's spark fueled by greed and dark passions.

Tonight it burns uncontrollably and there is no one around to put it out but myself.  I need to and I will-- but I still remember my love, the one that isn't jealous, possessive or controlling, the kind that just is.

I still leave it up to Him, God that is, and pray that I can live out my kind of love one day. I want to rediscover it and learn to be selfless again.

All in His time, I remind myself-- for the thousandth time.

Thoughts On Having Another Child

cinemagraphs by Jamie Beck

What a long week this was. I still have many things left to do but procrastination continues to hover over me. I've gotten so lazy in the past few months as a stay-at-home-mom that I have very little motivation to get back in school and work mode. Sometimes I look at my mommy friends who are pregnant and with newborns and think maybe this is a good time to have another child. After all, I'm not getting any younger and I finally have some alone time while the children are in school.

I've always wanted three children. Two girls, one boy; my ideal family. I can jump at this chance to fulfill my wish but something stops me. It's a hint of fear and anxiety about the unknown as well as the things I know too well...

Like a whole year without my favorite foods like wine & sushi, gaining weight, letting go of beauty treatments like deep tissue massage, hair color & gel polish, feeling stuck in my pregnant body, lacking sleep, backaches and dull headaches, random breakouts, uncontrollable hormones, the heaviness in my chest, the shortness of breath....but mainly about no longer feeling like a woman and being entirely consumed by motherhood for another 2-3 years.

Some of my friends do this with so much ease and grace that I wonder if something is wrong with me. Pregnancy and raising newborn are the most difficult time of a woman's life but ironically, the most fruitful and memorable.

Perhaps I'm ready to start all over again, perhaps I remember that feeling all too clearly---that feeling of meeting my child for the first time, drawing her pink body to my chest and truly understanding the beauty & depth of maternal love.

I miss that feeling. But first, my life asks to be lived and enjoyed. Looking forward to tonight's dinner with girlfriends and catching up over bubblies.

Happy Friday.

Give a girl the right pair of shoes, she will conquer the world

Valentino noir rockstud slingbacks- patent black leather

Last Friday I headed out to Fashion Island in Newport to purchase the new iphone 5 and came home with a new pair of shoes instead. I do this all the time. My outdated iphone 4 still lacks Siri and a satisfactory camera but sometimes a girl has to re-prioritize her needs.

I'm usually quite practical and enjoy shopping sales & bargains but for some reason, this practical side of me disappears when it comes to shoes. I don't think it's an addiction or obsession, it's simply a priority over anything else in my closet...or so I tell myself.

You know that moment when you mindlessly try on a shoe and it feels so right on your feet like Cinderella's glass slipper? That moment when you're possessed by something beyond yourself and feel like your life can no longer be complete unless you take her home?

I felt this feeling as soon as I laid my eyes on this pair of Valentinos, feminine with edge, classic yet covered in dark studs that resemble rose thorns. It reminded me too much of myself that I couldn't resist bringing her home.

One very beautiful and famous woman once said give a girl the right shoes and she will conquer the world. I feel like she belongs to me and am anxious to see where she takes me.

Stranger in my room

Soft rose on the book by Andreka

Sometimes when I have a ton of emotions weighing down my chest, yet find myself at loss of words, I walk over to my bookcase, say a little prayer, randomly grab a book and let it speak to me. Sometimes I give them life, other times they give me voice.

Perhaps this is why as a young girl, I preferred to sit in my room in solitude and let books take me to places I can never go. I knew even at a young age, that I was only a limited soul in middle of a vast world full of things I didn't understand and things I couldn't see.

I couldn't wait until that one day when I'd be an adult, free to explore the world on my own..find true love and discover meanings embedded in feelings like happiness, delight, loss and longing.

Today I find myself yearning for something entirely different and was at complete loss of words...until now.

I would never be part of anything. I would never really belong anywhere, and I knew it, and all my life would be the same, trying to belong, and failing. Always something would go wrong. I am a stranger and I always will be, and after all I didn’t really care. 

Jean Rhys- Smile Please: An Unfinished Biography

Sometimes I wish I belong nowhere, belong to no one and be a stranger to everyone and everything.

Life is stranger than fiction

Candied Threads by Andreka

Another busy weekend passed by; one friend turned 33 and another friend's son just celebrated his first birthday. Life keeps bringing me around in circles as I run into old faces and meet new lives.

Life is pretty amazing I must say, and I had an epiphany as I was being introduced to babies and little juniors who look just like their parents, people from my past.

It was yet another opportunity to rethink ideas like destiny & fate...and destiny seems to work in funny ways. Old lovers break up and marry their close friends, acquaintances become husband and wife, one marries his friend's ex-girlfriend, and his ex-girlfriend marries her ex-boyfriend. As complicated and dramatic as these examples sound, these events really took place and this is only one person's life- mine.

If destiny wasn't invisible but took form in visible threads, it would look pretty damn complicated and knotty, and we wouldn't know how to untangle them ourselves.

I guess this is where God steps in. I guess this is why destiny is beyond our control.

So I was sitting there in this large room filled with these people from my past, some present friends, others from my distant past thinking how funny life works, how funny love plays out-- finally realizing that life really is stranger than fiction sometimes...

You really never know, this funny thing called life.

Occasionally I come across a song that I become obsessed with, one that I can't help but to play over and over again. It parallels my life and brings out emotions I never knew existed. A mere coincidence-- or another funny joke played by this funny thing called life.

I'm currently trapped in this obsession, thinking how fast life is passing by before me. Time flies by yet feelings remain trapped in these songs, packed into these words. I wish there's something I can do to make these feelings pass like time.

Why won't they go away. And why can't I stop playing this tune inside my head.

Love languages

By Gemma Correll I like you

I wish I knew about love languages when I was younger. Today I realize how important it is for lovers to speak the same love language, or at the very least be willing to speak the other person's love language.

I do enjoy finer things in life but I know these are things I can live without. I don't need diamonds, flowers and expensive dinners.

But I do need to feel loved by you. As long as I know you love me in ways that work for me, and as long as you're willing to learn what makes me feel loved, I'm happy.

Note: that's different than you telling me you love me. I know you love me. I sometimes need to feel this, especially when I'm feeling sentimental or in need of reassurance. Sometimes I just feel lonely and nostalgic, for no apparent reason.

Sometimes I feel this...just because.

Not every feeling comes with a logical explanation. Feelings are feelings. One cannot explain every feeling because feelings operate on a deeper level and sits in your heart or deep down your gut. Once it passes through the head, it sits there- deep down inside.

Sometimes it leaves, sometimes it claims its home.

Women are usually more expressive of their needs. Men on the other hand, deny or repress- or when asked, shy away from answering the very important question, "when do you feel loved?" or "what can I do to make you feel loved?"

They say women are too complex- that sometimes they just need to be forthright and literal. Same goes for men. Sometimes I need you to hold me silently. Other times, you simply need to tell me. But we do have to speak the same love language.

So tell me, what is your love language?

Birthday weekend

 

It was hard to part with my twenties. In a way I was glad to begin a new decade since it marked another fresh start, but in the back of my mind I was sad that I was getting older. I can no longer claim being a 'young mom'- as I was now in middle of the child rearing age- and life seemed to offer less and less chances to let loose, have fun and be carefree.

This past weekend I got to celebrate another birthday with close friends and it was another reminder of how blessed I am to be surrounded by so much love. We had dinner at The Little Door, an adorable restaurant tucked away in middle of West LA that resembles a secret garden. You walk through the discreet wooden door and are invited into a fairytale-like courtyard with twinkling lights, candles & soft music. It's ambiance is romantic & elegant; the perfect restaurant for date nights and special occasions.

Food was decent although having dinner with a group of girls is less about the food but more about the ambiance, conversations and of course, good bubblies. This year we had a bottle of Moët & Chandon Nectarine Rosé to start the night. By far, this has to be my favorite rosé yet. We had mussels, mediterranean appetizer dish, black cod, fillet and chicken but I need to return to get a better idea about their food. We were too busy catching up, reminiscing about old memories, and congratulating new pregnancies so food was the last thing on my mind.

I'm incredibly blessed with wonderful girlfriends all of whom I've known for well over 10 years. Some of them are close friends from HS who I practically lived and breathed with everyday of my HS life and one of them is a roommate from college who I've been through all kinds of up's and down's with. Some of them I danced with, some of them I laughed & cried with and some of them I pulled all nighters with.

We slept on each other's hair and fought over stupid misunderstandings. We shared embarrassing drunken moments and secrets. We cried together over breakups and took long drives back home after all night of partying. In the end though, our friendship remains and becomes that much more valuable each year like vintage wine, but priceless and more flavorful. Seeing my girlfriends growing into beautiful mothers, wives & women is such a blessing and I'm incredibly blessed to have such genuine, long lasting friendships.

Female friendships are difficult to maintain, especially old friends. I too, had my share of backstabbing & jealous friends who smiled in my face and secretly wished for me to fall. In high school, I ended my first long term relationship because of a close friend who got between us. I was heartbroken for years after that. One of my bridesmaids tried to date my ex-boyfriend as soon as I got married. Another relationship down the drain with bad memories. Ahh the drama of broken hearts & broken friendships. Today I look back and laugh, as these stories remain as life lessons that make me more appreciative of my girlfriends today.

I had mixed feelings about turning 30, but today I'm glad to be at this place in my life. Twenties was so uncertain, unstable & drama-filled as I was still trying to find myself as a woman, wife & woman.  Turning 32 on the other hand, feels like a milestone because I now feel so much more grounded and happy in my own skin.

After our lovely dinner we headed out to a K-town club where we partied like we were 21 again. I walked in feeling awkward and old in midst of all the young 20-somethings but walked out totally lifted & carefree. Hours of singing karaoke, dancing & rocking to house music worked like a charm and I had so much fun -- too much fun that by the time I got home it was 6 am, another first in many years. :P

All my recent blog posts have been about family & children. Today I'm beyond grateful for my girlfriends- friends who have been by my side through thick & thin, friends who knew me long before marriage & kids, friends who I can grow old with. Even through wrinkles & gray hair, we will always be the same carefree girls we once were.

I remember watching Sex and the City as a college student and wishing I too, had friendships like them in my 30's. I remember wishing I aged gracefully & happily without forgetting how to belly laugh and dance all night with my girls. Today I realize I have all that and more and can't wait to see what the 30's have in store for me.

When the student is ready, the teacher will appear

Life is but a dream by Beverly LeFevre

These days everything around me makes me nostalgic. Movies, TV shows, songs and old books; everything around me carries some kind of hidden meaning, often in the form of fond memories. I guess this is what happens with age, as we are no longer simply creating new memories but recreating and retrieving old ones.

I'm bored and lazily flipping through TV channels from my bed. I come across an old episode of Friends. I'm amazed at how old the entire thing looks: the apartment, their outfit choices, their hairstyles. And I can't believe how young Jennifer Aniston & Courtney Cox look. Did they always look that young?

No one can withstand time, not even Hollywood A-listers, not even me.

Suddenly I remember an old friend whom I haven't thought about in years-- I mean in years. I don't remember his voice or last name but for some odd reason, I remember his favorite show was Friends. 

(People are funny beings. We remember the most random details.)

I was a first year college student. He was a few years older than me. We volunteered as camp counselors for a church youth camp and were assigned to the same group. We spent many Sunday afternoons together preparing for the camp and by the time the weekend came, we all seemed to know each other quite well.

He was cute in a preppy Ivy league college boy kind of way; tall, fit and tanned. For some reason he seemed to be beyond his years. The entire weekend he wore this funny backpack that reminded me of a tortoise shell. I often wondered what he kept in there. He was obviously the outdoorsy type with good exercise routine and few ex-girlfriends. He was older but seemed innocent, different than the sweet-talking womanizers I was used to seeing around my college campus. He was clearly different than most.

I liked his preppy college boy look and modest demeanor. He didn't seem to worry about looking or acting cool in front of women. He had this distinct style, far from trendy but it worked for him. He seemed comfortable and confident in his own skin, even with his funny looking backpack. He radiated an aura that was natural, dependable and genuine.

We organized different games and activities for kids. We built campfires. We hiked through the woods. At one point I remember sitting on stairs under the stars, just him and me, talking. I don't remember what we talked about but I remember certain feelings inside. It wasn't love or lust. Instead, it was a feeling of comfort, the kind you feel next to someone more grounded than yourself.

We never discussed anything beyond the usual and the ordinary but I think there were certain feelings that were mutually experienced and shared. We continued to keep in touch and hung out a few times after the camp. I remember having dinner with him at some restaurant in Costa Mesa. I remember being invited to a BBQ at his place and meeting his friends.

There I remember meeting a nice girl with a cute baby face. He introduced her as an old friend. I remember her being friendly, almost too friendly that it seemed forced and unnatural. She looked at me from time to time with nervousness and suspicion. Women can feel these things.

She was wearing blue jeans and a plain college t-shirt. I was wearing shorts with a baby tee. And wedges, I think. We were obviously different types and can tell after 10 seconds (as most women can) that we were never going to be close friends.

I remember this nice girl being so eager to cook, clean and be right by his side during the BBQ. I remember thinking what the heck is wrong with her? I remember wondering if she liked the guy.

And that's where my memory ends. I think we gradually drifted apart without apparent reason. Perhaps I was too busy going out with my girlfriends while he was watching old episodes of Friends and preparing for life after college. Perhaps I didn't like the way his 'friend' looked at me. Who knows. Either way I wasn't ready to do whatever she was doing.

The next time I heard about him he was in a relationship with that same baby-faced girl. She was the plain jane, sunday school teacher type, probably more his type than me. I was the girl who always lost the battle between saturday night partying and sunday morning mass. I'm sure she made a better girlfriend than me as I was too self-absorbed and juvenile at the time to cook or clean a guy's apartment. Sad but true.

Many years later, I ran into him during Christmas mass when I was pregnant with my first child. I walked into the kids section and there he was, sitting in the pew in front of us. And next to him was a young woman, not his girlfriend but his younger sister....his special needs younger sister. I vaguely remember hearing about his sister.

At that moment something occurred to me. I think I was finally ready to learn something new about myself. He probably didn't feel comfortable sharing his deeper life with me as his girlfriend. During that time I was immature, self-absorbed and proud- too proud to make myself vulnerable, too weak to share my feelings and too self-absorbed to make sacrifices for other people. He was probably much more mature, wise and experienced with real life, especially by loving and taking care of his handicapped sister.

I, on the other hand, was living in my sheltered world with petty worries, oblivious to real life problems and difficulties.

My intuition about him was right-- he probably was (and is) the natural, dependable and genuine guy I thought he was.

My intuition is rarely wrong.

I didn't have the courage to say hello or even smile his way. I should've been mature enough to say hello, but being uncomfortable in my pregnant body and standing next to my husband wasn't the best scenario for extending warm greetings to an old male friend. Plus I felt a hint of shame- shame of who I was and my past inability to share genuine feelings with a genuine person due to my flaws & weaknesses.

I did however, pray for him and his sister during mass. I prayed for his happiness and for his sister's health & well-being. I also told God thank you for this moment because somehow, in some way, I was moved by the presence of him and his sister sitting side by side.

Whatever I was feeling I think he felt too, because he smiled at me reassuringly as I was gathering up my belongings when mass was over. I returned his smile briefly and left the room hoping that he got a glimpse of who I really am inside, even if it was for one short moment on the stairs that night.

A month or so later I gave birth to my first child, a beautiful little girl- who I would later find out, has special needs.

Life has a funny way of teaching us important life lessons through certain people, experiences and events. Sometimes this lesson isn't truly realized until years later, when one is finally ready to learn.

Today through my own story, I'm learning the value of age- the value of wisdom & maturity that comes with age. By remembering who I was ten years ago and comparing that girl to who I am today, I realize how much I've grown and how far I've come.

As much as I miss my youth, I'm grateful for the things I know today.

I'm still learning and growing into a full woman. What's fascinating about life though, is that I'm not only learning from people and events of today but from stories and remnants of the past.

When the student is ready, the teacher will appear - buddhist proverb

Stress on mind, body & soul

Raspberry Tea by Andreka

New lesson of the week: our body detects stress whether or not our mind realizes it.

I'm a firm believer in keeping our surroundings positive and dynamic with like-minded people and staying away from negative, jealous and hateful people. However our lives aren't perfect and neither are those around us. There will always be a family member or close friend who goes through difficulties in life and at times there is no way to distance ourselves from negativity no matter how much we try.

Negativity is an inevitable part of life. When this happens, instead of trying to detach myself from the situation by avoidance, denial or indifference, it's best to accept my hurt, sadness & disappointment and communicate these feelings to loved ones around me.

Accept, acknowledge, embrace, resolve rather than avoid, escape, deny and ignore. No matter how hard we try to ignore, our body is already aware of these emotional & psychological changes and will begin to react.

It is the distraction, not meditation that becomes habitual.  Tonight I'm going to a small group meeting with women from my church. For the past few months I've been too self-absorbed to really reflect on myself and my surrounding-- and even though I'm running around busily, I find myself getting nowhere. I'm running around in circles...what a lonely and isolating journey it has been.

I'm looking forward to this time of reflection, rejuvenation & reconnection with self and God.  Today I'm thankful for my body and another chance at renewal.

My Muse: Jean Rhys

Paris by Louise

Tonight I pick up my old copy of Jean Rhys: The complete novels. As always I flip through its large volume and turn to Good Morning, Midnight. There is something so gloomy, lonely yet beautiful about this story that I just can't get enough of. It's like getting a glimpse of a rare rainbow in midst of steady rain. I love her and her mind.  She may be the most under appreciated women writer of the century.

She was born on August 24th and died the year before I was born. She's another virgo who I happen to share similar sentiments, fears & visions with. A coincidence, maybe. A part of universe's intricate & mysterious design, perhaps. This always happens in my life. I somehow find them and they somehow find me.

They find me through words and continue to live in me through dreams & imaginations. Jean Rhys is my muse---my goddess of inspiration. I come across my favorite scene. My heart begins to ache for her for a thousandth time. It takes place in the last few pages and goes something like this...

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I am walking up and down the room. He has gone. I am alone.

It isn't such a long time since he left.

Put your coat on and go after him. It isn't too late, it isn't too late. For the last time, for the last time...

Well I can't, my dear. Not because I'm too proud of anything like that, but because my legs feel funny.

'Come back, come back,' I say. Like that. Over and over again. 

'You must come back, you must come back. I'll force you to come back. No that's wrong...I mean, please come back, I beg you to come back.'

I press my hands over my eyes and I see him. He is walking along the Boulevard St. Michel toward Montparnasse, thinking: 'Sale femme. Ridiculous woman.'

'Come back, come back, come back,' I say.

He doesn't hear. 

He is walking along as quickly as he can. He is cold and vexed.

(A monster...The monster that can only crawl, or fly...ah! But fly...)

This is the effort, the enormous effort, under which the human brain cracks. But not before the thing is done, not before the mountain moves.

He hesitates. He stops. I have him. 

'Listen. You hear me now, don't you? It's quite early- not twelve yet. The door will still be open. All you've got to do is walk upstairs. If anybody speaks to you, say: 'The woman in number forty-one, she expects me; she's waiting for me. Say that.'

I see him, very clearly, in my head. I daren't let him go for a moment.

[......]

He presses the button and the door opens. 

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It's 11:45 pm. I love this time of the day, right before midnight when all is silent, peaceful, dark & beautiful. Good morning, midnight. We meet again.