Heart vomit

If a man isn't good enough to be a boyfriend but not quite hot enough to be a fling, you're better off alone.

All three of my best friends from college are in committed, loving relationships that will likely lead to marriage sometime in the foreseeable future. Me, on the other hand? It's been so long since I've had a steady boyfriend that I'm afraid I don't remember how. Frankly, while I am bursting from the seams with joy for their happiness, somewhere in the chaos that is my brain/heart/soul, I feel nervousness welling up like a great fountain of... vomit. Again, I must stress that I don't resent the girls for finding men worthy of their attentions, but rather, I'm starting to feel hopelessly behind and what's worse, it's actually making me a little anxious despite the courageous fight I'm putting up, hence the nausea.

I don't see myself settling down with anyone soon. I know I'd like to... if God would just help us cross paths, I'd be delighted. But for now, my main criteria for a meaningful, long-term relationship is that he be mobile. I want to live and work in different countries and cities for the next few years, so if it's going to work, he must have the ability to up and leave, a desire to see the world, and a taste for adventure. Apparently, that's a lot to ask because while a lot of people claim to possess those characteristics, most people lack the follow-through. *Sigh*

So for the last couple of months I've been overcome with nostalgia for past loves and past lives, but at the same time I refuse to believe that there is nothing worthwhile to be had at this moment in my life. My mother went to see a fortuneteller who assured her that I'd get married, but that I wouldn't meet "the one" until 2009. I guess that gives me a carte blanche for two full years to have fun and make mistakes, right? So one might hope. I have come to the conclusion that most men aren't worth your time. The ones who do want to have a relationship have to exhibit more desirable characteristics than men you simply want to keep around for a short while. As for the men you'll keep around for just a short while, they might as well be scorching hot and nice to look at because you sure ain't in it for the conversation.

I'm delirious. Haven't slept properly for two weeks, pretty much. Disregard everything I just said. Follow through...

Happy Chuseok

I just celebrated Chuseok (Korean Thanksgiving) this past weekend. It was a full moon, and I spent it with my grandmother and grandfather for the first time that I can remember... I must have been 2 or 3 years old the last time I spent Chuseok with them.

It makes me a little sad that the people who raised me when my parents first immigrated to America are so strange to me. I've seen all of the photographs and heard all of the stories of my own childhood, but I know nothing about my own grandparents. This weekend, I learned their names for the first time. Not "halmuni" and "harabuji" but Yang Soon Boon and Kim Jin Woo. Fifty years ago, Korea was poorer than Ghana. I learned that when my grandfather was young, he moved to China looking for work because there was not enough food to eat in his village. He labored in China, and when he felt he had a little money, he took half of it back to his village in Kyungsangdo and left half with a good friend, in case he should be robbed on the way back. His friend later made it back safely as well. With the money he had saved, he bought some farmland and was able to get an arranged marriage.

My grandmother did not care for him at first; he was eight years older than she and she thought him an old man. She was only 20, and 28 seemed so far away. Considering the life expectancy at the time was under 50 years, I suppose my grandfather was middle-aged. I saw an old black-and-white photograph from their wedding. I did not recognize my grandmother, although my grandfather still looks much like his younger self. They were solemn, unsmiling, two children who hardly knew each other and were about to be committed to one another for life. And here they are, half a century later, although the dynamics have changed.

When they were young, my grandfather was stern and unforgiving. My grandmother did exactly as she was told without any complaint. Now, my grandfather is mostly reticent, speaking only when absolutely necessary... mostly to tell my grandmother to stop nagging my uncle. My grandmother, perhaps from having been silent for so many years, is constantly speaking. Sometimes she is complaining, sometimes she is nagging, but mostly she is just happy to be with the rest of the family. I don't always understand what she is staying because she speaks with Kyungsangdo saturi, a countryside accent. It is often difficult for me to understand proper Korean, so the unfamiliar accent/ dialect is particularly straining. Still, I want to know her. When I look through her photo albums, I imagine the life she once led, and it is so deliciously foreign and antiquated. What was it like to grow up in a time of war? When did she realize she finally loved her husband? What must it feel like now to have seen Korea go from rags to (nouveau) riches, from villages to cities?

Maybe I will ask.

Follow through...

Paradise lost

"The only paradise is paradise lost." --Marcel Proust

Echoed by the ever-so-wise Janet Jackson, "On and on you seem to go, and you don't know what you've got till it's gone." Unfortunately, if we buy into this theory without reserve, we're all screwed because it suggests that there is no hope of ever being truly happy or fulfilled, at least not to the blissful degree of paradise.

I like to think that paradise exists prior to the moment when its loss is recognized. I want to believe that I could be perfectly happy, perfectly fulfilled at any given moment in time, albeit on a small and perhaps ephemeral scale. So I suppose it's simply a question of definition. Can paradise be confined to a moment in time?

According to Proust, the nature of paradise is one that is inherently temporary. In that sense, I agree with the quote. I believe in small paradises. Our lives are in constant flux and there is never a moment where not a single aspect of our lives could not be better. But on a smaller scale, if we take our love lives, for instance, I believe we are able to experience perfect happiness and fulfillment for short periods of time. But unlike Proust, I think it is possible to recognize paradise at the time of its experience, however fleeting. I refuse to believe that paradise can only exist in hindsight... that would be too depressing for me to bear! Why go on living if the only moments of true happiness exist perpetually in the past?

Some people are, in my opinion, more inclined to agree with Proust. Until they have been stripped of that which they did not realize was paradise, they were looking for paradise elsewhere. I'm gonna go out on a limb here and suggest that men are more inclined to fall into this category than are women in relationships. I don't really feel like I have any real justification for that statement... but I think men are more inclined to experience the regret of paradise lost because they simply didn't recognize how good they actually had it at the time.

When women are dumped by men we care about and we are not in the wrong (meaning we did not lie, cheat, or act crazy otherwise), our feelings run a certain course. First, surprise. Second, sadness/ hurt. Third, anger/ ill-will. Finally, apathy/ indifference. The second stage tends to last the longest and can overlap to some degree with the third stage. But I'd like to focus on the transitions from sadness to anger to indifference. After the initial pain of heartbreak, after exploring every possible what-could-I-have-done-differently, it may be concluded that he is simply an asshole (may is the operative word here, because not all breakups have to be anyone's fault). Especially if it's because he met another girl. The hurt subsides a bit as the anger sets in because you're spending less time thinking about how horrid you feel and more time thinking about what a whore the other girl is (and other such unfounded, vile thoughts) and how much you wish they would both disappear from the face of the earth. You think of all of the nice things you did for him and realize how unappreciative he was and hope that with every new girl he meets, he looks back at you and comes to see the error of his ways. That in you, he sees his paradise lost. And then, at some point, you start to hate yourself for even wasting so much of your time thinking about him or any of your precious tears crying over him, and you begin to just not care. Time passes, and you care less and less. The memory is preserved and sometimes it is hard to remember all the bad things, but you've finally healed.

Paradise may be temporary, but that doesn't mean we should stop seeking it. The moment in which it is had is a glorious one, especially if you are fortunate enough to recognize it before it has passed. But even after its passing, the remembrance of paradise can be heartwarming. We needn't be concerned about the impending loss of paradise because more often than not, it's a given. The true joy is in savoring each morsel of paradise before it turns to shit.

Follow through...

Pie chart theory

I recently had a conversation with a friend of mine about how the most beautiful people tend to be the craziest girlfriends or the biggest asshole boyfriends. I mean, let's be honest: all girls have a little bit of crazy in them, and all guys are at least part-asshole. But we all know that there are (unspoken & poorly delineated) limits to how crazy you can be or how big a jerk you can be within the confines of social acceptability. And sure enough, the premium placed on aesthetically pleasing outward appearance has led to the amplification of craziness and jerk-iness in ridiculously good-looking people. I'm not talking about moderately good-looking folks here. I'm talking about the turn-your-head-to-look-three-times-in-awe-slash-lust-as-you-walk-down-the-street folks. I'm of the opinion that they become more crazy over time because they get away with increasingly crazy behavior with each successive relationship that would otherwise not be tolerated if it were exhibited by less good-looking people.

But God giveth not with both hands. My roomies and I have formulated a Pie Chart Theory for simple (if superficial) categorization of people into neat little boxes (and by "neat" we mean "expandable"). Let's suppose that every person can be broken down into three basic components: looks, brains, and personality. (Yes, we could make this more complicated but for the sake of brevity, let's limit this to three components). Let's also suppose that everyone has a pie chart. We've all met people whose pie charts are askew. Let's examine some exaggerated examples. Note: We, the Pie Chart Goddesses, (a) use gender interchangeably in the following examples and (b) are grossly skeptical that a true 0% or 100% could actually exist, so these figures are for illustrative purposes only.

Type A: 100% looks, 0% brains, 0% personality. Really, really ridiculously good-looking with shit for brains and no personality to speak of. It's not that he's a bad guy. And he sure is purdy to look at. It's just that he's really kind of... dumb. And he's not a whole heck of a lot of fun to hang out with one-on-one because he simply doesn't have anything interesting to say. Sometimes he forgets he told you a story already, and when you remind him, it's a little awkward because it's not that you mind hearing a good story twice; it's because you mind hearing his story any more times than you have to.

Type B: 50% looks, 50% brains, 0% personality. The good-looking nerd with zero social skills. She gets excited when she talks about how she was able to manipulate the genes of overweight lab rats but she is so abrasive and annoying that despite whatever interest that particular topic might hold for you, you are overwhelmed by a wave of nausea followed by an intense desire to punch her in the nose. You consider making out with her, but only on the condition that she does not speak.

Type C: 50% looks, 0% brains, 50% personality. He's really hot and you can't stop laughing when you're around him because he always has the best stories to tell. It's a shame this is the sixth year he's been a senior college. It's not just that he is a complete idiot, it's that he's not THAT bright and he lacks motivation... it's that he realizes he could leave school and be an MTV VJ because everyone likes to look at him and listen to him talk.

Type D: 0% looks, 50% brains, 50% personality. She's sharp, she's clever, she's witty, she's sweet. But she is NOT cute. At. All. You read her profile on your internet dating website and pretty much fell in love. You see her pic, and she looks awesome. You meet her in person and you think to yourself, "Oh, geez. She looks nothing like her picture. Her picture was way hotter." You wait for your friend's exit call, make up an excuse about a car accident or something, and bail out, never to call the poor girl again. It's the sad, painful truth. Don't lie, Shallow Hal.

Type E: 0% looks, 100% brains, 0% personality. He's not attractive. He's socially awkward and eccentric and maybe even a little bit creepy or inappropriate, but it's only because he's such a friggin' genius that his oversized brain does not leave enough room for the proper processing of data for petty social interactions and this foreign concept of so-called normalcy.

Type F: 0% looks, 0% brains, 100% personality. She's not terribly cute and she's a bit of a ditz, but she is one of the funniest ditzes you know; she is a loyal friend; and while she can't seem to concentrate in any of her classes, she's got a wicked wit. Oftentimes confused with Type D, the only difference here is that Type Fs aren't as booksmart as Type Ds. At a party, when booksmarts don't exactly come into the forefront of conversation, Type Ds and Fs may not be readily discernible from one another. They typically play the role of wingwoman or cockblocker, depending on the signals from the friend in need.

Type G: 1/3 looks, 1/3 brains, 1/3 personality. Can be both a blessing and a curse. If your pie is a small one... well... you could end up being average or worse. If your pie is larger, however, maybe you're just extremely well-balanced. Mmm...

This pie chart concept becomes more complicated when you try to compare one person's pie chart to another. In order to compare, you would have to allot a certain number of points to each candidate because, clearly, a deaf blind mute would probably exhibit less personality, looks, and brains to the common outsider vs say someone you believed to be extremely good-looking, smart, and witty, though in equal parts. Same breakdown in pie chart persona, but entirely different in terms of level of competition. So let's be frank: some people just got a bigger pie. Take , for instance. Let's say said person is allotted a total pie point count of 1000. Let's suppose that someone less impressive only has 600 points. And that someone totally unimpressive only gets 300 points. Each person's pie points are divvied up according to his gifts. So a moderately good-looking person who has shit for brains might have 300 points, all in looks, whereas a ridiculously good-looking person with shit for brains might have 600 points, all in looks. And a ridiculously good-looking person who is moderately intelligent might have 900 points, 600 in looks and 300 in brains.

So goes the Pie Chart Theory.

Questions, class? Follow through...

Peeves

I am not a tidy person. Not even close. But strangely enough, I am pretty anal about two things in my bathroom. One, I hate it when someone uses my toothpaste and squeezes from some random spot in the middle. Can't you tell that I have meticulously been squeezing from the bottom up? And if you borrow my toothpaste or anything else of mine, like condiments, please do not leave a sticky mess on the cap, and if you do leave a sticky mess, please don't wipe it off with your finger because God only knows where that was last. Two, I don't like it when the toilet paper roll is replaced and it's positioned so the tp comes out underneath the roll, as opposed to coming out over the roll. Follow through...