To Dad

Happy Father's Day!

Love: your coolest, awesomest, and most far away daughter!


"Hello. We would like to wish you a happy father's day!"


I took this video back when I was in Vietnam. I was urging my relatives to say
hello to my dad, who was back in Canada.

Seven

Where do I go from here?

Seven months.

A lot has changed since I wrote my first entry. It surprises me how much can change in so little time. 
When you are a kid, time seems to take an eternity to move, and when I think back on my childhood, it seems everything was stretched out and I was just waiting impatiently to grow up. 
Now I am an adult and it feels like the world is spinning mad fast.  Seven months and I don't see the same person in the mirror anymore, I don't have the same interests, the same desires, the same dreams and passions.

Lately, my blog entries have dwindled.  I told myself when I created this blog seven months ago that I would:

1. update it regularly.  Like a public journal that I could come back to years later and see what kind of person I was when I wrote it.  When you write down the things you do, you have to think about them first, and when you do that, you can understand what they mean, you can appreciate them.  I guess life can pass you by if you don't stop and take notes.

2. write about "something."  I didnt want to update this blog with just crap, write for the sake of writing.  Each blog needed to have an idea behind it, a story to tell, a "so what" aspect.

3. take my camera with me everywhere. Include pictures with every entry.

So, although its probably my parents back in Canada that result in the hit meter jumping up weekly, I thought I'd tell any others who come visit me here, that the "So what" aspect in my life is missing.  I do not feel inspired to think of ideas, to take pictures, to disect events and see if there is a story to tell.

When I got here, the majority of people I met were ready to pack and go home.  They didn't like their school, job, country, food, situation, etc.  I told myself that I would not be like them.  I would not waste such a great opportunity to see new things, do new things, and meet new types of people.  I would not complain.

But here it is folks: I am complaining. 

I feel bored. Real bored. Real uninspired. I do not want to stay in this place anymore.

Dont get it wrong though, I'm not bored because I didn't try.  I experienced as  many new things as I could. I put myself out there, but it just feels like I took as much as I could out of this experience and I'm ready to get the hell outta here!  My thoughts (or dreams) are beginning to loose their focus. Maybe I just need a reckless vacation, a sudden jolt of inspiration.

***

At 23, Che Guevera took a year out of medical school to travel through Latin America on a motorcycle.

Christopher McCandless was around 22 when he said "fuck off" to society and tried to chase his great Alaskan adventure.

In under a month, Ill be 23. What have I done?

I get sentimental and introspective every year around my birthday.  For some reason, I can't shake this fear of losing something sacred when each year passes.  It shakes me up. Giving up the age of 21 meant saying goodbye to the "last milestone."

Now, facing the lost of 22, it feels like I'm giving up this idea of endless youth.

I just feel like I will never be in a position like this again. 

I will never be 22 again. So I will never be this young again. I will never be this unattached to anything: I dont have a career, I dont have a family, no boyfriend, and no kids (although my animal brood could easily quadruple before my 30s). 

I might never be this passionate about travel, I might never be this careless to just pick up and jump borders, I may never be this addicted to Facebook, I may never be this dedicated to writing,  and I might never be this selfish to think solely about myself.

I wonder who I'll be in five years?
Hell, I wonder who I'll be next year.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jsZJMjgI6dw

Quote of the Day:
"The idleness and non-effect of my job here hurts my soul sometimes Na. (But God forbid no more talking about me.) We're talented people Na. We're special.


And no, we should not be here letting our lives pass us by.


We should be doing something, igniting a fire, cleaning up the gulf of Mexcio, destryoing the slow tired bueraracy, writing a novel, but maybe we're doing enough.


Maybe we're ok."

A wicked World Cup weekend

(...say that ten times fast!)

Why did I have such an awesome weekend?  What made this weekend different from others?
Let's sit down and disect what constitutes a fucken wicked weekend, shall we?

1. I got to see friends I haven't seen in months, either because they were too busy, became an "old man", lived too far away, or because they were couped up hibernating during winter while penning the great American novel.
Luckily for me, the stars aligned, and I got to see my favourite queer on his 21st birthday while eating quite possibly the Best Mexican food in South Korea while sipping on schooner sized margaritas at noon time.
I got to see my other friend: my backpack traveller, Guinness-drinking, football-loving Irishman.
And I got to see my bike-riding, Incheon-living, Bangkok blogging favourite New Yorker.

1.5. I got to hang out with my bestie and my new Busan buddy who has the nicest arms in Asia.

2. It was the Pride Parade. No one wishes they were gay more than I do.  Damn my heterosexual tendencies. I wish gay people ran the world.

3. It was the start of World Cup and yes, I don't like sports, but I do like comraderie and feeling like I am a part of a team.  I like being mashed in between thousands of red clad Koreans in the pouring rain outside City Hall watching a game on a giant screen so far away from me, I cannot see anything, while cheering as loud as I can, while taking pictures with locals, and meeting other foreigners.

4. I got to obnoxiously blow a loud horn in a red sea of Korean soccer supporters over and over and over again.

5. I got to drink in public...for a reason.

6. I watched more soccer matches in one night than in my entire life.  I saw David Beckham's face flash across a giant screen and screamed "He's so hot!" only to be met by looks of disgust and disappointment from all the men in the bar.

7. I smoked my first PrimeTime since getting here, offered to me by Ryan Gosling.

8. Some really cute guy in a black ADDIDAS sweatshirt spilled beer on my shoe. He said "hold on one moment" and went to deliver the beer, came back, got on his knees, took off my shoe, and cleaned it on his sweater, replaced the shoe, and apologized.  Quite possibly one of the kindest male moments ever.

9. At 3am in the morning during the USA and England match-up, I got to throw as many American insults out as I could and not get punched in the face.

10. And most importantly, this was a fucken wicked weekend because nothing in this world makes me more happy than drinking with friends on a Saturday night.

A birthday lunch with my favourite gay.

The best margarita.

That's what she said

Gay and proud.

Alberto and me.

Bobert and me

It's an umbrella. Ha! I tricked you.

My beer-drinking soulmate

My bestie 4 Eva

SPORTS!

Why men

They can't properly wash a dish to save their lives. If their favourite sports team is playing, or even an okay team, hell, if there is any sports team playing in the same league as the team they cheer for, you have suddenly become invisible.  You are as important as the dish rag hanging up to dry by the sink.

They lose their wallets.
They can never find their keys.
Laundry detergent and fabric softener throws them off balance.
They don't "Aww" at cute little toddlers doing cute little toddler things, but look on in disdain.

They can't take hints. 

Sometimes they are too clingy, too needy, too sweaty, and too out of fashion.
Sometimes theyre too into fashion.
Sometimes they can't shut up.
They don't always understand the unparallel joy of buying new shoes. Or why enduring the pain to wear them is worth it.

***

On Friday, I prepared a fun music lesson for my second graders.  In a nut shell, in teams of six, they had to put the lyrics of a popular English song back in order. I gave them scraps of paper with the cut up lyrics to Lady Gaga's Paparazzi song. All they had to do was listen to the song, and work together to put the strips of paper back together.  The first team who finished got candy.

For this activity to be successful, we needed, quite obviously, music. I had my laptop hooked up to the wide monitor in the classroom.  We got the video playing from YouTube and everything was fine except the sound was not working.

My female co-teacher and I literally exhausted our brains trying to get it to work.  The first class never got to play this activity because we could not figure it out. We restarted the computer three times, turned the monitor sound up and down, played around with the laptop settings, but to no avail. FINALLY, by the second class, fifteen minutes in, we get the male teacher from the classroom next door to come in. 

He walks in stiffly. Looks at the computer settings briefly, maybe ten seconds. He looks at the cords plugged into my laptop. He walks over to the hanging monitor and scans it. This has taken up roughly thirty seconds of his time.  He does not play around with settings mindlessly.  He doesn't try to jiggle the cords tighter into the laptop like it would do any good.

Then, suddenly, like he knew all along what the problem was, he puts his hand on the sound cord attached to my computer, follows it gently with his hand until he finds the other end of the cord lying in a pile on the ground not plugged into anything on the other side.  He does not laugh.  He does not sigh in disappointment.  He does not judge us with his eyes. He ever so gently plugs the other end of the sound cord into the hanging monitor and then my kids gasp as they hear a thunder of sound crashing through the speakers since my coteacher and I had turned every possible sound option to its maxium volume.

My coteacher and I smile embarrasingly and nod our heads forever grateful, he nods his head, gives us a small smile back, accepting our thanks, and walks back to his classroom.

I may be able to prepare a fantastic meal.
I may be able to bleed for five consecutive days and not die.
I may be able to walk around Seoul for 14 hours in four inch heels.
I could probably give birth like a champion.

But, I could not figure out the sound system to my laptop to save my life.

And that is why.

That is why the world needs men.