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Ahhhhhh!!!!! Just shut up and listen. And if you don’t get it well then………..fucking try harder yeah. 

 

These were the word that ran through my head, the ones that were left unsaid to you. I wanted to get angry and scream and shout and have another argument; hell I was angry, still am. That’s why I’m at one in the bloody morning writing this out. But I stayed reserved once again. Kept it all bottled so that I wouldn’t cause a disturbance. Because what is one more shouting match huh? Keeping quite is better for both of us. Plus I can just hear the conversation you and your brother are going to have tomorrow regarding my ill will or ungratefulness towards being adopted. I know he is your brother, but come on he is a fucking mug. He is one of the most screwed up people I know (well besides that messed up offspring of yours that I call my brother). I wish he would just got home already, I mean isn’t he married after all. Or did he turn that to shit too.

 

Anyway back at it. So yeah ummmm…….congratulations for making me feel more strange that I already do. Your little talks really have a way of just digging at me, right on the soft mushy part thats already open and sore from me running over it again and again in my head. It’s probably because you just don’t see why I hurt, and when you generalize and marginalize what I am feeling inside it makes it hurt even more. I know you will never be able to see what I see or feel what I am feeling, but don’t make me feel like I am wrong for being this way. I sure as hell didn’t ask for it. I don’t want to be so torn up inside trying to figure out who I am in relation to race, heritage, family, blood, identity, etc etc. If I didn’t have to have the feeling I wouldn’t. Believe you me buster, this shit is whack. Ha. 

 

Now I know I didn’t turn out like the other Korean adoptees your friends bought. Sorry I guess I am just defective. Sorry I couldn’t go to MIT on a full scholarship(even though the family has more money than God, but hey full scholarship, now that just showing off how great yellow babies are) and be rocket scientists like the two brothers the family down the street picked up. But you know how much I hate Massachusetts and that stupid Boston accent, I mean my ears practically bleed when I hear it. I apologize for not being a pre-law major then changing my mind to become teacher instead like the other KAD boy down the street (you always seemed real proud of him). But you told me I couldn’t be a teacher, that I am too harsh and I would be mean to the students. Ya know I really wanted to be a history teacher. Sorry I guess I am just too wrapped up in “being different and not fitting in” as you so eloquently like to put it. 

 

Oh and excuse me if I somehow miss your analogy about your brother going through a lot of hard times and difficulty and making it to the other side. Like I said he is a septic walrus cunt and may god strike me dead if making it through difficult times means ending up like that sorry sod. Because what I am “going through” is like nothing either you or he has ever experienced. 

 

Oh I’m sorry were you and your brother relinquished at birth? No, grandma and grandpa lived in the house next to ours, in fact you bought it for them so they could be close. That was sweet, I sure wish I could live next to the two people that birthed me. Were you and your brother sent off as infants to live in a place where your aesthetic is strikingly different than 99% of the community, lets say Africa for arguments sake. Nope I don’t think you can check that box in our list of “hard stuff my brother went through and made it out alright”. I could go on like this but I know your a busy man with a short attention span for yet another one of my adoption rants. (But hey let me let you in on a little secret. I actually just want you to listen. I want you to understand. I want your help because I am scared and I hate feeling this way.)

 

Oh and by the way don’t ever fucking say “we all have our difficulties, you just need to get over it”. I’ll get over it when I’m bloody dead. Only then will God himself be able to pry “this” from my cold lifeless heart. All of this is going to my grave. I hope that one day soon I will be able to walk side by side with this pain and understand it for what it is. I very much want to be able to live a “normal” life, but even I know this is something that I will never be able to just “get over”. For and old man you sure and naive. 

 

Let me just say one more thing. When ever you drop that marginalizing get over it bull shit, all you’re really doing is edging me closer to the point where I will walk away and sever all ties with this “family”. Hell I might even legally change my name back to the ones the foster folks gave me. 

 

Baik, Sung-Kyun…………..Sounds more authentic don’t you think. 

 

Well I sure am glad I started this blog. At least I don’t have to keep quite in here. Phewwww.

What makes family? What binds me to the people I call Mom and Dad? What is the truly makes people stay together?

For an adoptee this is a tough questions. Most of us are brought up believing that it’s not blood or genes or looks that make a family. We are told it’s the love that our moms and dads, or moms, or dads have for us that makes us a family. The ideal that love conquers all boundries and despite or obvious difference we are in fact part of a family.

The fact that we are bought and sold like any other consumer good, the fact that we come with paper work and documents like that of a new car, the fact that we are not connected physically or genealogically, all these things don’t matter, because there is love. And desire, lest we not forget that. The desire of our AP’s to parent another being makes us a family. Right?

Well all those things matter to me. The fact that my brother is blatant bigot makes me want nothing to do with you and your family. The fact that I possess none of your traits makes me reject this idea of family. The fact that by default I am bound to you because I was bought. I have become increasingly suspicious over this whole family idea. I mean it is if I am indebted to you for the rest of my life for taking me in and making me part of your family. Well frankly I ain’t havin’ it.

I owe you nothing and I will not be guilted. I am not bound to you and I owe you nothing. I had no choice as to what happened to me, to be honest I would have much preferred to rot in a place where I look and speak like everyone else than, waste away in angst in a place where I just don’t belong.

The fact that you say the same thing to me when I try and explain my feelings as you did when I bought you that new computer. You just don’t get it and you throw your hands up and walk away. You are resigned to the fact that there are things you don’t understand and make no effort to understand.

Wheeling and dealing in human being is never a wise proposition regardless of how noble the intent is. Human beings were never meant to be bought and sold like commodities. Once you put a price on a persons head you are marginalizing that person down to the level of any ordinary material good. But we are more complicated than that. We live, we breath, we think, we act with a free will.

These feelings that I harbor are not wrong and it is negligent for you to make me feel as though they are unjust.

Also as a quick side note: Fuck you “Sex and the City” and “Then she found me” both movies in which Asian adoptees are viewed as fashionable accessories for affluent white folk. Shame on you. And piss off creators of spell check function everywhere. “Adoptee” is a word so don’t underline it in red every time I use it.

Note: This is a post I have been sitting on for a while now and I just want to get it out of my drafts page. It is choppy to say the least, but this is a topic that I have been having an increasing amount of trouble with lately. This will most likely be edited many times.

So I have been thinking a lot lately, mostly about myself. This is not unusual as I spend a lot of my time immersed in my own little world inside of my head. Many sleepless nights and unproductive days are wished away to a secluded room where the only sound is of the self pacing back and forth muttering back and forth to myself.

Thoughts are usually focused around the pain that I harbor inside. From different angles I approach this darkness, this shame. I cower at these stark entities that tower over me, shivering and immobilized by the fear. Alone in this place I wonder if it is normal or if I were to somehow escape would I cross paths with people who have been in this situation or have felt this way. Yes I wonder if maybe this is how it is supposed to be. But maybe it can be different and maybe there is a way away from this solitude.

Much criticism has been flung in my direction lately. Angry people present cold harsh tones merited towards my behavior. My distance, my flight, my seemingly lack of interest. And I could yell and scream and implore that they step inside this lonely place into which I escape. See if for themselves and feel what I have been feeling for a long time now. But no one seems to want to walk hand in hand with me through these dark quarters. I don’t blame them.

Escape……….what a funny choice of word. Escape usually implies a desertion from that which is not favorable and an assent to a better place. Escape to this place? This hard, cold, jagged place. I suppose it is not escape then more of a sentence. A term that I serve shackled up and bound to. It is of no wonder that no one wants to move along side me. No one would choose something so cruel and unusual. Doesn’t the Geneva Convention have some law against punishments like this?

Thats the thing about being a KAD isn’t it. We hurt and we pain over so many things, but always in silence and in seclusion. Whether it be fear of hurting our AP’s or an inability of closeness or fear of admitting our vulnerability, it’s always ours to carry. Like a large oak tree we posses a hefty core or trunk of burdens and from this core stems out many roots and branches. Some of which are plainly visible some of which are deep rooted and hidden to the plain eye. And even if we tackle the core and remove the trunk even down to the stump there is always roots that reach out and stay seeded and buried.

More metaphor’s, there is always more metaphor’s of what it is like to live like this, to be a KAD. But never any solutions or reprieve from these feelings. Is there anyone out there that can give me answers to any of this. I am scared because I know that for each and every one of us out there despite our similarities we each have come from a unique set of circumstances. So as I scour this TRA landscape I increasingly garner the idea that I may not find any satisfactory resolution for all of these negative feelings.

I just wish that I could make it all go away. That I could be alright for just one day. That I could last a time without having to drag more cigarette smoke or drink more alcohol. I hope that one day I wont feel the guilt of having to lead two lives, and keep up the facade of being happy and well adjusted. I do well for myself or so you think, but you try wearing this mask everyday. Try holding back and holding in all of the emotions I have rampaging around inside of me. Try hating yourself for something of which you had no control and no say over. For fuck sake just try being a minority in a majority. It is not easy.

I would like to be more objective and look at this with an even eye, but I can’t. I want to end this post with hope, but there is none, at least not right now. Increasing the volume won’t work, I guess they just won’t understand. Maybe part of me doesn’t want them to know. So I’ll just keep it inside for a while longer.

My Morning Jacket is one of my all time favorite bands, and Jim James (lead singer) has one of the best voices in all of music. If you get the chance to see them live take it. They sound as close to an album as you can get and the vibe they put out to the crowd is simply remarkable. This song “Thank you too!” off their latest album Evil Urges is an instant classic. The album as a whole is a departure from their traditional sound and a master class in reinventing yourself and exploring new avenues. If you are a first time listener to My Morning Jacket you may be a bit put off by their latest offering and I would suggest listening to the album It Still Moves as a good introduction to their music.

This song reminds me of her. It gives me hope that one day I will find someone that captivates me as much as she did. So here have a listen, I’m sure you’ll love it.

Thank You Too!

really didn’t think i was gonna make it.

really didn’t think i was gonna make it this way.

put on my robot face. hide my emotions way far away from me.

oh! you really saw my naked heart.

you really brought out the “naked” part.

i don’t know what you were doing-

i know i just want to thank you for thinking of me.

i want to take you. for all that you are.

although our worlds seem far apart.

i want to see you- thru all that you do

i want to thank you.

it was strange and it was soothing, and you could even say amusing-

the way it came to me.

you’d devised a simple plan, that would change the fate of man,

you’d thought of everything.

oh! you really saw my naked heart.

you really brought out the “naked” part.

i don’t know what you were doing-

i know i just want to thank you for thinking of me.

i want to take you. for all that you are.

although our worlds seem far apart.

i want to see you- thru all that you do

i want to thank you.

It has been brought to my attention quite a bit recently that my mind is slowly turning to mush. Over the past couple of weeks multiple friends, all from varying circles of people I associate with have been bringing to attention my lack of memory retention. It seems to be a problem.

Dinner on Friday for a long time friend whom I have known since the sixth grade kept bring up stories from the past that I have no recollection of. She seemed quite offended that I could forget these seemingly memorable events. Another friend of mine was pretty annoyed that he had to constantly remind me of the people he kept mentioning in stories of his past. (Although to my defense how am I supposed to remember things and people that have all to do with him and little or nothing to do with me) Another friend of mine is under the impression that she is of little importance to me since I never remember conversations we have or things we agreed on doing, even things that we have discussed recently.

For some reason (maybe because I am now aware of my memory problems) this weekend I tried closing my eyes and fingering through key points in my life. I was a bit disturbed to find that there are long periods that I seem unable to recall or access. Most of high school, my early college years, childhood, even the past few months are covered over. A blank void of nothingness is all that I am able to conjure up. But where did all these memories go? I have usually been known for possessing and vivid particular type of memory, but something has changed.

I don’t know if it is that I am subconsciously blocking these things out or if it is something else. Maybe its the fact that your gone and I just don’t care about much anymore. I guess I still haven’t come to terms with your passing and the utter solitude and futility I feel with it. Maybe thats it. Maybe I just feel that everything before you was unimportant and can thus be discarded. Or maybe everything after just will not compare to what you brought to my life. Could this be it? Is your death be what is causing me to loose my mind.

And my values and beliefs, what is happening to those. Those too are also gone, extinguished from my being. I told you about love and what it meant to me. How I thought it was the most important thing in a mans life and that all is rather trivial compared to love. But now I just don’t see it. I used to walk around with wide eyes and an open heart, viewing the world in beautiful hues, able to recollect past loves, and look forward to new ones. I would speak of love and you would call it mush and tell me to be serious. Mush. Thats how I feel now, but not the kind of mush you would scold me for. My mush now is more like porridge. Sloppy, gooey, gunk.

I have become jaded and wearied and nothing sticks. But maybe it is just the slate being wiped clean. Maybe I am clay waiting for a creative hand to mold me back in to some semblance of a man.

There are an awful lot of maybes to this. Your calming voice would be nice. If only I could hear it one more time then maybe I could figure this out. Would someone please help, I am a bit scared.

I just finished the book “Coin Locker Babies” by Ryu Murikami, and I must say it has taken the spot as my all time favorite book. I strongly recommend any adoptees out there to go out and get yourself a copy.

This story follows two boys who were left by their birth mothers in coin lockers and all of the madness that follows them throughout their lives. I really am not inclined to give a synopsis of the story so I wont. But I will say that I was left flattened with emotion. Even though this is a fictional tale I couldn’t help but mull over a lot of the feelings expressed in this book as I felt strangely akin to both characters in different ways.

For four days straight I could not put this book down, which was a totally new experience for me. I mean I have read books before that were very moving and kept my interest peaked, but this was different. It was as if I was peering into a secret part of myself and unearthing emotions I never knew I had.

So go out and get yourself a copy of this great work and I promise you will not be disappointed.

The Wikipedia on “Coin Locker Babies” and Murakami.

The white noise although loud and obtrusive is calming and still. It crackles, pops, fizzes and dances in the ear. The sound, ever present is a dichotomy. Useful in its interpretation, utterly useless in its practice. This sound allows him to escape into a place where he is safe, yet he fears the indifference of his surroundings.

For as long as he could remember he could go there and escape. Lock out the world that caused him such strife and be alone. He preferred alone and it probably stemmed from the characteristics of his upbringing. But even the calm of solidarity made him edgy. As he escaped deeper and deeper into this haven, loosing himself in the sound a gnawing fear of the safe place would nip at his heels.

Shadows of doubt cast over his heart as he longed for a truer place of sanctum. Endless days that ran together like  one long exhausting dream  sapped  his hope slowly at first.  In this noise he lost his sense of time and orientation  to the world.  Deeper and deeper he forged hoping to loose his pesky pursuers whose aim seemed to be bent on ruining his safe place. But with each step forward the niggling pursuers hastened their pace and dug deeper at flesh.

Finally he stops  to rest.  His heart beating  at an alarming  rate, sweat beading on his brow rolls to his chin. He sits longingly on a fallen tree, his hand positioned in fists on his cheeks. He thinks the tree on which he is perched is like him. Surround by those who had stronger roots he has fallen from the forces that be. Encompassed on all sides by those who would seem more adept to the trial of wind and the ferocity of lightning, they seem to mock him in this debilitated state.

A cool breeze rustles the leaves and the noise intensifies. He thinks thinks he is safe as the rustling of the leaves drowns out the nervous beating oh his heart and the wild panting in his breath. But as he removes his hands from his face to observe this new place he realizes the danger he is in.

Suddenly from a new vantage point he is a moth fluttering above the scene, yet this is only in his mind. If he could fly far away from here and flee he would but he can only sit still, paralyzed without words or movement. He removed his mind from the situation and can see that the fallen tree is in fact himself. Uprooted, and stiff, he is helpless to those who have persued him.

Again a murmuring from the spectators rises in volume and the wind blows sharp now. He can hear the voices but is unable to pick out a single one. All that is heard is the white noise. The limbs of the taught towering trees reach out to one another and embrace as if to pass a secret between the circle of spectators. The main event is poised to begin and he is still left with out privy information as to what will happen.

From his aerial view he screams to himself but the words are logged in his throat. His heart beats faster as he can now see what will become of him, yet still he is unable to yell. He no longer wishes to be above it all a spectator to his own demise, but he knows not how to return to his body. The tears stream down his face and his body convulses at the fact that he can not escape this, he is left only to watch.

They emerge from the crowd wheeling axes as the wind blows even harder still. The noise is deafening now and like a child he covers his ears hoping to avoid it all. He wishes he could escape to another place. Somewhere where the noise is not so loud and the premonitions less brutal. It is at this point he stops everything coursing inside him and closes his eyes. As he inhales deeply and lets out all of the fear pent up inside him, he finds his peace.

The ax men dig deeply into his soft flesh, exposing very few rings. He is young yet, but is haunted beyond  his years. They chop and they hack digging deeper and deeper into his being. Slowly taking pieces of him away. The noise is still as loud as ever, but he does not pay it any mind. Still calm in his approach he understand now the way of things. He accepts his fate and realizes that he is given a unique perspective on it all.

The wind has calmed now and the noise is nothing more than a soft lull. The crowd has grown bored with the tail end of the event and goes back to their motionless drone. The ax men have gone and left little bits of him strewn about the arena. And he is still floating above with his eyes shut, like an Esper to his remains he gather whats left.

This is his peace he thinks. They take what they will, ravaging him to satisfy their needs. Leaving in their wake only scraps that are barely enough to nourish him. But he rises and floats in this breeze. The same breeze whose potential and penchant can change without notice and drive the mass into a frenzy or topple those who have not the deepest roots. But this all allows him to garner a different view and move more freely from place to place. Always with that same white noise.

“May you be in heaven a half our before the devil knows your dead”. – a blessing

There is a wickedness about man,

most of us have it,

and even in death we must finagle our way past the pearly gates.

but not you.

On your day,

there will be no bagains,

no deliberation,

no question to your purity.

For you are the light,

the beacon,

the standard to which we all hope for.

Seated next to God himself,

Cherubs will sound trumpets,

and celebrations will be made.

For an Angel will have returned to Heaven.

For,   Ku, Ji-Hye

I must confess you sounded great. Your tone, your cadence, you vibrancy shone though. I didn’t think that would be our last conversation, but I’m glad I could make you laugh. That laugh of yours was brilliant. I imagine God himself would use your laugh to clear the sorrow from all mankind. For that is the effect your laugh had on me. It was as if all the good in the world poured out of your mouth when you laughed and this shall never leave me.

It pained me so to hear of all the things that displeased you, but still you laughed. Through gritted teeth I held back the anger and utter madness of it all. The injustices you endured tore at my heart, but still I withdrew. I knew that this conversation was for you and revealing my frustration with what you had told me would be no good.  I held hope that one day, many years from now you and I would look back and recall how hard it all was, and you would laugh.

It was not long after that call that I received the notice of your downward spiral and not long after that I was notified of your death. Were you finally ready to give up against all that was forced on to you? Did you know this was to be the last time we spoke? Were you satisfied to hear my voice one last time? I suppose that is all a bit vain, but when the day comes that we meet again I shall relinquish the answers I seek. For that moment I can not wait.

I am satisfied to know that I was the one you called moments before everything fell apart. I rejoice in the notion that I am the one you sought to share some of your last words with. Pleased I am to know that you are without the pain, that you lie sanguine for eternity.

You would have scorned me that night for being so foolish. So cavalier is my approach to life now. So nonchalant is my being, that you surely would be displeased. Inside my soul churns and writhes with pain and aggression, yet I stand still. The excess of alcohol and cigarettes only hides the real pain felt for your dismissal from this world. I reckon that I can burn this feeling out of my body and expel the sorrow. The more my stomach aches from the lash and the vapor, the more my throat chokes on the bile, the more acid and mash I let out, maybe this will make it go away. No, you would be very displeased by such a pathetic display.

The moon shines bright through the whispers of cloud above me. The silence that normally accompanies the night time is replaced by the soft whimpers and patting of tears as the fall to my breast. There is no more peace in my head as I lay under the stars, but only your voice and your laugh. Surely you would hate me right now, for you never wanted to be a burden. You did not want to cause me any sort of displeasure. But all of this is a testament to what you are and what you mean to me. I will not use the past tense as you were etched onto my soul from the first moment we spoke. And as I go forth you will aways be with me, ever present for the rest of my days.

Yours always,

Boogs