Entries for June, 2005
After the longest hiatus of my journal's [almost] three year
existence, I return with so many things that have happened to me, yet
without the capacity nor the incentive to write about them. Many
of these events and happenings are the simple day-to-day things that
would not in themselves contribute much to an entry; but those little
things, added up, becomes the rabid elephant in the room that I can't
ignore in fear of getting trampled. The assertive thing to do
would be to take charge and deal with it all. But, being myself,
I just curl up and take the weak way out.
In other news, I am three weeks closer to college than when I wrote last, which would, in a certain light, be very exciting; however, it also means that I am three weeks closer to saying good-bye to so many of the people with whom I've spent my high school experience. Once I graduate, I'll never be able to be a high school student again. That's it. The door will softly click shut behind me, an old identity of Jihwan will expire, and a new one will be created.
I'd like to write more, but I'm simply tapped out these days. No inspiration. But to dissuade you from thinking I'm depressed or something, I'll reassure you by posting a joke.
. . .
Never mind.
I'm too tired.
Written by jihwan at 10:32 PM.
I went to the Santa Monica Pier today with my cousins' family. It was nice to relax and take a drive down to the beach to get away from all the crap that's been pecking at me for the past few weeks. While I enjoyed the cool ocean breeze and kicked some ass at Tekken 3 in the arcade, my little kid cousin had a grand old time tossing french fries to the pigeons and then chasing them off as they came near.
Which brings me to the topic of the day. What's up with kids and birds, anyway? It's like they have no one else to which they feel superior, so they have to assert their place in the hierarchy of nature by running at sea gulls and making them scurry away. Once, just once, I would love to see the random pigeon or gull go into a crazy attack mode and tear up some smug kid. It's not so farfetched. Consider this:
There are strange individuals in each and every society in the world. In human society, there are those rare people who do some very unorthodox things, such as biting the heads off bats or eating other people or playing sex with small boys. I don't think pigeons should be any different. Out of all the pigeons that get chased around every day worldwide, there has to be at least one insane pigeon who, due to a chemical imbalance in that birdbrain of his, decides that he's had enough of these snot-nosed, giggly bastards running after him every day. So he snaps, and, disregarding all his friends' warnings, breaks out into a crazy eye-pecking, face-clawing, head-crapping whirlwind pigeon jujitsu. Problem solved.
Besides imagining all the small children at the beach running around shrieking and crying and peeing their pants as they flee from all the birds, I noticed a few other things. Now, the Santa Monica Pier has a whole boardwalk filled with carnival booths and cotton candy vendors and whatnot. I was watching the basketball booth for quite a while, and I noticed three basic types of people who paid good money to prove that they were the next Lebron.
1) The macho guy who needs to prove his baller-ness to his girlfriend - This type of guy usually ends up wasting $10 for a grand total of 0 made shots, and walks away complaining about how the game is rigged [NO, really?]. He is thoroughly embarrassed.
2) The little kid who needs a serious reality check - This kid has been told by his parents over and over again that the game is rigged, and that it really is harder than it looks. However, he will not be dissuaded, and lines up to take a shot. Or two. Or twenty. He usually ends up wasting $20 of his parents' money and doesn't even hit the rim. When his parents try to console him and say, "We told you so," the kid screams, cries, kicks his mom in the balls, and runs off to eat some sand. God, kids are stupid.
3) The middle-aged dad who wants to prove his coolness to his son/daughter - This scenario's a bit sadder. The guy's kid begs his daddy to win him the huge prize [for daddy can do anything and everything], and daddy, not wanting to let down his precious child, gives in. He usually ends up wasting $30 trying the make the shot, when he could easily have gone to the store and bought the same stupid stuffed animal for half the price. He walks away shaking his head, reminiscing about his younger days when he had more athleticism and more hair. His kids just had their little world crushed, melted, spat on, and handed back to them - they just found out that their daddy is not all-powerful. The kids can no longer depend on their daddy to chase the bad dreams away or to make the monsters under the bed go away. They grow up to be whores and drug dealers.
And
yes, it seems as though my muse has returned. I guess all I
needed was a trip to the beach.
And I didn't even have to
go into the water.
Written by jihwan at 12:03 AM.
For an end-of-year assignment, my English teacher told us to write about what our legacy to the school and to the world would be. Would we be remembered beyond the typical yearbook picture? Would we leave something of note in the hallways of the school that will inspire future students? Or will we be forgotten, to be out of everyone's mind until the high school reunion, when someone might remember you for the instant you were in their memories? Here is what I wrote.
A blip on the global radar, an insignificant body in six billion huddled masses, a negligible scratch on the timeline of greater and grander things in history – that is how I came into this world. That is not the way I plan to leave it. I have vast ambitions and dreams for which I reach, yet I have not been able to salvage enough motivation or inspiration to chase them. For the past eighteen years, I have grown up hearing about how intelligent, how athletic, how talented, and how wonderful I am. Perhaps because I had grown accustomed to excelling without trying, or maybe because by some strange hand of God I had been given the easy road through life, I had expected life to be as simple as reading at age two or sinking a twenty-foot jump shot with precision. However, as I progressed through the years, I began to realize, with much denial and stubbornness, that I was not all-powerful and that I could not depend on my limited innate abilities to get me through the more difficult paths of life. I know that I need a drastic change in the way I view my future, for today is truly the first day of the rest of my life. This is the junction at which I stand, and from here I leave my thoughts, my actions, my time-tested experiences, my lasting memories, and my dreams.
One of the first things people notice about me is my self-confidence. They see the way I hold myself, the way I speak, and the way I deal with certain situations, and all of them, to varying degrees, admire the outlook I carry with me throughout life. This self-assurance, this ingrained ability to be sure of myself in whatever I do, can be attributed to both my personal disposition and the support and encouragement I have received throughout my life thus far. For as long as I can remember, my parents have been able to trust me with the decisions and choices I make with my own life, and I have reciprocated this trust by living up to their expectations. I discovered independent thinking from a young age, and have grown accustomed to things coming easy to me. Perhaps it was because of this early exposure to difficult responsibility and good results that I have become who I am – a richly ambitious person with the ability to achieve his goals but the lack of a harsh education in reality; maybe all I needed to be more assertive, more thirsty, for higher standards and objectives was a more difficult path in attaining what I set out to do. Perhaps then I would have learned to fully appreciate the rewards of hard work and dedication that I have somehow missed during the past years of my life.
I would be neglecting an immense part of my life if I did not mention my religious beliefs and how they have shaped my life. I was born into a Christian family of great commitment and observance, and it soon rubbed off on me. I went to church, prayed, sang, and worshiped like every other good Christian boy. However, it was not until a true awakening during my sixth grade year that I truly learned what it meant to be Christian. It was then that I put aside my skepticism, my doubts, my worries, and my guilt for past and future sins and finally accepted that precious gift of salvation that God had offered to everyone. It was then that I sincerely accepted that as a Christian, I was not any better than others – simply forgiven. I was not an extreme example of a lost soul being saved. I wasn’t a drug addict or a suicidal teen; I was simply searching for something to fill the void in my life, and instead of turning to the tangible things around me, I gave myself to the warm embrace of my savior.
The other questions spin off of this decision – the most important decision that I would ever make. What do I dream about? I dream of living my life without regrets, of reaching the end of my life and knowing that I did everything in my power to change the world around me in ways unheard of and unimagined. I dream about showing others the way to Christ without preaching or judging anyone, for I realize that in today’s society, condemning the so-called “wicked” will get you nowhere. I dream of being a Christian who leads by example, knowing that I am a frail, feeble example of a Christian, but an earthly example nonetheless. What do I fear? I fear that I will never change, that I will always be this lethargic consummation of apathy that does not put on the full yoke of responsibility and obligation to be everything that I can be. I fear that at the end of my life, I will have a trail of regrets about the people that I had encountered and befriended and not taking the extra incentive to tell them my story of salvation, to always know that I could have done more to add another soul with whom to rejoice eternally.
I am pretentious enough to hope that a few years from
now, my mark on this school and this world will still linger so that other
kids, who, like me, are lost, confused, and are aimlessly searching for meaning
in their lives, can look to my example and find some hope in the way I’ve led
my own life. When people walk through
the hallways of El Camino Real and see my name feebly immortalized for being
one of nine who has chronicled his achievement in the annals of national
history, I hope they see more than a gilded trophy and a flashy championship
ring. I hope they see a fervent
musician. I hope they see an intense
athlete. I hope they see a devoted son
and brother. I hope they see a kind and
considerate friend. I hope they see a
passionate Christian. I hope they see
that what I made of my life here at ECR was not governed by some pockmarked,
right-handed desks or periodic hallway bells, but was rather enjoyed as a
precious opportunity to breathe and experience my growth, to sing of its
glories, and to shine my light into a dark, musty corner of the world’s cache
of pure, unadulterated life. This
is the account of my hopes, my dreams, my aspirations, and my experiences. This is my Post-it note to the
school and to the world. This will be my
legacy.
Written by jihwan at 04:45 PM.
I almost hit a cow on my way down to San Diego. Scared the fertilizer outta me. Just wanted to share that with you.
I just got back from my college orientation, and by golly, I am so looking forward to college. I met some very cool people, walked around the gorgeous campus, and had a little taste of what dorm life would be like. I just need to get over the fact that the school wasn't my first choice, because that sort of mindset is really going to be quite detrimental to the way I enjoy my experience at school for the next few years. But I love the school, I love the weather, and I love the beach [which is literally like 5 minutes away], so life will be good.
I attended the high school graduation of a very special person while I was down in San Diego. The ceremony was nice. It
made me want to cry, but I didn't because guys aren't supposed to
cry. It's one of those unspoken laws, like the one that says guys
aren't supposed to wear stud earrings on their right ear because that means
they're gay and like to have sex with other men.
On my drive back up to L.A., I noticed that I had been driving alongside another Camry for about an hour or so. The driver was a girl, maybe 20, who looked incredibly bored [driving on the freeway with no one to talk to really sucks]. It got to the point where the two of us just set our cruise control to 80 mph and just rolled on next to each other the rest of the way up. At one point, we'd hit some junction where a car was stalled, so the traffic was backed up for a short distance. She motioned for me to open my window and called out to ask if I had anything to eat.
What the hell. Why not be friendly? So I chucked her a piece of the Hershey's chocolate bar that I was eating. She gave me a thumbs up and we proceeded to drive side by side, like some played out commercial for Toyota's Memorial Day clearance sale. When we got nearer to Los Angeles, she honked, saluted me goodbye, and exited the freeway.
It was a weird sort of meeting. And, like I often do, I tried to find some deeper meaning to it or relate the incident to a symbolic revelation of some sort, but nothing came. I guess some things aren't meant to be dissected and analyzed.
Also, I got my cap and
gown for my graduation [which is tomorrow]. However, according to
my gown label, I am 5'9" tall. Which would otherwise be very
flattering, but slightly annoying when you have to walk across the
stage and you trip over the oversized baby blue fumigation tent that
you are wearing. [By the way, our graduation gowns look
absolutely hideous. Whoever voted for baby blue gowns, you are
hated by the whole senior class.] It can't be that difficult to correctly measure
a graduation gown for a guy who's 5'4" [and seven-tenths of an inch!]. Damn you.
I apologize for my lack of decent writing technique and
fragmented blurbs of thought, but after a couple days of walking and
driving and learning the wacky school dance in preparation for Welcome
Week, one's mind tends to vegetate. I promise to pull some
heartstrings next time with some seriously awesome journal
material. Until then, be jealous of my campus.
Written by jihwan at 10:29 PM.
This will probably be the most honest entry I've written yet.
I'm tired of faking it, pretending everything's all right. The fact of the matter is, I'm probably going to get kicked out of college even before I step onto the campus in the fall. You see, the UC system has a policy that requires high school seniors to maintain a 3.0 unweighted GPA and not fail any classes. I, being the overconfident asshole that I am, didn't really pay attention to or care about what it might mean if I didn't abide by the rules that every other person followed.
So I earned a Fail in my math class this last semester. Which shouldn't have been so surprising, considering I earned every single percentage point of that 'F' and that I didn't deserve anything higher. It was then that I realized with some slow, sick understanding dawning in the pit of my stomach that I might not be able to make it to the next part of my life, not because I couldn't, but because I decided not to.
Everyone says I'm smart. They say I'll succeed in life. They tell me that they don't understand why I didn't get accepted into the colleges that I wanted to attend.
Well, news flash, fuckers. If I were smart, I would have spent more time devoted to studying and working just like everyone else instead of fucking around, hoping my limited intelligence would get me by. If I am to succeed in life, I have to trash my arrogance and know that I'm not more intelligent than any other person who actually works toward their goals. I didn't get accepted into my first-choice colleges because I refused to show them that I could be a hard worker and that I was willing to devote my life to my goals. So fuck you for telling me I'm smart. Fuck you for telling me I'll succeed in life. Fuck you for giving me a false sense of superiority that I was foolish enough to be satisfied with.
It's just so ridiculous how I expected everything to fall into place for me. Look at Jihwan Kim, with his 1550 SAT score and his shiny national championship ring for Academic Decathlon. Look at his leadership role in orchestra and church. See how athletic he is? See how musically gifted he is? Let's all bow down before him and prostrate ourselves before his glorious presence. It's fucking pathetic how I expected college admissions officers to overlook my glaring deficiencies in the basic requirements for college and give me the thumbs-up because I was so fucking special.
I'm
sick of begging others to make up for the mistakes I've made. I'm
sick of begging colleges for admission. I'm sick of begging
teachers to give me the benefit of the doubt and give me a 'C' or a
'B.' I'm sick of begging my family and friends to give me yet
another chance to prove myself. I've realized that as arrogant
and as confident I may come seem, when it comes down to it I'm nothing
but a pathetic asshole who is reduced to pleading and begging and
groveling to get what could have deservedly been mine.
I graduated from high school yesterday. I sat in the very end of the front row to be honored for my great and wonderful accomplishments with Decathlon. As I sat there listening to the speeches and the names being called out, I realized something. I had thought that I was better than most of the 800 seniors in my graduating class, that I was smarter, more talented, and more deserving of praise than all the other people who justifiably earned more and deserved more than I did. When they presented the class of 2005 and everyone around me threw up their caps and ran around hugging and kissing and crying, I couldn't bear to go and find my mom and dad in the crowd. I couldn't stand to look at their faces, smiles plastered onto their faces, trying so hard to be proud and not being able to be.
It
tore me up inside, like some sort of festering, unforgiving cancer, and
I walked to the end of the football field, sat down on the bleachers,
and cried. I cried, not like everyone else was crying, with the
happiness and joy and pride of doing everything right, but with a
defeated, hollow feeling in my gut, like I didn't deserve to be holding
the diploma in my hand. I opened my diploma folder and saw that
it was empty. You see, my school has a policy of handing out the
actual diplomas after the ceremony, to ensure that nobody screws around
during graduation. So after all the Pomp and Circumstance of the
ceremony, I still didn't have my certificate of achievement.
That
one single gesture, receiving the symbolic representation of my
accomplisments and finding it empty, was so perfectly appropriate, so
cruelly ironic, that I caved and cried some more. When I was
finally done, beaten and feeling like someone had punched me in the
stomach, I forced a smile onto my face and plunged back into the joyous mass of
people to find my parents and friends and teachers.
There
is an appeals process for people who receive the cancellation letter
from college. If my appeal goes through, and chances are that it
probably won't, I'll be allowed one more opportunity to attend the school
and prove myself. If not, then I'll bide my time at the local
community college, experiencing what it feels like to have your future
in your hand and dropping it into the garbage compactor. Either
way, I've learned my lesson, and I've hit the turning point in my
life. Whoever reads this, do me a favor. Don't ever tell me
again that I am smart or talented or wonderful. I have a history
of letting that sort of thing go to my head. Make me work for
recognition and praise. Help me succeed in life, because I've
certainly proved that I can't do it myself.
I thank everyone in my life for making this high school experience one from which I truly learned something. I love you all, and I wish you the very best in your endeavors. I don't deserve your sympathy, and I sure as hell don't want your fucking pity. Just know that I realize I've made some huge mistakes, and I won't let myself make them again.
Written by jihwan at 09:32 AM.
Let's move on.
Written by jihwan at 11:19 AM.