Great bloggers to me never have to tell you how great they are. You just see them and know their blog is great. Blogging is like the book industry in many ways. Many “great” bloggers get overlooked and that’s just how it is. This goes for bloggers that write, share photography, artwork, food, design, or are simply here to socialize. We all blog.
I’ve seen some great blogs that instantly engage me. It may be a title that grabs me, a website that’s been touched and perfected, or a blogger that frequently posts and also engaged their audience. We don’t all have the time for this and that is why it stands out to me. I enjoy blogs that frequently post. Dormant or weekly bloggers simply can’t hold my attention because it feels scripted to me when someone presents their life in a scheduled manner. Obviously I get this can be a necessity due to how busy people are, nonetheless that is my opinion.
I respin posts and piggyback them with a new one. I don’t set a standard for posting and I actually have slowed done considerably from my younger blogging days in 2013. That guy was an eager beaver for sure. I will say that I don’t consider myself a great blogger. I’m good, but there is so much to learn. So much to do. A great blog… I just don’t see how one individual ever does it. Runs it. And keeps it running. Not and do a full time day job like I do. Don’t even throw in a family with two kids in the picture.
I understand the next step for me and I’m still considering the angles. When you’ve expanded yourself as far as you can go the only choice after is to expand your boundary. That requires more hands. I’m not sure I’m prepared for that.
I grew up reading fantasy books. My mother had a rule that I had to read my summer reading before I could check out more fantasy books from the library, so I learned to speed read through those lists so I could get on to the real stories. Granted now I see the talent in the words within books like Wuthering Heights and Grapes of Wrath, but I didn’t as a kid. I didn’t appreciate how long Grapes of Wrath was by the way and since I’m releasing some old feelings here I might as well state I still feel that way! I don’t know why John had to make that book so long… it was going to win an award regardless!!!
What does that knife have to do with fantasy books? Well who ever heard of going on a magical adventure through lands of fire and ice, plagued with everything a eleven and a half year old could day dream of with his companions, and not have a knife? My father didn’t approve of weapons and I understand why at this stage in my life with my own children.
This blade was actually a gift from my brother after he got back from the war. I’m older now and can have such things safely in my home. How do I return to those adventures though from my childhood. What door leads the way?
I came upon a setting sun as he was about to set. We talked a bit about what was as we had just met. He moaned about the rising moon and how he never sees her. I wept about a fallen son and a missing mother. We held hands as we stepped upon mountains in the sky. Looking back we saw our wants, waving to say goodbye.
I had an affair with your expression of love today. Wrapping my imagination tightly around the images you provided, I felt guilty for the pleasure of your words. So foreign to the idea of love that I knew and know. I let you teach me your way of love. Feeling each sentence as the words caressed my everything. You gave me a new meaning to everything with every word. Rushing towards the end so I could savor it again. I felt the ticking of a tocking clock as our time together wound to a close. You left one last impression as the expression of your words began to fade. A memory of our affair together.
The birth of a tongue doesn’t occur when you are born. Your speech is learned when you are young and begin to communicate for the first time. This is the learning process of all humans and yet what if you allowed a child to learn just enough to know their tongue and then displaced them to a foreign world. What if you took everything they knew and forced them to learn a new reality?
I took speech therapy and language courses from a friend of the family during school hours. She came and tutored me, awarding me bags of marbles for lessons accomplished and well done. I learned how to unlearn Korean fairly quickly and with that transition I found a new American tongue. A southern tongue full of twang, ya’lls, and southern comfort. I began building within the person I was meant to be, but remained on the outside the shell of what I was.
It is funny because as easily as I learned to forget my culture I found it was much harder to relearn it later in life. To reconnect with what has been trained out of you and to find yourself in a memory that was never real. That is what life sometimes feels like as adoptees stare at themselves in the mirror and what they have become. Are we truly a picture of our true selves or have we become instead a product of our path in life. Is there really a difference? I still don’t know the answer to that question.
The life of an adoptee is all about change, adaption, and trying to find stability. After the trauma of rejection runs its course we quickly find a need to find some type of stability through acceptance. I have seen what constant rejection can do to a child having had a friend who was repeatedly let down and rejected again and again. It wears on you and thankfully I didn’t know the burden it places on your heart until later in life. I at least found love and acceptance before finding out the pain of not being wanted once more.
When you grow up in a white and black world and you aren’t white or black it becomes a struggle to feel accepted. As a Korean with no Asian friends, I found I had little reference as to what an Asian was. Why we looked as we did, why people thought I looked differently at all, and why I had to explain my family constantly to random strangers. When your life is a puzzle you try and piece together a stained glass of your life. You grow to appreciate the whole picture of yourself including the tape used to hold it together. It only becomes difficult when people poke holes in your image and force you to adopt their own.
I grew up in Jackson, Mississippi and was quickly informed I was different. My mind plays tricks on me and memories flash of a yellow bus that picked us up on our street. I remember pencil breaking contests, a bully of a white kid that lived down the hill and pestered me, and going to my speech therapy class. I see bags of marbles and hear the sounds of CH and TH till I am tired of anything that resembles English. Through the learning and the growth of my childhood I never once considered that I was not yet truly learning about myself. I had time for that later I thought. What was there to learn?
“You boys don’t have any throwing stars or daggers on you do you?”
“This cell phone sucks. You people should make them better.”
“Sir could you show my son how to use chopsticks real quick?” I won’t tell you my response to this one, but needless to say I don’t work at PF Changs anymore…
“Jason you have really broad shoulders! Did you used to have muscles???”
“You gonna eat the rest of that?” I don’t share food unless you are my wife and even then…
“You wouldn’t understand what racism feels like.”
“I would have gone to jail for you man!” Ok… and?
“Are all Koreans as tall as you?”
“Hey kid, is your father home?” I own this home jerkoff.
“So what did you fly in the Air Force?” Not everyone flies things in the AF. In fact most people don’t fly things…
“Did you all want drinks with your meal?” Do you have many customers that eat an entire fucking meal without drinking water? It was my lack of mandarin wasn’t it…
“I’m sorry sir the only tables we have available are for reservation and we don’t take reservations.”
“Asians aren’t a minority because they are smart and don’t share the same struggles as the rest of us.” What…