Disclaimer. I used a couple bad words because I’m a grown up.
When meeting my friend to get the Broncos tickets yesterday we decided to grab a beer and chat. The bar had an outside patio with flowers in giant vases around the tables. We starting shooting the shit about the Broncos and Fantasy leagues when out of no where giant fucking bees swarmed and attacked us! Well it was technically one and it wasn’t giant, but that isn’t the point and it DID attack us! Actually it attacked our beers, I read once that bees are attracted to alcohol… or was that mosquitoes… a good blogger would have researched this huh…
So the bee was attacking my empty glass, actually a harmless situation now that I think about it, when my brilliance moved my hand into action. I grabbed the glass and quickly, with Korean ninja like reflexes, flipped the glass trapping the bee. I placed the glass gently down on the table and the entire west wing callapsed. This was due to faulty Chinese engineering and I would contact someone obviously if it were my glass. Fortunately it wasn’t, the giant fucking bee escaped, and I went to the Broncos game.
How was your yesterday?
Each year I post on Mother’s Day a message to my birth mother. It is a simple post.
Dear Birth Mom,
I still hate you one more year.
Ahn Soo Jin
These posts have been some of the most hated writing on this blog and I understand why. I don’t think people understand the “why” behind the posts though or why I rarely address my birth father.
I see my father every day. I see his face in the mirror looking back at me and I know what the bastard looks like. You see I am him, I have to be. For sons we are always connected to our fathers even when we don’t know who that father is. It creates a mind fuck actually because we that are adopted must ask ourselves if we hate our own image. How truly depressing is that thought.
Do I hate my father? Honestly, not as much as I hate my mother. There is no connecting story, no sneak thief in the night leaving me on the street. Perhaps he left long before I was abandoned, I will never know and it really makes no difference. He will always be a stranger to me. As dead as dead can be.
The same cannot be said for my birth mom. She is very much alive. She has kept me from meeting my sister. She has refused to see me. To me she is the very definition of a bitch and I will always hate her. Will it forever be an active hate? No, probably not. In fact I feel as if my hate towards her is a dormant fire now, very much alive and yet not active.
Hate is a strong emotion that can serve a person that knows how to dominate it. I do not allow my hate to control me, even though some might claim that harboring hate IS allowing it to control you. I assume those people probably have good lives free of lingering pain. Good for them. I am not so lucky and have chosen instead to keep my hate as a companion. It keeps me warm at night as others cheerfully offer “happy mother’s day” to their loved ones. I see two eyes on those nights and they will always belong to a stranger.
stomach not good. Will catch up when I get back.
Everything you heard about me is true.
The soundtrack of my heart is constant and sounds like the clicking of letters as they are pieced together by completed thought. Sprinting fingers match sprinting mind as my body races to keep up with my imagination. A song of hardship, love, life, and living would be the music to my ears. Not overly dramatic, I am not drama. Not overly sophisticated, I eat with a plastic spoon. Simply words that flow and do not feel as if their life has been pounded out of them by trying to hard. For the soundtrack of my heart never stops and is never hard to find. I hear it even now.
I have forever seen this world differently than other people. Or perhaps I just want to think I do. Always feeling a description is inadequate. A word string falls just short. Perhaps ego has his hand on my soul, I do not know. Can I learn to appreciate the eyes of others? Seeing a second from their view and not my own? Would I care to tell the tale or forget that living hell of walking another’s path. Isn’t mine hard enough?
A Korean is forever parted from his shoes. Courtesy and manners dictate we leave them at the door for anyone to take. Sometimes I stand before the rows of other people’s lives and desire to step into their life for just a few feet or a tumble. For do we not normally fall while trying to duplicate the steps of others? Especially when wearing these size 12s… who ever heard of a Korean wearing a size that big? I must see what life this is, who owns the worn path by these shoes?
I close my eyes and step into your blog.
I love your perfect imperfections. How easily you stand out against the normal black and white of beauty. I love even more how you seem to love yourself. How your self-love is not anchored to anyone else’s approval. Instead you approve yourself each morning and that confidence shows. How it shows. Love your perfect imperfections. They are uniquely yours. They are you.
7 hours from now I will be watching Peyton Manning and the Broncos. That makes me happy just thinking about it! And who doesn’t love $10 beers??? :)
Note: I’ll catch up on comments later. Be safe bloggers!
Note 2: Tom Brady is a freaking cheater! Enjoy that tarnished legacy you cheating loser!
My heavy heart beats matching your footsteps as you walk away. A silent, somber beat of farewell that only I can hear or tell. It is hell. And yet I wave as we part, smiling that false smile of confidence I will always give you. Even as my heart breaks and the pieces tumble inside of me. Could I pause this moment so that the moment could not end, I might. A heavy heart knows no end, but it knows a beginning.
You speak with a broken tongue, breaking words for your amusement. It amuses no one but yourself, and yet your crooked smile is smile enough for others. What joke must be spinning within your mind, a joke so far inside. Selfishly laughing at the world because you can. Never speaking plainly because that is boring, that can be done by anyone. But can you mumble a broken spirit with a broken tongue. Crooked nature fully formed because you accept it. Broken man, how broken are you? How did you break your tongue so.
She comes into your life and brings nature’s blessing. And with her entrance comes a curse of wanton passion. The grass is still alive as it blazes in the sun. The chorus of our laughter floats gently in the Spring breeze. We are the definition of love and our hands are linked as we dance amongst the growing and the grown alike. We enjoy timeless sunsets on picturesque settings creating canvases waiting to be painted at each moment. We love.
Time works wonders and bonds grow firm. We resolve to walk quietly into the night together. Hands held tightly against the shadows we once faced alone. We pick each other up in the heat of the Summer, against the blazing sun and humanity’s punishment. We turn as one, in unison with one another’s needs. I am your need and you are mine. And like an oak tree we grow together.
The rain has come and we have weathered storms. We still touch… but sometimes our hands Fall like leaves from our tired limbs. The chatter of children running around our base keeps us united, we are still united with finger painted signs and chalk figures. But some nights are cold and the moon shines two shadows upon the ground.
It snows here in Denver. The Winter seems to be most of the year… at least lately. But even with the constant ice, it does melt with the strength of will. A will we share each morning and return to each night. The seasons form a timeless ring that hardens into a golden promise. They touch each time our hands unite with infused emotion. Regardless of what emotion that is the presence of feelings means that we still care.
Hide not your eyes from my truth because it does not match your own. Instead appreciate the fact that everyone gets to be the most important person in their own life, as it should be. As it was meant to be. Far too often people forget that just because something is true for them does not mean it will be true for others. Everyone wants to be a preacher these days and pulpits are a dime a dozen. People want to lather others with the truth they think the world should embrace. How about you live your life and I will live mine. How about we walk our own paths and don’t share common ground. No matter how clearly you relate your moments to others they will still always be yours. I will never live a second in your shoes and you know what?
I don’t want to.
Society tells me to value that which has never held value to me. That would be you the birth mom I never knew. It seems the story will end with two separate endings. Yours and the life you kept from me and my life… without you or my sister in it. I could leave this life without meeting you. At this point, at the age of 34, I have done well enough without ever seeing your face or needing the comfort of your presence. I do not remember your voice and have no desire to. You do not visit me in my dreams anymore, they are purely in English. I am glad you are now gone. The only time I ever see you is from the bottom of my cup as I swirl a few midnight tears around. Not tears over you, but instead tears for you. Tears you will never see and that you do not deserve to know exist. I still hate you.
Source: Two Minutes About A Storm Almost poetic. I liked this a lot and the imagery was nicely done. :) -OM
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Today is a new day and it deserves a new attitude. Maybe even a happy one.
Broken hearts, like broken jewels.
They line the path behind me.
Breaking apart, how beautiful they break.
Lying as they were supposed to be.
One last glance, at distant past.
Waving to memories gone.
Used memories, they never last.
Forgotten feelings I do not long.
I have often written that I use blogging goals and milestones to push myself each day. Another mile marker in the distance to strive for… that is never a bad thing in my book. What is anything without goals, accomplishment, and striving for more? That is one of the greatest things about blogging to me. There is no overall progress bar in life, there are simply things we do, try to do, and keep trying to do. I live my life by that.
When I created this blog in 2013 I read a lot of blog articles on blogging. It seemed like a necessary thing to do at the time, but what I never realized till later on is how wrong most of those articles were. People love trendy sayings and I have taken pleasure in blasting most of those silly quotes. “Rome wasn’t built in one day” is often said about blogging and the goals we set for ourselves on social media. I absolutely hate this quote when referenced to a person’s goals or progress towards those goals. I will even say back “well it might have been if Koreans had lived there.”
Why do we do the things we love? Because we get some satisfaction out of them or else we wouldn’t do them. I gain a lot of satisfaction in watching my little corner of the blogosphere grow and it hasn’t been an easy road. 2 years later and I stand battered, but not broken. Having completely deleted the content of this blog twice, I can safely say that there is no formula for success. There is simply the willingness to keep your eye on the ball and to keep striving for that damn ball. Today I hit 1,300,004 views and I am happy about that fact. There was a time fairly recently when I thought 1,250,000 was going to be my last milestone.
I take pride in my view count because I gained it through legitimate hard work. There are shortcuts to anything and I could have easily used those shortcuts and tricks to reach my million views in a couple months. I would have lost 75% of my subscriber base though. Instead it took 2 years and a lot of effort to gain my first million and I received no help doing it. That is how it must be, how it should be, and I wouldn’t want it any other way. I owe no one for my small successes on this website other than the people that take the time to read it. For that I truly say thank you. I try to show my appreciation in my own way.