the wheel

I wrote my college entrance essay about John McCain, Brittany Murphy, and myself. I sent it all to 1 college - all or nothing. Just like that, I ended up in New York City (the city I can't seem to leave for reasons I can't explain). Everyone has their iconic actress, or singer, or hero that for some darn reason, they can sympathize with.

I've never met Ms. Murphy and I never will, but watching her through movies and hearing her soft-high, squeaky voice in songs was to me always an oddly life changing experience. You can say that it was the writers, or the director that wrote the words in her movies, or guided her acting but it was so much more than just acting. She was honest, raw, and so completely present. I watched most of her movies and though there are many favorites that somehow mirror my emotions - Love & Other Disasters, Ramen Girl, and Uptown Girls - there is 1 movie in particular that I find most sympathetic. 

When I first began watching The Little Black Book, it was a long perhaps not the most interesting movie. But, I wasn't really watching the movie. I was listening to Ms. Murphy. I found myself laughing along side her ridiculously charming laughter, because she was speaking to me. At the very end of the movie, she says to me,

    "By fall, I was ready to try again. A little bruised, a little humbled, and hopefully a little smarter. I believe we write our own stories. And, each time we think we know the end, we don't. Perhaps luck exists somewhere between the world of planning and the world of chance and in the peace that comes from knowing, that you just can't know it all. Life's funny that way. Once you let go of the wheel, you might end up right where you belong." ... and just like that. She went away again. I was left back to my reality sitting at the table, watching my laptop, wondering how long I've held on to my wheel. 

Ms. Murphy passed away when I had graduated college and had just finished the most difficult semester of my life in graduate school. I was crying in bed thinking about fate, chance, and how much effort played into luck. I thought, "How does a girl that jumps into a rabbit hole, plummeting into chaos, come out unchanged? The answer, she doesn't." 

Currently, I don't know where life is taking me and what God has planned for me. But, I can't just sit here and do nothing, because only nothing comes out of nothing. But, I can't keep planning life either. Since John Lennon said, "Life happens when you're busy making other plans." Then he got shot... so we just have to live, stop planning our moves, and stop letting things happen. It's been 8 months since my last post and since then I've come out a little bruised, a little humbled, and hopefully a little smarter.  I believe in happy endings, too. I just have to find mine. 

Glorified NY

Yesterday, I stood on the New York City subway platform holding a coffee in one hand, a tube of drawings in the other, and dressed head-to-toe in greyscale. Running late to a meeting, I began to make what every women stays up at night making in bed... "THE LIST" (thank you for that, How Does She Do It?).

Drawings? Check.
Caffeine? Check.
Phone? Check.
Cue cards? Check.
Heels? Check!
hmmm... that beam above me doesn't seem that structurally sound. Ah, oh well. What does an architect know about structure anyways? Whatever, check.
I'm living my NY dream, have an amazing family, loved ones around me, it's a beautiful day, I'm not sick (for once). But, something is still missing...

Sleep? Ah yes, definitely missing, but who needs sleep on 2 consecutive days. So no, that's not it.
OH YEA, money. I've got none.

My head has been juggling job opportunities left and right. Debating potential projects up and down. In a city that has everything, it fails to mention that it's glorified when you have it all, but so dirty when you don't.

[I see a bunny between the rails - I REFUSE to call rats, "rats". For now, they shall remain as "bunnies"]

You and I don't have it much differently, bunny. I have to share my house with others, walk the dirty streets, and also commute via 1 line - bud. Am I a bunny? No... just a poor architect.

I'm ready to move on. I'm ready for change involving a different city. Who knows where I'll be in 6 months. Knowing New York and its incredible abilities to be a black hole, I might still be here. The few moments of sunshine hitting the old buildings, the impeccably straight angles of the rooflines against the blue sky, endless lists of fun things to do, and living walking distance to the center of the universe (that or a Starbucks). Yep, I've been trapped into its glorified grasp over and over, again. But, I being serious now. I am determined to move on. Ask me where I am in 6 months from now.

On God

Falling in love with God is like falling in love with the most incredible piece of art. You love God for often reasons you do not even know.
Why do you love that artwork?
There are many explanations, but in the end it comes down to a core feeling, a pull, a connection with the soul.

You love God more if you endeavor to discover and learn more about who God is.
You appreciate art more if you know the history, the references, and its effect on its surroundings.

Looking at the art work too frequently and too routinely wears down its allure.
Loving God is not a routine or a habit. It grows, and honestly, it shrinks as well.
There are moments you revisit your love for God out of happiness and there are moments you turn your head toward Him because you "have to".

I've been to several different churches lately. The first church I tried talked about why it is important to give more money to the church - not a warm welcome. The second church talked about how happy and cool it is to be in love with God - I am trying to be happy and cool, but not there yet so I felt I wasn't included in the "cool crowd". The third church spoke about not knowing the Lord and yet following Him. OK, you got my attention. Still, I felt not included when it came time to wish peace on to others. Everyone hugged their loved ones and said peace, but barely anybody turned to strangers to wish the same. The half waves, stares, smiles came my way and I wondered, "When was the last time we sincerely, really sincerely wished peace onto one another?"

Tradition and prayer is one of the most beautiful things about mass, but perhaps those habits I mentioned earlier, are what we need to revisit to remind ourselves why we do the things we do. What makes the painting so beautiful and how can we enhance that beauty?

The title of this post is quite a statement, "ON GOD". Perhaps a more suiting title would have been, "ON ME". Afterall, isn't that how we understand God? Through our relationship with him? I challenge you to wish at least one person this week peace - very sincerely and wholeheartedly. Wouldn't it be beautiful to be the one receiving that grace?

May peace be with you,
Jo

Night at the Museum

As promised before, here are some of my photos from my amazing experience backstage at the Museum of Natural History. Jack Cesareo gave Michelle and me the most wonderful tour of his workplace and studio.
Here is our Untapped article.










Jack Cesareo

Neckties for Human Lives

I have only one intention for my visits to Korea - to visit my relatives. I grew up here in the States and so I do not have much attachment to the country of my Father's. My relatives used to visit me, but now I fly out and see them because my grandparents are too elderly. I wish I knew the value of their visits as their child.

I remember distinctively that I was laying down in my room when I was a child wishing I could have my own space back, wishing so many relatives weren't around in my house. Right then, my Grandpa walked in and took my hand and placed a $5 bill into it. He gave it to me thinking it was worth a couple hundreds, but didn't realize the currency difference. He said, "Thank you for being patient with our stay. I hope you use this wisely and save the rest."
I immediately felt regret for the prior thoughts... To me, that $5 bill was worth a few hundreds. He rarely spoke. He always had a stern look on his face and replied in short, succinct answers. He never showed his emotions or expressed his pain - just like my own Father.

Now, I visit my Grandpa in the hospital when I go to Korea. He is no longer strong enough to speak his mind or walk freely. However, now when I visit him, he greets me with a warm smile, holds my hand, and gives me kisses. This is my Grandpa now. I see in his eyes the same regrets I have. We both wish we could have expressed our love for each other more often when we had the chance.

I frequently ask my Father and Uncles about my Grandpa. What was he like? What did he wear? How did he meet Grandma?? One day, I ran across a photo of a man dressed in a fancy white suit and matching fedora. I asked my Uncle, "Who is this?". He replied, "That's your Grandpa." Then, the search began for me to discover his past.

My Grandpa met my Grandma before the Korean War. They were engaged to be wed, but because of the war, he was sent off to fight. Since my Grandpa was one of the few that spoke Japanese well and was educated in business, the Japanese army spared his life and instead made him a translator for business transactions in Korea to transfer profits to Japan. Little did they know, my Grandpa was undercover. He was paid very little for his work, but with every bit of money he saved up, he bought neckties. Yes, the ties you wear around your neck when wearing a suit.

Japan was the first Asian country to be exposed to Western culture and to begin wearing Western suits. Suits were a symbol of status and luxury. Therefore, my Grandpa bought neckties and instead of wearing them, he traded neckties for Koreans held hostage for cruel human experiments. It is incredibly saddening and disturbing to think that human lives were worth as little as neckties, but to Japanese guards, neckties meant a lot.

I don't know how many people my Grandpa ended up saving, but even saving 1 - just like that $5 bill - is priceless. His letters to my Grandma were loving and thoughtful. His stories even more deep and meaningful. My biggest regret is that I couldn't ask these questions to him directly when he was able to answer them. My Grandpa still resides in Korea, but far from his hometown in a hospital. I ask you to please say a little prayer for him and all those around us that inspire and love us everyday.

Missing Bob

It's not a secret that I am a big nerd. I used to beg my Dad if I could stay up past my bedtime just so I can watch the British Parliament debate on CSPAN2 or catch the end of Book TV. I recorded speeches by Hillary Clinton and spent evenings imitating her pronunciation to perfect my English.

So, when I was on the train this morning I thought about how awful it was that television seems to have gone downhill. Sure, there are the few cable channels such as Discovery, Nat Geo, History... but other than that, what are we watching? The esteemed news channel CNN is going entertainment. I get more news off of watching The Daily Show with Jon Stewart than rolling my eyes at Nancy Grace and begging the Lord to step in and and help this awful woman.

PBS still stands, but barely. They are more than ever relying on the telethons and viewer contributions. Thank God Arthur is still on. What happened to Zaboomafoo, Mr. Rogers, Bob Ross, and Julia Child?

I love eating and unavoidably cooking. When I first saw Julia on American television my jaw dropped. "Mom, look at the size of that woman!" I exclaimed. After the initial phase of getting over her height and presence, I began to admire her cooking. You can't taste or smell through the television, so it was never about how well she cooked. It was her joy of cooking (title of her cookbook). She talked to you as if you were in the kitchen with her. She wasn't a perfect chef. Her mistakes were all right there on television and I laughed along with her. "Just use your hands to marinate this chicken. There is nothing better than using your own two.... OH~~~! That's a cold chicken!"
I don't use 1/16 of the amount of butter she uses in her food. However, I try to always emulate her happiness and adventurous cooking in my own house.

When Mr. Rogers passed away, I was in high school. My friends and I dressed up in cardigans, parted our hair to the side and plastered it to our skull. When homeroom time came around, we took off our shoes and changed into slippers. It was a silent tribute to the dear old man that taught us how crayons were made and how candy were wrapped.

Every Saturday morning, I sat in front of the television with my bowl of cereal and flipped the channel to none other than PBS. I fell in love with this visionary artist named Bob Ross. I've never seen skill or hair like his. He always painted the most perfect blue sky and fertile dirt. Then, he picked up his landscape knife and placed a dark dab of brown-black paint across that perfect sky. Every time he did that, I almost dropped my bowl of cereal and yelled, "What are you doing, Bob?!" I was convinced that he had ruined the best painting of his career, but he always seemed to gain my trust back toward the end of the show when he began to paint "happy trees".

"Shoo, shoo. swish....." he would say as he painted every little happy tree.

It made me smile.

Not to pull a "You've Got Mail" moment, but can we save PBS? Does good television still exist? Are we forever stuck in the Real Housewives, and voting competitions era? Or, can we save true, educational, happy television?

Okay. Back to my ramen.

Like a Man

Ciara's song: Like a Boy
Beyonce's Song: If I were a Boy

Women have always had an obsession with wanting to become a man (or a boy). Every fall season, there is a new "masculine" look dominated by suits, grey trousers, and wide shoulders. Mulan disguised herself as a man in order to stand up for her family. Female geniuses such as the Bronte sisters, Louisa May Alcott, Nelle Harper Lee, and even Harry Potter's own Joanne Rowling used men pen names to publish their works.
I hear women wishing, "If I had a d*** for a day. I'd show them." What, we can't stand up for ourselves without one?

I have stressed in the past the importance of signifying female role models. That history courses in the educational system include "herstory" curricula as well. I have had the fortune of growing up with amazing women around me. My mother received her MBA while pregnant with me, my sister is a recognized vicious fencer, and I have learned so much from my current boss (also female).

I'm not a crazy feminist an no, I don't burn my bras. But, as an appreciative daughter older sister, an possibly a future mother, I can't help but wish at times women (including me) would have more courage to go after their dreams and stand up for what's right.

Why do women rely on their sex appeal to get their way? If you use your intelligence or aggressive persistence (like men), people perceive you a a cold-hearted beast instead of a go-getter. Even women judge other women the same way! I know too many girls who consciously make an effort to look prettier, or pull their shirts down and skirts higher when meeting with male clients, or bosses. Is it a lack of self-confidence about our abilities or is it a societal issue as a whole? Our perception of self worth should not be determined by the sexual attention we get. Makes sense... So, why do women continue to actively seek and provoke it?

The blame extends to men as well. If it weren't for their constant interest in purely physical attractiveness perhaps women wouldn't try so hard. Come on, how many relationships have lasted solely based on looks?

1 in 3 South Korean women get plastic surgery. Sharp increase from 1 in 5 since 2005. This was a consequence of women not being hired in the work place if too ugly, or too fat. No matter how impressive their academic resume was. Their marriage, career, and societal status depended on the way they looked. Now that all of the women are becoming increasingly attractive in this country, they have become the judges of men's worth. Today, the percentage of men receiving plastic surgery and going on diets have skyrocketed in Korea due to their inability to get a girlfriend. I'm not promoting going under the knife. In fact, I am highly against it. However, I cannot believe it took this drastic of a change in the community of South Korean women to come out on top.

I've learned that self-confidence is not just based off of the things you are good at, but also recognizing your flaws and accepting you just don't know certain things.
"When you've come into your own as a woman, there's a real presence, and that shows" - Aymeline Valade.

Becoming your own as a woman includes experiencing hardships, failure, joy, pleasure, and recognizing yourself independently from external context.

I don't know where this post is going. It's turning a little too much like Carrie Bradshaw's Sex and the City article for my taste (another show about women I despise). I've thought about posting this for a long time, but continued to edit it. Not because it's a fine piece of writing (obviously) but because I did not want this to seem like I am criticizing other women, or ignoring the feelings and mentality of men. Please don't take any offense, but I challenge you to truly think about it.

I'll leave it here for now.