what the fuck when did I write this

This indirect/direct way of trying to get what I need by subtly planting my feelings in those around me has been a way to hide my vulnerability, while still managing to appear as a kind and centered person. I realize I am not alone in this malady. It is all so subtle and so close to our healthy ways of relating to others that we seldom realize the manipulation and deceit involved. Of course, this indirectness lives in us because somewhere along the way, we became convinced, often with good heart’s reason, that to voice directly what we need is asking to be hurt. Yet I know of no other way to reverse this hiding of cool attitude. we are then to catch ourselves humbly in this instance and to rise out of our private cave, admitting that indirectness and saying what we feel and what we need as soon as possible.

My Eyes Are Wide Open

Character is who you are in the dark.

Today we have so little darkness. Our world is lit up 24 hours a day; it’s transparent, with blogs and social networks broadcasting abuzz of a whole new generation of people that have made a choice to live their lives in public. It’s a lot more noisy world. So one challenge we have is to remember: oversharing—that’s not honesty. Our manic tweeting and texting can blind us to the fact that the subtleties in human decency—character, integrity—that’s what matters; that’s always what’s going to matter. So in this much noisier world it might make sense for us to be just a little bit more explicit about our moral code. When you combine the science of recognizing deception with the art of looking and listening you exempt yourself from collaborating in a lie, you start up that path of being just a little bit more explicit.


DECEMBER 19, 2018

To see a World in a Grain of Sand 
And a Heaven in a Wild Flower, 
Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand 
And Eternity in an hour.


Hard at once and forever

“Here you were to be loved. To be loved...
hard at once and forever to strengthen you against the loveless world.”


December 7, 2018

When I was 9 years old, I came to America by myself on a student visa to learn English. My parents and brother were still in Korea, so my grandparents, who moved to Southern California in late 70s to help raise my cousins, took me in and raised me for a year. I loved my grandparents. My grandpa drove me to school everyday in his old Corolla (he loved Japan and Japanese culture), took me to the mall every weekend and bought me clothes and toys, let me spend evenings watching TV on his lap after grandma’s home cooked dinner. It was nothing special or fancy, but I loved my grandparents and loved spending time with them.
My grandfather passed away in his sleep last night. He was in his 90s, growing weak and miserable at his old age and health complications. I used to love visiting him at any chance I had at his home, but at some point, dreaded going because seeing him so depressed made me feel downhearted. I wished I could have done something, but I knew there was nothing I can really do. But now he can rest.

Rest In Peace Grandpa. I’m so heartbroken I didn’t get to see you one last time. Thank you for raising me, taking care of me, being unafraid of living in a foreign country to support your children and grandchildren. There were moments when I was so resentful for some of your actions that I’d rather not dredge up, but I just want to say that I forgive you.