Secrets.

My family apparently has a lot of secrets. I mean, I guess I always knew that, even when I was a kid. It's something you can just tell, or feel. The first big secret that I found out was about my Dad's younger sister. She was two years younger than my Dad and her name was AeKyung. Apparently, my Grandmother gave my aunt to my Grandfather and his wife to take care of. At the time, I thought his wife meant his second wife, as in, my Grandmother came first (but that's another secret I'll get to in a second). Anyway. This wife, being the bitch that she was, abandoned my aunt at some train station and no one ever saw her again. I hope to find her one day. I know it's a pretty far fetched idea, but it'd be really nice if I could.

Second secret would be the reason why my parents divorced and my mother ran away for a few years. When I was younger, I had been told that it was because my mother wanted to get away from my grandmother, but then I learned it was just because of my dad. Apparently when they were in Korea, my dad lent some money to my mom's older sister when they were in need, but when my dad was in need, they didn't give any money back. So it just kind of escalated and my mom couldn't take sides, so their marriage just sort of fell a part and when my mom asked for a divorce, my dad agreed but said that she wouldn't be able to see my brother or myself until we were eighteen. Of course, that didn't really happen, since she contacted us before and a year or so after my dad apologized and went to find our mother (because he didn't know we were already communicating with her. I guess that's another family secret I came up with).

Right. And now the third secret I found out about is apparently that both of my grandmothers are the second woman in the lives of my grandfathers. They both had wives previously before meeting my grandmothers and having an 'affair' with them. I say 'affair' because back then, there really wasn't solid things like marriages, so it's all very loose. In any case, on my mother's side of the family, my grandfather simultaneously held relationships with his first wife and my grandmother. In fact, they all lived in the same house at one point and apparently, they all still meet from time to time. Not my grandfather of course, he's dead, but apparently all his children still get along. So apparently I have 1 aunt and 3 uncles (and their spouses) that I never knew about. Of course, the same can't be said about my dad's side. Like I said before, my grandfather's wife abandoned by aunt, so it can clearly by seen that she never got over the jealousy of her husband's affair. In my grandmother's defense, she didn't know he was married at the time. I'm not sure how many older siblings my dad has, or what exactly went down within his family, but I think I'll ask him one day.

I'm not one of those people who's floored by the secrets or hurt that I was never told about them. I'm actually rather amused and kind of glad. When I was younger, I had always hoped for a bigger family. I always wanted more aunts and uncles, more cousins, etc. And now I find that I actually do. Granted, I doubt I'll ever get to meet them, but it's nice to know that they're there. Plus, this is all rather good material for a book or whatnot, right?

Human Error.

Do you ever feel like you belonged somewhere else? I'm not talking about the whiny stuff people say in high school and such about not fitting in. I'm talking about how you feel as if you would have belonged better in a different era or country.

I believe in a thing called fate. I don't have a view on religion, so I don't believe in "God's work" or whatever it's called, but I do believe that things happen for a reason. But I also believe in a little concept known as human error which screws up what fate should have done. I believe in souls and the idea of reincarnation. I think people who feel like they were born in the wrong time period feel that way because they are so attached to a previous life. Like myself. I feel more comfortable thinking of myself living in the late 18th century. In England, to be precise. And yes, I wholeheartedly believe that I was probably there in a past life.

In this life, I'm not sure what to think. I would like to say that my birth was a bit of a mistake, but I honestly don't think it is. Had my life not turned out the way it has, I never would have met Olivia. She is, most undoubtedly, the one person in the entire world who somehow understands me. We're best friends. We're soul sisters and I want to believe that had I been born in a different fashion, fate would have still brought us together, but I'm not sure. In my current life, I went through so much shit to meet her. I moved countries. I lost my parents. I dealt with switching between three high schools. But I wouldn't give any of it up if it meant not being able to meet her.

So maybe fate understands human error. Maybe when people screw up their lives, fate does everything it can to bring us back on course. I'm not saying it always succeeds, but I think it tries its best.

Change.

Today I found myself doubting my choices. My choice to double major in Communication Design and Literary Studies. The Design part I don't doubt. I don't think I could ever doubt. It's as if design has been permanently ingrained into every fiber of my being. It's the writing part that gets me. I'm confident about design and my abilities but I can't say the same about my written works. I don't know what direction I'm heading with that. I know when I was younger I always dreamed of being a writer. I wanted to create great novels like Tolkein or Austen. Writing that lived through decades, even centuries, but maybe I'm just a reader. Maybe I'm just a person who likes to pick up these sort of novels. And maybe I'm just an imaginary. I only like to imagine these great works I could write because I do. I have all these ideas for novels, but I can't ever seem to sit down and piece my ideas together into proper sentences or paragraphs. Plus, the way I think about these stories end up coming up in a film-like state. So then I thought, maybe I should go into screenwriting. But if I do, that still doesn't mean I get to direct my scenes the way I want them to. So then is being a director what I want?

At The New School, they expect you to choose your major before your second year. At the age where most of its students are 18 or 19. We're at the cusp of our youth. How do they expect us to know what we want to do or to be in ten years from now? Dreams change. People change. Our desires and situations change.

Right now I wish I was still that child who drew crude drawings of Sailor Moon on manila paper with big dreams of being the best artist and writer.

When did that change?

Passion

I used to have a lot of dreams. I guess I still do. I wanted to become an author, an artist, a doctor. I wanted to be beautiful. I wanted to have a family with a successful, loving husband and lots of wonderful kids. I wanted to be rich. I wanted to be famous. When I was a kid, I used to have so much passion for life. Now I have goals. I've become a cynical realist. I still dream, but when I come back to reality I merely scoff at myself and move on. I don't have any grand expectations for my life. I no longer expect to suddenly find my soul mate, get the job of my dreams, or have the body I so desperately crave. Yet I still dream about it because I'm desperately grabbing at anything that will tie me down to this pathetic life in the hopes that somewhere I will find the will to live again. To find that passion again. Yet, I know it's hopeless.

Family

People say that you automatically love your family. No matter what they do, it won't matter because you'll still love them in the end. Why? "Because they're family".

Well, that's a load of bull. At least for me.

I can classify my family members into three distinct categories: members that I truly love, members that I love only because I feel complied to, and members that I couldn't love even if I tried.

This goes for family members that are bonded to me through blood and marriage.

I've come to realize that there are only two members of my family that I can say that I truly love. I suppose a part of the reason is because I feel as if I've placed them through such hell, that it would be wrong for me not to love them honestly. Another part is that they've shown me parts of themselves that they haven't masked to make themselves or me feel better about a situation.

Of course one of the two is my mother. Despite the fact that I for several years of my childhood I lived without ever seeing her or talking to her due to circumstances out of my control, living with her last year really cemented our relationship. I don't know how I went so long without her. Sometimes I wonder what if would have been like to live and grow up with my mother and how I would have turned out. Would I have turned out better? Would I not have grown up to be so fucking cynical and angry? Perhaps. Hell, I know she has her faults, but I can get past that because I truly love her.

The second person is my aunt. Anyone who knows me really well knows the kind of pain I put her through during my adolescences. During that time I thought she deserved all the hate I placed upon her because I felt like she hated me right back. I felt as if she resented the fact that she had to raise me even though she wasn't my mother. I think a part of her did, and in fact, I think a part of her still does, but I don't blame her for it. I would resent myself too. But we've both grown and I've grown to appreciate everything she's done for me and even though I can still tell that at times she doesn't trust me and she still looks at me the same way that she did when I was thirteen, I understand and I still love her. And I hope in the future, the new me, the responsible me, will overshadow the horrendous child I was to her in the past.

Then there is the second group of people who I can say that I love, but when I think about it, I don't really think I love them as much as I should. I love them because I feel as if I have to. I love them because I've told myself for so long that I love them. I mean sure, a part of me probably does love them honestly, but for the most part, I feel as if I love them because I have to. This part is made up of most of my family members. Some of them I probably love more honestly than others, like my father and my siblings, but I can't bring myself to love them entirely because they infuriate me. There's a barrier of understanding that I can't seem to overcome, no matter how much I try to empathize.

And in the last group lies one single person. One person in my family that I could never love. One person that I vehemently detest. I'm sure a few of you know who this person is and a few of you know why. Every day of my life I wish I could scream at the top of my lungs the wrongs he has committed, but I can't, because if I did then it would negatively impact everyone in my life and hurt the people that I actually do care about. So to keep them happy and to keep their lives intact, I try and bury my hate as far down as I can. Because I figure I can endure more suffering than they can; I know I can. Sometimes I wish he would just die, but even then I realize that his death would bring pain onto others.

But I think the part that hurts the most, is that some of the people I care about know why I hate him, but their resigned to keep silent because they want to keep the image of the perfect family. So I think they tell themselves that "Oh, Jea will be fine." or they tell me "Jea, just don't say anything, okay? If you say something, everything will be ruined." What am I supposed to say? Am I supposed to say no? Wouldn't that just make me selfish?

Would it be too selfish of me to ask for some recognition of the sacrifices I've made and am making? I just want a thank you. A thank you for the silence I have kept. Maybe it's because you haven't said anything that I resent you for it and can't bring myself to love you fully.

Far Far Away

I've always had this fantasy of going far away on a complete whim. You know, like just spontaneously pack up my bags and leave everything behind. It'd be an adventure. I'd go off to Europe or something. I wouldn't worry about school or bills or whatnot, I'd simply wander around for days, weeks, or months until I felt like it was time to go back. But I can't afford to be so carefree with my life. I have expectations to fulfill. Most, are not my own, I admit. They are the expectations my family and friends and even strangers have laid out for me. I'm supposed to graduate college with good grades. I'm supposed to get a good job. I'm supposed to get married, have kids, and then send my own kids to college. I'm supposed to be monetarily stable so that I can take care of my parents and brother. I'm supposed to do and be a lot of things. I don't mind some of them. I do want to be successful and I want to take care of my family, but sometimes I'm afraid that I'll never have the time to do the things I want. What if I never get to go to backpack through Europe? What if I never get to travel across Asia? I want to be more than what I am right now.

The Rate of Maturity

I've always believed that I matured faster than most of the people I know. Maybe it's because from a young age I was forced to think beyond myself and deal with certain things that most children do not have to go through. I think a part of the reason why I grew up so fast was because I also felt guilty. There was a certain stage in my life where I can fully admit that I was a horrid child and because of that, I felt as if I had to make up for it and be a responsible young adult. Guilt continues to fuel me at times. So when people tell me that at eighteen, I have yet to experience the world and don't know much about life, I tend to disagree. Not out loud, because that would be rude, but inside my head, I'm questioning what great worldly experience they have that allows them to tell me such things. Granted, I understand that they've had more work experience, love experience and such, but that doesn't mean they know more about life than I do. I'm sure I know more about some aspects of life than they do.

In any case, I'm just wondering when my fellow young adults will realize that the world goes beyond just themselves. There's more to life than trying to feel cool by underage drinking to impress boys and fellow shallow girlfriends. There's more to life than buying the latest handbag or camera and trying to find only the comfort in life. One day reality is going to hit them in the face and it won't be pretty. There's also a point in life where you have to stop depending on everyone around you. I'm not saying that you shouldn't ever depend on people, because I do think people need people, but in the case of parents, they're not always going to be there. So stop running to them every time you need money. Stop running to them every time you have the slightest problem and deal with it yourself. It's not that hard. Can't afford something? First of all, think about if you really need it. Most times than not, you probably don't. Second, instead of whining about not having the money and just waiting until your parents give you your allowance, why don't you work for it?

I'm just so sick of people acting like children when they should be adults. They're of age now. They're in college. Isn't this the time for independence? I'm just so sick of living amongst children.