Cheesy Koreaboo Problem

I often ridicule Korean dramas that depict a couple still being in love despite being separated for years. Who the hell is still in love with a particular person from the past when they are already married to their respective partners?

Guess it is a shame to admit that now I know how that feels. That many times, feelings do not just disappear. They come and go, yes. But will you be able to love someone even when fate makes fun of you by drifting both of you apart? Apparently, you will.

It would be a great thing to rediscover love, really, if it was reciprocal. However, there was another possibility. Loving someone who does not deserve it--the most ironic love there is. 

When you are in such a situation, you often forget that you deserve to be loved as well; or at least your feelings should be appreciated. One can be trapped in a situation for years where they let themselves think that it was just the way. Many could not translate love properly, but they actually cared, right? And everything just snowballed into a huge pile of questions. Many would never really confront the other. We wanted to keep the other close, no matter the circumstances. Funny enough, these people end up suppressing their own feelings.

After all the years, many of us who suffered from a chronic unrequited love would think that we could truly let go one day. We bid our farewell many times and never really wanted to look back after crying for a few days to the point our eyes swelled. But when that particular person came to bid their own one night, asking why we disappeared, we would just let our guards down. Many of us would just pour all of our feelings out, only to receive some simple explanations.

I did not notice at that time, a very important remark from him. A remark that explained it all.

When I asked him for time to process things, he deliberately asked, 

"Oh, so now you're going to treat me the way I have treated you, huh? Being cold and distant?"

The foolish me quickly clarified and apologized. We talked for four hours that night, yet we never really found any resolution. It was another sweeping the dust under the rug. But now that I think of it turned out he was aware of things. He was aware that he was cold. He deliberately did that.

The moment I realized this, I finally was that our conversations were never conversations. They were merely interviews. A one-way update. Me asking, and him answering, mostly at times when I needed someone to talk to. I asked other friends about what they would do if a friend reached out. All of them said that they would at least ask back how the friend was. So it was not me being expectant, after all. It is common sense for friends to put in the effort.

If one could never return our feelings after all these years, yet they stayed, the last thing they could do was to be a good and caring friend. But if they failed to do even that last bit, perhaps it is time for us to ponder and reflect. Are we merely trophies?

I finally let go. I released myself from the leash that has kept me stay still all these years. I yearned for so much affectionate feedback I would never receive from him as he dwelled on his own misfortunes. And receive it I shall. The piled-up disappointment almost turned into resentment. Sadly, that moment never came. As quickly as I had fallen in love, I forgave.

That, apparently, became my greatest power.

Now my Korean drama list never looks better.

A Bit of an Update*

It is probable that no one will read this, but this is the only way to let someone know that I am in pain. I have humiliated myself by telling this to people, only to regret it.

I am aware that what I am about to say is very self-centered. You can even read how many Is that I have written so far. But I can't lie, really. I am selfish and I want to be loved and needed.

With all the adversity and change of plans this year, it was hard to really find my place in life. Knowing that I graduated not having a job, staying as a burden to my parents was the worst I could think of. I was showered with questions "Where do you work now?" "Do you have any career plans?" as if they had expected me to excel. I had too, actually--believing that I could make lemonade with any lemons life threw at me.

But I failed selections, I haven't heard anything from companies and firms I applied to. I truly had no idea how to survive in this environment. Guess this is the consequence of not being a planner, only sticking to one thing in mind.

I was confused and devastated. Still am. I tried to reassure myself that I deserve the break, I could let myself breathe for a while. That many faced similar things in this pandemic. That I might stand a chance. I took up courses and spent my time doing house chores. I got to pray more diligently as well.

But of course, I felt very much defeated. I realized how poor my skillsets were, that they were not selling enough. That I was not enough. No one really needed me as a person. No one found me useful.

I tried really, to redirect my energy and love to people I want to shower them with. This is something I am very good at; caring about other people. I asked them how they were, I spared my time whenever they needed me. It was sincere, really, because in this trying time, staying in touch is my best effort. Whenever they needed my help and I felt I could lend a hand, I would do that. I initiated to do it oftentimes because I knew how busy and overwhelmed they could be. I reassured myself that I still could do something.

In return, I didn't ask for much. I just thought that it would be nice to be appreciated. It would be nice if someone could at least ask how I was. No one has to be there for me all the time, no one has to thank me. Just remind me that I meant something.

Nevertheless, I am trying. I am trying to be alive each day, to stay functional, to stay useful. I promise you I will not stop trying. I might cry myself to sleep, or find it difficult to breathe. But I'll stick around.

I'll try to write something nice later. Perhaps a poem or prose.

Until then.

-A.G.

*perhaps a cry for help.

I Don't Like June

When you google what the best months of the year are, many will include June on the top of their lists. I can see why it appears so.

Junes are times for breaks. Moments where most can finally take a breather and truly enjoy life for a bit. Summer breaks are relatively the longest, I suppose? At least that is how it is where I live.

Don't forget the fact that this Gemini-Cancer season, many notable leaders were born (though they appear to be more on the Gemini sides). Come to think of it, Geminis are indeed cheerful, communicative, and charming. They know how to drive things the way they aspire them to be; and this is not always a negative thing.

But let's just skip the horoscopes and signs and whatnot. We need to talk about June itself. June can be said the checkpoint of a year. June tells you that you're half-way finishing the year. The perfect time for people to really reflect on how they have spent the last six months of the year and decide if they have to restrategize so all the remaining times won't turn to waste.

June is also supposed to be the perfect time to get hitched. Many weddings happen in June. Perhaps it's due to the perfect weather. Or back to the very first argument, it's where people are most vacant from their mundane work.

I used to think that I love June. Would not that be obvious, considering I was a part of the June community?

I share birthdays with these ((awesome)) people, like Lana Del Rey (before she made that controversial ignorant posts), Soekarno (before he turned into a narcissist), Benazir Bhutto (before she got killed), Jokowi (before he got terribly hated on). I mean, what could possibly go wrong with June?

Surprise, surprise. As I am writing this, I am laying on my bed, with the laptop literally on top of my lap (yes, just one lap while the other one established a strong footing). My head and neck hurt from the weird and awful position of the pillow (that I cannot bother to fix), and I have been replaying the same playlist three times now--I am specifically listening to Renee Olstead's version of Through The Fire. I would have to be honest that I believe her version is a lot better than Chaka Khan's. It sounds more intimate to me--wait, nevermind. The song has now changed into SALES' Chinese New Year.

Wait, where was I? Ah, right. Surprise, surprise. I am now writing on how much I loathe this month.

Not sure how it all started, but I remember always feeling rather down and odd on my birthdays. Not all, of course, I remember moments when I got to celebrate with my family. Mom and Dad gave me cool CDs about the story of Muslim prophets (those were good, one of the earlier clay movies back in the days that I recollected). Or the first time (and the only time so far) I got to celebrate it with a boyfriend (who got me my first rose). Or when my crush at the time got me my first bouquet (while being aware that I liked him) along with the troubles we both had caused for the delivery guy.

Okay, some of them were actually great.

But nevertheless, I remember that one birthday when friends I considered closest didn't show up at all despite Mom's effort to cook two big batches of pasta, just because I had my period and we had to cancel the waterpark birthday celebration. Or when a similar event occurred in my high school time. Or times when I woke up sick after the whole staycation fiasco. Not many birthdays ago, I had to go through depression due to a dysfunctional team for a competition I barely understood (with only one person to hold on to, out of four other people in the team), and ended up losing after all. Many other things that happened in June, though not particularly on my birthday, have left me with a distaste for it.

I am aware that there is this pattern, that I am most bitter in particular months, including--and especially--June. Some of my most intense nights crying happened in June. June usually ends on a sour note for me.

As always, I try to analyze why. This overthinking trait of mine, I guess. I just want to make logic of things that have happened to me. Why do I hate June? Why can't I love and celebrate this moment as I should have?

The only explanation that came up to me was that I have always had too many expectations in June. I have been hopeful that I would have a blast on my birthday, that things I want to achieve--my goals, aspirations, plans--all could be realized by this time of year. I expect people dear to me can be there for me. I expect to do something somewhere the way I want it to for it. And all these expectations arise since I kind of have more time to do so.

I have also considered my lack of gratitude for it. I, perhaps, have wished too much that I ignore all the blessings I have in front of me, within my hands and reach, that may be more than I initially deserved. I overlook good things that have happened to me--my health, a complete set of family, and other socio-economic privileges.

However, I could not deny the pain my own thoughts have brought me over the past few years. Sometimes I don't exactly know what I want and it also frustrates me as much. I have always been scared of losing. Losing people, losing some kind of momentum, and all other good things. I sincerely want to feel happiest, but the series of events that led me to it, combined with my bitter soul have corrupted June in many possible ways.

I don't think this year will bring much difference. I had set many goals to fulfill this year. Big things I never expected to be within my reach. I had carefully planned it all. But then the pandemic took most away, but I prevailed. I tried to look for the silver linings and just moved on with life. I did well so far, at least until May ended.

June came along and I am now faced with hurdles of insecurities and (almost) regrets. I haven't touched my thesis again for two days now, though I plan to finish before my birthday. My mind is occupied by things that are supposed to be complementary, and I fear that Mom's concerns will come true. I have been stressed out of the outcome of my projects--which don't look that good at the moment--where they involve quite substantial people I don't want to lose trust from.

I have been getting back those old stomach cramps I would suffer from every time I stress out. I remember that even teachers in middle school thought I was making my pain up. But I really did have those cramps. Followed along by skin rashes as always. I honestly wish that the next few weeks could just be skipped, or I could have this week-long hibernation at least until my birthday ends.

Hell, I have planned to bake my own cake. I bought the equipment. I wanted to feel happy and content. But I start to doubt that I could even breathe on my birthday. I even wish that it would not be my birthday. I have been crying too tonight, but I am sad.

I just wanted to point out that I am trying to be grateful, to always stay happy, to always count my blessings. I am trying to look past my expectations. I am trying--and that's the bottom line, that's what is important. But for now, at least tonight, I decided that I don't like June. Maybe I'll change my mind--as I am a Gemini with heavy Cancer traits after all. But hey, I don't have to like it tonight.

Now as Renee Olstead's render is back on playing, I have finally come to a full circle. I honestly just wanted to write it to channel all the fidgets I have. It kinda works, actually. My heart rate has slowed down. I can feel the blood rushing back to my feet. I think I'll cry a bit more just to make sure.

I'll try to sleep on my despise of you, June. Don't worry.

Good night, everyone, except for June!

-A.G.

27 Steps of May: An Analysis

Hi everyone, this was supposed to be posted last year, but I did not make time to finish this. So here is the post, I hope this is still relevant and enjoyable to read!

---

It's May already. ALREADY?

I don't think the sixth term is actually healthy for my mind, body, and soul. I've been sleep deprived and micro sleeping for the past three months. The campus has been a second home, and I barely could see my family. The third-year students are assigned to finish three mock trials in one go, and you to finish them all properly seemed beyond impossible. But we managed to finish two at this point, and next week we would perform our last mock trial on private law. You might find this surprising, but time turned out to fly so quickly!

Anyways, I found the sixth term to be an anomaly. With all the hectic schedule, I was rather surprised with my capability of finding time to give myself a breather before moving on to another assignment once an assignment is over. I managed to get time to watch several movies I had been dying to see ever since their trailers were released. In fact, I have been hanging out with friends (and very, very old friends) and visiting places way more frequently than before. All with a more composed feeling and more at ease. Perhaps it is thanks to my very first thought into the term; you know what, just relax and this term will pass before you know it. This thought was also a lesson I got from a Ted Talk I saw during last term's break. The speaker talked about how time would expand itself from us; we don't have to worry about time, because as long as we do want to do it, there will ALWAYS be time.

I had prepared a day each week to watch these movies, as they appeared to be screened almost at the same time. This also meant saving enough money to do so. Luckily enough, I had been saving quite the amount of money from my previous monthly allowances. So I went to the movies.

This movie is no exception in my must-watch list.

As someone who has been voicing against sexual and gender violence in a while (I would also like to thank my peers and seniors on campus for educating me and making me learn about gender-based violence), I was excited and anxious at the same time to see 27 Steps of May. I felt grateful that someone finally talked about it on the big screens, but I definitely felt unprepared to witness such pain and despair displayed by the actress. I decided to watch this by myself, as I did not feel like having any partner to share the experience with; you know, that classic problem as a cinema enthusiast when they should watch a movie with a friend that basically did not share that same cinematic etiquette.

Warning: The remaining of this post will contain SPOILERS.

The dialogs in the movies were rather minimum, they definitely stressed on the acting. I could feel the numbness of the lead actress, as she played the role of someone who had been raped and remained traumatized. She always stayed within her room, never dared to get out. In addition to her being mute, she also maintained the exact same activities daily until she discovered a hole in her wall. The wall turned out to separate two houses, so she could peek into the hole and watch her neighbor--who happened to be a magician--prepare his tricks for his performances.

They developed a weird relationship, where the magician tried to understand her and heal her from her trauma--though he had no idea what the trauma was--while she got excited about her new friend she started to distort her usual routine, making her father worried but grateful at the same time. She seemed to progress each day.

The progress suddenly spiraled down when the neighbor did something which triggered her trauma and she went on to break down for a couple of days. She did not only break herself but also her father. The climax of the movie occurred when she tried to relive her traumatizing event in front of the magician. Not long after, she finally came back to her senses and went out of her room, finally freed.

It was one of the most intense movies I have watched in 2019. I caught myself unable to breathe at some parts of the movie. The acting was very powerful and I could not comprehend how detailed the portrayal of May's struggle to get out of her haunting past was.

I believe that most of the audience was expecting a romantic experience between May and the magician, hoping that the magician can heal her. But I believe that the magician was merely a symbol of something. A struggle within May to escape her trauma. She used to be a cheerful person before she had been raped, but then she was confined deep inside her own self. The magician was an embodiment of her trying to embrace what had happened and to make herself believe that it was nobody's fault but the perpetrators. She understood later on that she could truly live again.

Not only her struggle, but the magician also symbolized the importance of delicate assistance and care for sexual violence survivors. Sexual violence such as rape created pain beyond comprehension. Senses and mind become so numb you will not realize you are alive--in fact, you live but not alive. The colors were ripped off your life, you will no longer remember about happy moments--you just simply stop recording and appreciating your life and the memories it has created. Survivors need assistance from those who are extremely patient because no matter what, healing takes a very long time.

I am very grateful that they decided to make a movie about sexual violence. It is rarely spoken of in society and people love to blame things on the victims, while the truth is they got raped merely by existing, breathing, and minding their own business. The trauma felt so real; such powerful acting by the actors.

Kudos to everyone involved in the making of this film. I felt very sad to know that it got removed from the theaters so quickly due to the lack of enthusiasm, but nevertheless, I felt grateful to ever watch it before it was entirely stripped of the movies.

Feel free to discuss about this movie in the comment section below!

- Abigail Gee

Days at the Hospital

Friday, February 22, 2019.

I just woke up from an awful sleep - I did not sleep in a proper pose and it made my back and head hurt so much. Reaching for my handphone, I realized that I had not charged my phone last night. The worst part was I had not set the phone on speaker. It was already bright outside, and I cursed myself for not waking up earlier. The phone turned bright once again while things turned to horror for me.

Missed call from Mama: 14.

I mean, missing a call from your Mom is already scary, let alone 14?!

But then I tried to assert myself. I don't think that this is a regular series of phone calls Mom always did whenever I skipped the morning prayer.

I tried to dial her number back, and the call went through after a few rings, "Hi. Where are you? Why didn't you pick up the call?" Mom's voice sounded a bit worried and tired all mixed up. "Sorry, Mom, I had put my phone in silent and overslept. What happened?"

"Dad got admitted to the hospital this morning."

My eyes widened and I could not process anything. I asked Mom why, and she only told me he was now stable and better. Out of nowhere, I told her that I'd be there after class. But after putting much thought about it (as I have always been very indecisive), I decided to go to the hospital. Upon arriving at the hospital, I realized I didn't even know where my dad was. I tried contacting Mom, but she didn't reply to me. She had only told me that they were on the second floor. I approached the reception desk and mentioned my dad's name. Not long after that, I saw my mom emerging from the intensive care unit. I thanked the nurse and hurriedly ran toward my mom. She looked awful and lacking sleep. I asked her how Dad was and she just told me to go to his room myself.

He was awake, but kind of spacing out. He told me he had a massive headache and he felt utterly dizzy. He felt pain around his epigastrium and so they went to the hospital. His own prognosis to his case was acute gastritis, but the doctors assumed the possibility of a heart attack. But the result wasn't out yet and we could only hope for the best. A few hours later, late at night, Dad got transferred to another hospital. 

As Mom continued lacking sleep, I went there in the morning to bring my Mom some food, fresh coffee, and clean clothes and proceeded to go to my TOEFL test center; the test had been arranged months before and I had to go. But, really, I had no idea how I managed to get through it all with all the things going on in my head.

During the next few days, our relatives came to visit my Dad and brought us food, comforting us, and prayed for Dad with us. I had to go back and forth to the hospital so I could attend classes and accompanied him afterward, excusing myself from hectic group assignments that I should be doing the whole term. My friends were understanding and some even gave me cheer-up snacks.

The days seemed so long and draining all the life out of me with all the back and forth 30km trip from the campus to the hospital, but I was grateful to be of help to Mom and Dad. That was the first time I saw my Dad looking genuinely withered and I couldn't help myself being teary-eyed all the time. Mom was the heroine, though. She never once complained despite being a zombie lacking rest and just continued to accompany Dad. We were joined by my brother later when he got his days off the dorm. He was so shocked to hear this, as we agreed not to tell him until his arrival.

My Dad was placed in the ICU and since he was a commissioned officer in the army, we got our own room to rest. Behind the rooms, there was a praying room. I went there when it was time to pray, and honestly, it was the hardest thing to do since I had to go through a long corridor. This was specifically hard for me since there were many families sleeping in that corridor; on the floor. Some had prepared blankets and pillows. Nights were the worst. To know that they did not have rooms like me to rest while having the same worries as I did felt heartbreaking. I saw them comforting each other having to sleep on benches while it was very cold and unpleasant.

If anyone asked me what was the place where people prayed sincerely the most, I would go with the hospital. After all, many men God during their desperate time, and to whom else would they seek comfort other than Him? Even I was like that; I prayed so much more than I had had in a very long time.

Eventually, my Dad got his treatment and recovered. It was not that long for him to finally get back behind the driving wheel. He is a stubborn person, after all. He got discarded by the hospital, but having a heart attack once means consuming medicine for the rest of his life. He is now in better shape and still dances to tease my mom.

I realized so many things during the event. I realized how lucky and privileged I was, to be healthy and to receive so many facilities in life. Health itself is very expensive and valuable. But most importantly, I found out how I had been so ignorant about my parents. I had forgotten that they also got older and would need me eventually. This turnout event at the beginning of 2019 had led me to a stronger bond with my family throughout the year, reshaping my priorities and perspectives about life--that achievements in life are not just to reach your own dream career or to have good grades, but to cherish those you love. Even now, I think that is the most rewarding thing in life.

I know it is 2020 already and I was way behind the time to tell the story. But really, 2019 had been so kind to me with all its blessings and lessons it had not crossed my mind to do so. I also realized that I only posted one blog throughout the year, but I think I will start writing more soon.

I hope everyone is healthy and showered with love. If you do feel that way, please remember that you should cherish and be grateful for all that.

-Abigail Gee