YKnow what I mean

[I didn't write in response to a specific prompt] (Content warning: this blog is about an eating disorder. If you're not ready for something emotionally intense, don't read.)  “Why are you so short?" My extended family would probe. I hate that question. “What happened?”. My parents are on the shorter side, but they are both taller than me–and so are everyone else in our family, including my younger cousins. Everyone knew something must have happened. But no one, except me and my parents, knows what exactly happened in those haunting 10-12 months that (probably) led to my unusually short height. Even now, years after the “incident”, we avoid talking about it like the plague. It was mid-6th grade. I would call myself a little chubby but not in any way that would concern my health and make any weight-loss efforts necessary. But to that naive kid whose friends’ words probably had as much impact as those of a doctor, the comment “Why are you so fat?” had the weight of a dea...

What hobbies have been passed down from your family?  When I was six, I noticed my dad crouching over a patch of grass. Was he smoking? No, because he didn’t move away like he would when I approached him mid-smoke. I looked at his hand: a four-leaved clover. Peering at the green patch, I saw tons of clovers–most of them three-leaved–and realized he was searching for the special lucky charms. Before I knew it, I was squatting next to him, passionately partaking in the impromptu scavenger hunt. Soon after, it became a tradition of me and my dad to hunt for four-leaved clover (FLC) every weekend. Together, we ventured through every corner of the green space in our apartment complex like partners on a mission. I loved spending time with Dad. My entire life, his presence had meant stability and calm–he reassured me and stayed with me whenever I was terrified; he did everything patiently and methodically; he never scolded, but spoke from genuine love. Picking clovers next to him, I felt ...

 What object tells the story of your life?  In the first four years of my music life, I never stuck to an instrument and easily gave up when things got too difficult or when I suddenly lost interest. At age 7, I quit the piano, just as I started learning how to play octaves. Struggling to stretch my short fingers across the keyboard one day, I exploded with frustration and called it the end of my piano career. A year later, I quit the violin for a similar reason--as I complained to my parents, my shoulders hurt too much. As a kid, I seriously lacked grit and consistency. Most of my pursuits rose and fell in a cycle: at first, I would get extremely passionate and work in bursts of intense enthusiasm, but once that initial flame settled, I would move on to the next thing that captivated me. When I started my third instrument, cello, in 5th grade, I was on fire: I was in love with the deep, rich sound of the instrument and spent hours playing it every day, sometimes without break...

  Have you ever felt embarrassed by someone that you love? (adapted from prompt 1) (Psssst I would love feedback on (1) how to make this shorter, (2) making this more cohesive/centered around a certain theme or lesson, (3) ways I could further explore different perspectives/make this essay more comprehensive) Growing up, I often compared my mom to other moms and felt embarrassed by all the ways that she seemed to be “lacking”. When we lived in our apartment in Korea, I spent much of my time in my friend’s home directly above ours, partly to hang out with her but largely because her mom, Ms. Eun, was my tutor.  As a young girl just opening her eyes to aesthetics through seeing celebrities on TV and reading interior decor magazines, entering Ms. Eun’s home reminded me of what I admired about her. There was a certain decorativeness and formality to the manner in which she neatly organized the slippers in the entry-way to a sliding door that led to the living room, how her sharpl...

Have you ever felt embarrassed by the things that you used to like?  (For those reading this: I know this is super long; I'm working on making this shorter and would appreciate comments on that matter) I used to (and still do) love eating meat. As a child, I necessitated it so much that I literally wouldn’t eat anything unless there was meat on the table. When I was around six or seven, my parents, my aunt, my cousins, and I went to a bibimbap restaurant. Traditionally, bibimbap comes with veggies, rice, fried egg, and red chili paste. Unfortunately, the bulgogi bibimbap (which includes sweet marinated beef as an additional topping) was out of stock. I refused to order anything.  While everyone else was getting started on their steaming bowls, I was hungry, didn’t see meat anywhere, and was about to cry. Eventually, a streak of tears trickled down my face, and when someone called this out, I exploded into tears.  As usual, my aunt reassured me and called over the manager....

Although being aware of the history of those who came before you and the sacrifices that they made for their descendants can be empowering and inspiring, being expected to live up to these legacies can feel overwhelming and even suffocating to the younger generation, especially when the expectation is forced upon them. Sag Harbor shows a great example of how these expectations can have a toxic effect on the descendants of self-made pioneers.  Benji and Regi are surrounded by adults who expect them to always acknowledge their gratitude for their predecessors (i.e. Their settlers of Sag Harbor, their parents, and leaders of the Black Liberation movement). People tell them how privileged they are to be given what they have, which their parents had to work hard to earn as African Americans. Up to this point, it’s understandable why the adults are constantly reminding this lesson to Benji and Reggie: they want to encourage them to not take things for granted and work hard so that they c...

 In "January Man", Jason states the following as he tries to grapple with the changes happening in his family after his parents' divorce: “What’s left of Tom Yew’s Suzuki’s being picked apart to repair other Suzukis. The world won’t let things be. It’s always injecting endings into beginnings…The world never stops unmaking what the world never stops making” (285). Although this quote is originally meant to help process his parents' relationship and the family breaking apart, the idea of the world being a dynamic body of things constantly emerging and breaking apart rings true for many other aspects of this book.  One obvious example is the idea of departing from one place to arrive at another: Jason's farewell with Black Swan Green marks his beginning in a new community, like how Julia moving away from her family initiates her new journey at Edinburgh. The physical act of moving is similar to the encounter of a new challenge after overcoming another challenge, whi...