I don’t mean this in the long run

But right now, I kind of hate my family.  I kind of hate all Koreans for that matter.  The feeling will obviously eventually subside, and we’ll all find some sort of compromise to living again eventually, but at this very moment, I’m kind of pissed off at life, and I have only my family to thank for that.

Does this make me sound selfish?  Yeah sure, but I’m coming to the conclusion to a potential personal belief that everyone needs to have some selfish in them in order to prevent themselves from missing out on well, life.

During the tail end of my latest miserable visit up to Northern Virginia, the place where I grew up and now the place I dread going to more than jury duty or a workload of 380+ slide PowerPoints, the family was having another argument.  Typical Korean story bullshit, but then my mom pipes in that she now “gets” why the grandparents in Korean dramas are always pining for themselves to finally just die, so that they could alleviate the burden of their existence of their struggling children.

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There are times when I resent being Korean

Sometimes I wish my parents would go back to Korea, just so they could stop using their inability to have learned competent basic English as an excuse to be irresponsible and push the burden of their woes onto my sister and I. It sounds terrible, but I sometimes believe that if the monumental, albeit imaginary, language and cultural barrier didn’t stand in front of them, my parents might be able to take care of their own bullshit as opposed to heaping the responsibilities onto their children.

I understand the value of family and that we’re all supposed to be there for one another unconditionally, but in order for things to genuinely have any remote shot at success, all lines of communication must be open, and there has to be a mutual respect and acceptance that exists from all parties involved. I have no problem with helping my family or other people in general, because I like to imagine myself as a fairly decent person at the core, but it gets to a point where people that people who don’t help themselves are beyond any external help. That’s how I feel about my family sometimes, and it makes me feel genuinely lousy.

The story goes like this: Second-generation Koreans emigrate to the United States to do some sort of blue-collar work, whether it’s something agricultural or something more mundane like dry cleaning or operating a liquor store. I can’t say that I necessarily understand the rationale behind it, but often times the justification is “for the kids,” and often times “to have a better life.” The third generation of Koreans are essentially raised as Americans with as much Korean ideals as they are forcibly engrained with. In the perfect ending to this story, they become successful and make a boatload of money to where they can support their aging parents through the remainder of their lives as well as sustaining themselves and produce the next generation and sustain them too, with hopes that they will repeat the cycle, however theoretically from a higher starting point.

But the world ain’t perfect, and we live in reality. There aren’t nearly enough happy endings.

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A first time for everything

Last week, I had a general idea of a schedule in which I wanted to write what I wanted to write about SDCC, and when I wanted to have my Comic-Con photos all sorted, processed and ultimately uploaded.  Basically, I told myself that I wanted to have everything done in a week.  Because, I was going out of town during the weekend to gather another bobblehead as well as see a new baseball park, and then I would have more photos to sort and share, and something else to write about next week.

I made my trip out of town over the weekend, but apparently the rains that have plagued Georgia over the last fucking year two months decided to come along with me, and proceed to ruin the one thing I really wanted to accomplish.  Needless to say, it rained just enough for the Danville Braves to cancel the one game I had planned on going to see.  Naturally, the announcement came LITRALLY minutes before my brother and I pulled into the parking lot, not to mention that it had actually stopped raining when we entered Danville itself.  But all the prior rain had sufficiently soaked the outfield to unsafe playing conditions and for the D-Braves to call the game.

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SDCC: Friday and Saturday photos

Hopefully, it was worth the wait, but here’s the second batch of my Comic-Con photos, which encompasses most every picture I snapped on the Friday and Saturday of the convention.

After feeling like I wasn’t getting a whole lot of costume pictures due to the fact that either the quality wasn’t up to my expectations, or I simply couldn’t find any I wanted to photograph, I pretty much spent most of Friday and Saturday seeking out costumers, amidst trying to be creative and taking funny pictures of friends as well.

Admittedly, I felt a little weird putting watermarks on the photos of my friend Cliff in his Sterling Archer costume, as frankly I’ve never taken picture taking that seriously, nor do I think I’m particularly good at it to really warrant it. But I do believe in the ideas and the direction we went with the photos, and I figure if these shots gain any sort of notoriety, may as well try to segue them into credit nobody else can claim.

Anyway, the pictures from the rest of my Comic-Con trip, after the jump. 

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A catch-up post

Honestly, I can’t remember the last time I went an entire seven-day stretch where I didn’t at least post even the fluffiest of fluff on my brog.  It had to have been somewhere back in that one month in that one year where I only made eight posts in total.  But it’s not like it’s because I’ve hit writer’s block, or had nothing to talk about, or that the City of Atlanta hasn’t given me something to write about.  It’s hard to really say if I’ve even really been busy over the last week or so; now I don’t really want to write something for the sake of writing something, but the truth is, I stop and think about the last week or so, and I can’t really say that anything has really happened for me.

One of my cousins got married over the weekend, which was pretty much the brunt of the last few days, since I spent some time buying myself a nice new suit, and then there was the wedding affair itself, which was pretty much everything I thought it was going to be.  The ceremony was pleasant, and I’m legitimately happy for my cousin, but it was still kind of a bittersweet affair to me, because of some of the turmoil surrounding my immediate family, and what could possibly going on through my mom’s head throughout the whole time.

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Oh, just a veiled message hinting how I’m feeling today

Between kindergarten and the third grade, I apparently had a very poor attention span. I’m pretty sure that if I were a kid in today’s society, I’d have been diagnosed with ADHD, and be put on medication of some sort, but since I wasn’t, we’ll just say that I was a typical kid who erred on the side of hyperactive, and it reflected in my performance in school.

Anyway, the most frequent evaluative remarks I would get during those years of contemporary schooling were along the lines of “needs improvement with paying attention, listening to and following directions.” Such sentiments would reflect in my report cards where I would apparently have low marks in those exact behavioral categories, despite the fact that I was doing pretty well in the actual educational aspect of school. It got to a point where my mother engrained the fear of god into me that paying attention and listening to and following directions were the most important categories to excel at when considering the next report card.

But since effort is one thing, and actual results are a completely other thing, there was a report card where it was more of the same thing; poor marks in paying attention and listening to and following directions. My mom apparently hit a boiling point and beat the shit out of me.

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Lowered expectations

The impetus: State of Georgia’s HOPE scholarship AKA the free in-state school tuition available to children with a B average, has lowered the grant qualifications from a 3.0 B average to a 2.0 C average.

You know what I had coming to me when I brought home C’s?  An ass-whoopin.

Okay, maybe not a real ass-whoopin, but I certainly would have preferred an ass-whoopin if it meant I didn’t have to deal with the mind-fucking my mom would give me with her disappointed behavior and passive-aggressive self-loathing at raising such a mediocre child.  When your own mother doesn’t really want to talk to you because you brought home a C, it makes you feel a little bit like shit, and develop a complex for getting C’s, let alone anything worse.  C’s may as well have been F’s, because it really didn’t change the way my mom acted.

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