Accustomed pain, I never gets used to it.

Monthly cycle, constantly growing pain in my body, nothing is new, I guess this is what Nature Mother commands me to suffer. Being a girl, growing up a woman, experienced the physical pain of delivery. In this body, I once bore a child for nine month, now she is nearly five years old. In this body, being five foot tall, one hundred pound weight, considerably tiny figure, I'm used to feel the pain. Someone tole me once pain is part of our life, so there is no use to resist. I never agreed to this statement. Acceptance was always hard thing to do for me.

   What we see is what we know, or we choose to see what we want to see. These are never-ending, looping questions, it doesn't seem to show a clear explanation any sooner.

   Circling around the northern part of city of Chicago, I found myself at the intersection of Lawrence and Pulaski. In a cafe, in the corner I finally can breathe. Asian, Hispanic, Middle Eastern, and Indian, I hear their chatting. No matter what I found a place finally I could sit, think and write, that's all I needed. Once in a while I'm coated with indescribable heaviness on my shoulder. Not before long, I'm immobilized. The echoes, the voices, the images drag me into a deep down hole. It's hard to change my mind. Their power, these invisible force, it's hard to describe. They drive me here and there, and I have to fight against them, I need to function my life, I have responsibilities, no one will live my life except myself.

   It's painful. Sometimes my memories cause me more pain than my menstrual cycle. They formed me who I am, and I'm constantly affected by it no matter how far I settle down, no matter how hard I try to escape. My memories are who I am.

Show-window

One step, two step, walking on Roscoe st., my footsteps aren't so cheerful. I turned my head and paused walking, gazed the reflection on show-window.

Is this me? Do I look like this? Am I happy the way I am? Why do I look so concerned? Why do I carry so much burden? Why can't I be like anybody else, shrugging their shoulders, acting cool, speaking out loud 'whatever'?

Whatever.. Whatever.. Whatever.. I pretend, but it doesn't make feel any better. In fact, it makes it worse. It doesn't solve any problem, any concern. I can't just be cool with everything. Maybe I tackle too many things, maybe I take things way too seriously. Will I ever rest my mind?

Official Invitation of Criticism

   I think this way, I dress up this way, I talk this way and I live my life this way. What do you know about me anyway? The way you see me doesn't mean that's the truth of me. What you see is just a little particle of my whole universe. The sarcastic attitude and your twisted judgement only makes me laugh.

   How funny! But I still write about who I am. I keep inviting people to criticize me. I write a non-fiction, I write a diary on my blog, my writing is full of my own experience, the opinion and my immature understanding. I once encountered the person laughed straight at my face, "so, you are writing a memoir and your are only 30? You are a baby!"

   First I was offended, but then I could use this anger to good direction of my writing. It might sound like the counter-attack in different way, but he obviously didn't understand how this writing was important to me. If I get the second chance to talk to him, I know what I would do. I will show this mysterious smile and answer back, "every experiences count, you will see."

   Back to my sanity, I start to think.  I ask numerous questions to myself. Is this the right way to write a story? Just to prove someone else who made a sarcastic comment? Should I write a story to target a single person? or a group of haters? Then, where is the dignity on my doing? How much am I willing to take it? How much am I confident to stand against them? How strong am I? That will be the core question I need to ask to myself. Confidence will be the answer.

Janus's face

   Didn't I watch enough people's arrogance, and their hypocrisy? Didn't I hear enough their brutality? Their two side faces often make me sick, and leaves me incurable bitterness. When did I start to observe their  Janus's face? Their exuberant greetings and lively conversations, their hurtful words and gossips behind the back; are these something new? I don't think so. Such things are universal, and they grow up with us either we like it or not. Yes, I changed the first pronoun from "they" to "we", which indicates I'm also one of them. After all, I'm living in this world and I see things certain way I want to see, I reflect things through my own eyes. Sometimes my own criticism about others make me sick too. I feel disgusted myself.

   I dance with them, I sing with them, and I confuse myself of being the worst Janus in the world. Scared, stunned, I stop dancing and singing. I step back and retreat from them. I sit in the corner and observe them. I don't want to be like them. I want to find the truth in myself, either I like it or not. There must be something doesn't change in this world. What would that be?

    

Mom's diary - 4.18.2012

   This is my first diary of the year 2012. And it's mid-April. What happened until now? It's hard to summarize it, too many to count, or too petty to write. Don't get me wrong though. I've been writing in different way, but not to the point to write a diary as I used to do, to meditate our issues, to search for the healthy outlet. Writing a diary here was always the good way to see the bigger pictures.

   Once in a while you make me write in a deep searching mode. I'm a thinker most of time, but once in a while I need to write about things because I can't hold the things in my brain any more. Sometimes our issues consume my whole energy, I just can't function my life. It seems to me all my senses come to the full stop. It doesn't take me too long to sit in front of the computer and log in my blog and type whatever it comes to in my mind. In here I can visualize the problems and seek the solutions. Sure, life is full of uncertainties and negatives, but that doesn't mean I need to settle down on this shaky ground forever and be helpless. When no one seems to help my problem, I have to help myself to stand on the ground, or jump off the ground, or dance on the shaky movements. It's my choice and this is what I'm going to do.

   I have heard these sentences numerous times in last few weeks before drop-off, after pick-up and in the school playground.
   "SouLynn wasn't nice to me" one of your class friend came to me with the angry face.
   "SouLynn said she doesn't want to be my friend!" the other came to me with the teary eyes.
   I also got the complaints from a mom of your morning class. She said you were arguing with her daughter and you fought with the raging voices, "stupid!" 

   I hoped you understood from my countless lectures, "SouLynn, you shouldn't hurt other's feeling that way. How would you feel if some of your friend tells you you aren't her friend any more. Your words can hurt really. Think about how your friends would feel when you say such things," always I took a deep breath to explain the situation. Apparently it didn't go through your ears.

   Yesterday, I was a little late for picking you up after your class. On my way up to your classroom, one of your friend shouted to make sure every parents could listen, "SouLynn kicked ***'s face in the garden time." I couldn't believe you would do such things. "Was it an accident,?" I asked her on her eye level. She answered you did on purpose. In such a hurry, few seconds of getting up to the classroom, my head started to spin, swirl with so many questions, what? why? how? what happened exactly? It was the moment when I saw the boy's one side of cheek turned red and his mom coming out from the classroom. She stared at me in a way what a normal mom would do in this situation. She didn't say a word but I could feel the sharpness on her eyes.

   Feeling puzzled, feeling mortified, I asked the teacher what had happened in the garden time. You two were playing like regularly and you acting a princess who was locked in the castle, and this boy acting a scary dragon. Knowing you I could picture how intense you would play the role. After the incident you were silent for a moment, with your teacher's intervention you finally spoke to your friend that you were sorry. Over my shock your teacher also mentioned your bossing behavior to certain friends during the class. I really hoped you getting into the gifted school for kindergarten had nothing to do with it. At the end of short conversations with your teacher I was defeated. I was knocked down. Game over! Once again I was labeled to a bad parent who didn't raise a child in a right way. 

   I couldn't look at other moms' face, to tell you the truth. I knew what they would think, if I didn't know exactly what they would think, I had the close idea somehow. You being in a car seat, while I was out of the car once I parked in the parking lot, I needed to get some fresh air. The cooling air in the late afternoon on mid April calmed me down.

   I need to focus. I just can't be upset and disappointed. I need to work through this. She doesn't listen to me, I've been telling her ear off, maybe her ears got blocked my countless nagging? Is she already trained to the selective listening? What should I do? Why can't she give me a break? Why can't she be like other kids? Why is it so hard to teach being nice? What's wrong with her? Or is it my fault? Did I do something wrong? Am I raising a spoiled brat and a bully in the school? Is my parenting wrong? 

   The unpleasant tears welled up around my eyes. I hated for crying for these things. I convinced myself I was doing my best, but once in a while the feedback from outside wasn't what I expected to get.

   Your dad was worried too, but he had a different point of view. I talked to my close friend, and she gave me the fresh perspectives. The more I thought thoroughly my emotion level found a steady place. I wasn't embarrassed or mortified any more. The bottom line of all I still was trying to figure out what the problem was, and willing to help you to find the healthy way out. The fact is you are 4 years old, and you need a loving guidance to make it things right what you have done wrongly. I'm your mom and you are born through my own flesh and blood, if you need to grow up to a nice person I need to adjust my discipline method toward you.

   Your dad and I told you this has gone way too serious, and we announced you democratic way, "there won't be any playground time after school, no more playdates for a while. You can't have the pink pouffy princess dress until you prove you deserve it. You need to write a letter to your friend for apology." You seemed to agree and understand the situation. No fuss, no whining, no crying, you showed us such a mature reaction, which I thought of it in positive way. That signified me you were ready to listen.

   Today, we went to the library to find the books about misbehavior during the class and what the consequences were. We also read Feet Are Not for Kicking. I checked out a book, Smart Love -The Compassionate Alternative to Discipline That Will Make You a Better Parent And Your Child a Better Person, by Martha Heineman Pieper, Ph.D. and William J. Pieper, M.D.
   I really wish this works. I'm not going to show the weakness as a parent. I'll show that I'm doing my best even the stake is low, I'm still trying to work it through. Because you are my daughter and I love you.
    

Words, its lightness and its heaviness

   People say the words all the time. I listen to them all the time. People with more words with exaggerated expressions get more attentions. I guess getting attention is better form than being ignored. What a pity! What an unfortunate!
I've been wondering why I am unconsciously depended on others' reactions most of the time. Even if I try to convince myself that other's opinions are not worth considering, I still hear their echoes. Those unwelcome voices, their invisible existence occupies my mind, drains my energy.

   The complexity of the life, yet I'm searching for the simplicity of it.
   The invisibility of the words, yet I'm getting hurt by its enormous power.
   What's the truth? What's behind the curtain? What lies underneath the surface?
 
   Easy to make comments, easy to spit them out, easy to judge by the appearance, so easy to criticize on everybody, on everything. Getting tired of listening fluttering comments, there isn't any core, any axis. If the wind blows from the west, they will fly to the east, if the thunder booms in the air, they will disappear as if it never existed. The lightness of being, the fickleness of its commitment, the shallowness, the brutality, the immorality, its inhumane character sickens me.

   The faceless being, the evil voices with greed and ugly jealousy, they only leave me with indescribable bitterness and hatred for the whole world.

   But I also know the genuine quality and the true beauty needs to come out from the opposite disposition. The harder the situation it is, the stronger oppression I've got, I become invincible. Freedom isn't free, I need to fight for it. Nothing comes easily, but if it is easy, would that be the same worth?

   The strength and the weakness, I need to access.
   The reality and the dream, I need to balance.
   What to listen, what to ignore, I need to put the priority.
   Longing for the truth, searching for the eternity,
   No pain, no gain. Perhaps that's the truth.

Too many thoughts..

Too many thoughts in my brain,
too many words in the book,
very little time for recording.

Frustration is no use.
Memorization is only alternative.
How good, how far, how much?

Questions never ends,
Perhaps that's my life source to keep moving on.

I have a strong vision,
That will lead me where I truly belong,
As it always has been, it will be once again.