My American Dream

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I’m not opposed to people who post political things. And I’m not opposed to people who voted for Trump. I am a strong believer in everyone having their own opinions and I’m not going to tell you they’re right or wrong. But I don’t want to see your open Trump support on my facebook feed. I don’t want to see comments like, “Build the Wall!” because you don’t understand what that phrase really means.
95% of my facebook friends are White Americans. 95% of my facebook friends have absolutely no idea what it is like to be descriminated against. They have no idea what its like to wake up every morning and not know what someone is going to say to you today. Half the time I laugh it off, because whats the point in making a big deal? But I guess I’m finally making a big deal, and I’ve been thinking about this for a while now.
Out of like 30 dayshift staff on my unit, there are 3 who aren’t White Americans, including me.
Whenever I work with the man, patients are constantly commenting on how we would be a cute couple. When I work with the woman, patients are constantly asking if she is my mother, we look so much alike. We aren’t even from the same countries. I laugh it off, because working in my unit begs a strong allowance for stupidity. But 90% of my coworkers won’t ever have to experience that.
The majority of the people in my life will never understand what it’s like to wake up and immediately have people treat you differently because you’re skin isn’t white. To have people offhandedly tell you that your English is really good. To have someone start a sentence off with, “I’m not trying to sound racist, but…” To have someone actually recognize that you are Korean and then tell you that they’re the worst race ever. To have someone spit the word “Gook” at you in the middle of a crowded room. To ask you if the Sweet and Sour Chicken they had for lunch is just as shitty where you come from too. “Where you come from.” The m
ajority of my friends will never have the phrase flung at them with such distain. I met a man recently. He was a law clerk in Forida, but packed up and moved here. He wanted to open a restaurant, so he did. A small hole in the wall with one table. He was telling us how just the day before a man was walking down the street and saw him. The man yelled at him to pack his things and go back to where he came from.
America used to be a country that the rest of the world looked at as a land of Hope and Opportunity. It promised people the chance at a better future. And in essence, I, myself, came to America for the chance of a better future. For Hope and Opportunity.
What people don’t realize is, even if I went back to Korea, I would never be fully assimilated and treated as a Korean, despite being born there. For 3 decades I have been an American, and I will always be an American. But I clearly will never be fully treated as an American. So where are people like me supposed to feel at home, if even a country built on immigration and the American Dream, can’t fully accept us? I guess all men AREN’T created equal, with the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. Isn’t THAT what “Make America Great Again,” should REALLY be about?

My Culinary Tour of Africa

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I decided to set myself the challenge of a Culinary Tour of Africa. I had 6 dinner recipes, and 2 desserts to cook.

West Africa: African Peanut Stew

West Africa: Jollof Rice (and some Onion and Curry powder rubbed Drumsticks)

South Africa: Peri Peri Chicken (and leftover Jollof Rice)

East Africa: Kuku Paka, and Pilau (am attempt at Pilau…)

North Africa: Lamb Meatballs and Herb Couscous

North Africa: Shakshuka

Dessert! Melktert

Dessert! Malva Pudding

Results:

It was a fun experience. It was surprising to discover how much the country differs culinarily by region.

I attempted a few things for the first time:

First time Spatchcocking a bird (Cornish Hen)

First time making Meatballs.

And I discovered a few things about myself, such as: Owning a fancy expensive rice cooker has made me weak. I no longer seem able to cook rice on the stovetop. Unless I’m making rosotto. As you can see, both my African rice dishes turned to African Risotto of sorts..

All together, it was a lot of work and a lot of time. But it was worth it. I believe that food is the doorway to beginning to understand other cultures. Despite its nuances and differences, food is universal. And this was a fun way to do a little traveling myself. (I also watched BBC’s Africa thru all this.)

My Seven Dinner Challenge

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Living by myself, I admit I don’t always take the best care of myself. In an effort to save some money and be a little more adult, I challenged myself to cook 7 dinners in 7 days. (Might seem kind of easy, but this is a girl who will opt for icecream for dinner when she is too tired to cook… which is more often than not…)

Night 1: Chicken Parmigiana with homemade Arribiata Sauce..

Night 2: Sausage, Kale, and Green Bean soup, Thickened with Pureed Poatatoes and Heavy Cream. And a piece of Toast..

Night 3: I cheated. I added the leftover Arribiata Sauce to the leftover soup..

Night 4: Shrimp and Arugula Pasta with Lemon, Garlic, and Parm. And Thyme and Red Pep Flakes..

Night 5: Lemon Garlic and Herb Cornish Hen, Wild Rice with Cranberries and Walnuts stuffed Acorn Squash, and Garlic and Shallot Sauteed Green Beans

Night 6: Pumpkin Risotto with Bacon, and the other half of the Cornish Hen..

Night 7: Chicken and Wild Rice Soup, with Garlic Green Beans, some leftover Squash pureed, and Broth made from the bones of my enemies… I mean from my Cornish Hen carcasses…

The lesson to be learned here is this: Home cooking is probably worse than just going out to eat. It is totally just as expensive, takes a lot of work, and you still have to wash the dishes after!… (and that its hard to get a sexy picture of a bowl of soup…) But I sure do love to cook, and it was kind of fun to rise to the challenge. Plus I got to eat a lot of awesome food 🙂

Autumn

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I love the Autumn best. The way we cannot keep it, cannot hold it. Like flame. Ever flickering and changing. I love the impermanence. The falling of the leaves, to dance along the sidewalks, finally free. One final dance as they die. I love the inevitability. You cannot stop the Autumn from happening. The colours from changing. The trees from dying. You cannot stop the air from growing cold and dark. But like a candle in the night, the trees burn bright. Its okay, all things come to an end. My leaves are gone, but they will blanket the earth as the Winter comes. And the sun will keep shining. And when the Winter is done, I will rise like the Phoenix and live again..

Of Cucumbers and Tomatoes..

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So I bought a Cucumber and some Tomatoes to make some under eye cream. (Sometimes I make my own lotions and things.)

(I know, it looks delicious… My Eye Cream:
Coconut and Almond oil. Cucumber, Tomato, and Potato juice. Green tea, Mint, and Chamomile. A smidge of Coffee.

If nothing else… it smells like a nice day at the Spa.)

The problem is, I only needed a quarter of the Cucumber and maybe 5 Cherry Tomatoes. And I honestly don’t really like Cucumbers or Tomatoes…

Thus begins the effort of choking them down:

Day 1:

Made this huge Greekish Pasta.

Day 2:

Salmon with Tzatziki Sauce and leftover Greekish Pasta Salad.

Day 3:

Lemon and Yoghurt Marinated Chicken Gyros (no tomatoes) and with more Greekish Pasta Salad..

Day 4:

Fresh Tomato Sauce.

For Meatball Subs with leftover Pita Bread.

So it took a while, but I managed to utilize the leftover Cucumber and Tomatoes in a delicious way.

It was kind of an endeavor cuz I had too much Pasta Salad, then I had too much Tzatziki Sauce, then I had too much Pita… but I eventually managed. 😁

Moral? Just buy under eye cream from the store!

Invisible

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The day is over. You go home to your silent house. You set your phone down. You step into the shower. The water is hot, but you don’t care. It rolls down your skin like white hot fingers trying to fillet you. You feel the water free your stray hairs. You feel them glide down your body with the water, down your abdomen and back, down your legs, to get caught in your toes, and then lost down the drain and to the world beyond. You stand there while the water grows cold, your skin gets waxy, and your fingers turn to raisins. Beads of water drip off your eyelashes and nose..
What if you just stayed there forever?
Would anybody notice?
Only your coworkers. When you failed to show up for work the next morning. “Does anyone have her number?” the Charge Nurse would ask, and maybe a couple people could say yes. “Could one of you try to get ahold of her?” And a text message will go out, something light hearted like, “Hey, where are you?” or, “You’re late for work!” And then the wait. And the concern starts, because the staffing numbers are off. And then the anger starts, because you ‘no call, no showed’ and now they’re short staffed. And when morning report is over, they try to call you. But no one answers. And then the Charge Nurse will call Staffing, or the House Supervisor, “we had a no call, no show. We’re short.” And the House Supervisor will say they will see what they can do and get back to her. In the mean time everyone goes to work as usual.. Minus one body..
But you don’t. You turn off the water after 15 minutes. You stand in front of the mirror, but see nothing. The steam obscures the image and you can’t be sure you are even standing there. The house is silent. Nobody came knocking. Your cats look at you like they just saw you 15 minutes ago. Your phone shows no messages, no calls. You flop onto your unmade bed, wrapped in a towel, hair dripping. You hear the sound of traffic outside, the fridge humming in the kitchen, your own heart beating, or is that the clock on the wall.. The day is over..

Adoption Story…

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Not too long ago I was gifted a DNA kit from a friend. I had admittedly been a little scared to use it. As a child I used to make up my own origins. I used to believe I was an alien. That I had dropped out of the sky and into the loving home of my family. Because, as an adoptee of a closed adoption, I could be anything. Anything was possible, Clark Kent was adopted.. Nobody could tell me different. I’d believed I was half Korean, half English, and a fourth Irish, because it’s what I wanted to be. It was my own small world and it’s what I felt..

Then they came out with home DNA test kits. And I was afraid. Afraid I’d finally have some answers and they wouldn’t live up to my dreams. And honestly, a little bit afraid I might find some family. Oddly enough, that it would be that easy. Spit into a tube, send it off prepaid postage, and the door to the mystery would open..

But I did it..

And I held my breath.. With half hope, and half fear..

And around 10:30PM, I got an email. My results were ready..

And after 32 years, I am reminded that I have a storyteller’s heart..

99% East Asian, and 1 faceless 4th cousin. And I am admittedly heartbroken. Just enough to crush my dreams, but not enough to answer my questions. I honestly don’t know what I’d really been expecting. People always told me to look in the mirror and I’d see who I was. But it wasn’t the right answer for me. It’s why I have a zipper tattooed on the back of my neck. There had to be more to me, I felt it, I believed it. But the truth is there. It is what everyone already knew about me, but me..

99% East Asian.. 1 faceless 4th cousin..

…But now the box has been cracked, and the game is afoot..

September 24, 2015

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Last day in Oxford. Spent the morning in the large and unusually laid out Ashmolean Museum. Couldn’t help myself imagining all the statues coming to life and dancing to some disco song. Alas, it didn’t happen. Perhaps it was too early in the day. After, we found The Eagle and Child pub, where The Inklings used to meet up. Consisting of some of the great authors such as Tolkien and C. S. Lewis. I guess it was a good thing I read that book by Lewis on my way here. The sun finally came out on our last day here and we stole upon an opportunity to climb one of the towers for a view of the city from up high. 127 steps up and I was finally able to see The Radcliff Camera in full. From so high, I was reminded of an episode where a young Morse has his eyes painfully opened to the real world. Hard to imagine, in a city so small and self contained. People go about their business in their own little worlds. Worlds so distant and dreamy you could almost expect a young wizard to come whipping by on a broom. No, the streets are nothing like the crime riddled world of Morse and Lewis. It is a place of prestige and intelligence. It is a place that could easily crush the dreams of the faint of heart. But without all that, I can see why it is a place that inspired the campus of Hogwarts, the lands of Middle Earth, and the world thru the Rabbit Hole. It is a place that opens minds both academically and imaginatively. A place I will remember forever.

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Turned 30 and I’ve started gaining weight. I know you’re probably thinking, “you skinny ass bitch, shuddup!” But I didnt say I was “fat,” I am just gaining weight. And normally I wouldn’t even care, but my pants certainly keep reminding me of the fact. And I’m starting to not like it. I don’t like having to think hard about what I eat, so as not to upset my pants. It all is taking up too much anxiety and thought space. Because I love food and I like to eat. I’m actually really good at it. And honestly, for me, food is alot more than just eating it. Food is an emotional experience. Food is a way to relate to the world. That’s deep thought though. I love food, I mean, I actually really love food. But reaching my 30s has changed that for me. Now it seems… I might need to start buying “mom jeans” to get my stomach to shape up.