Things that break my heart Aug 6, 2007 6:01 am 3026 Views Take me for a sap. I have my emotional moments. Here is an event that has latched onto me and is permanently etched in my mind. In the winter of 1993, I was living in Silver Spring, Maryland. It was a cold night. I was at home and answered the door. A black boy (when I was in 5th grade, my black teacher told our class that I should call black people “black” – so I don’t’ know what this politically correct “African American” is all about) who looked to be middle school age stood anxiously waiting outside, bundled up but abit tattered. He had a box of chocolates in front of him. When he saw me, he knelt behind his box, and while rocking back and forth sideways, looking down at his goods, his immature voice spoke haltingly, unassuredly, “Sir, I am selling these chocolates for my organization for youth development. Would you like to buy a chocolate from us?” The image of this boy on a cold night, his small frame rocking back and forth stays with me so sharply to this day, and my heart weeps occasionally when the imagery is played back at random times. It haunts me. Why so? I rejected him that night. I told him I will not buy from him that night. “Oh, okay.” And without a further word, he picked up his box and scurried back. I watched him go on and I felt very bad. I saw a sinister looking fellow in the background lurking somewhere. I wondered about that boy. He should have been home studying. Was he being exploited? Or, was he a poor little kid trying to help himself? Is he a high school drop-out now, or is he some tycoon somewhere? But forever in my mind, he will be a poor, frail, powerless boy. I hope he grows up to be strong and great man. 5 Comments

A birthday to remember Aug 1, 2007 9:41 pm 2893 Views I just have to tell this story. It is so cute. July 17 was my wife’s birthday. The week before, my kids and I were planning on giving a surprise 45th birthday party. The kids wanted to give her a professional manicure and pedicure. She had never had one before. The eldest found a shop in Little Tokyo. The plan was that on the following Saturday, the kids would take her to the manicurist, and as soon as they had left the house, my son and I were to go and pick up a cake (pre-ordered) from a European cake house in Pasadena. We were to buy pink roses, and decorate the house to fit the occasion. We were then told to meet them (surprise!) at a nice Italian restaurant in Hollywood that my wife and I are just crazy about. The pasta is out of this world – easily the best that I have ever tasted. It is a small place – maximum six tables. The eldest made the reservation for 6:30 pm, and they told her we had to be finished and out of there by 7:30 to accommodate the next set of customers for the table. At 2 pm, my second daughter tries to convince mom that the girls should have a night out. Mom asked her - so where are we going for dinner? When she told her the name of the restaurant, mom asked if daddy can come along, too? Daughter feigned anger and told her, why can’t we spend some time together, just us girls? We never had just the girls’ night before, ever. Mom relented for a moment, but whined, “but that restaurant is your dad’s favorite. Can’t we take him? Please?” The second daughter, sensing that she was losing momentum, but unwilling give up the surprise factor, put her foot down and instantly became flustered, and made an emergency motion to the eldest to help. The eldest came in and laid down the law. Tonight is girl’s night. And that’s final. “Oh, okay. I guess. . . but I wanna go with your daddy. We haven’t been to that restaurant since last year. Can’t you just call them to add a couple more chairs?” Eldest says, “Well, we made the reservation already, mom, and you know how small that place is and how packed it is? They are not going to have any more chairs for us.” Mom says, “Yea. I guess so. You are probably right. But your daddy would love it.” “No. Mom. Tonight is girl’s night.” Later in the night during dessert, the girls recounted for me the panic they felt as mom kept on saying “I wanna go with your daddy.” They had no idea the struggle it would take to try to make up a story so that daddy would be excluded from the dinner. At 3 pm, they leave the house. At 3:15 pm, my son and I get the cake and buy a dozen roses. My son tells me that specifically I have to get pink roses. I had never bought pink roses before. The classic is the red rose. I asked him why it has to be pink? He didn’t know. He was told by the eldest that the flowers had to be pink. Since I had no reason to buy pink roses, I initially tried to buy red roses, and I would have bought it, if they didn’t look so tired. So, we bought the pink ones, which appeared fresher – likely because nobody buys pink roses. We found various dainty little designer shopping bags at home and any kind of urn or glass vase and put a flower in each, and spread them throughout the house – a guy’s version of minimalist decoration. 5 pm. – We leave the house with a bottle of expensive wine ($14.99 from Costco) and a cheap vase with a single pink rose and head down to the restaurant in my newly washed sparklingly mean black Mercedes for the surprise rendezvous. We get to the restaurant early. We park a few blocks away and walk the few blocks with my son cradling the bottle of wine in a wine bag, and I non-chalantly twirling a pink rose housed in a long fluted champaign/cocktail glass. We arrive early, set down our wine and rose vase and take our seats – and wait, pensively. We order appetizer calamari. Twenty minutes later, the waiter who happens to be by the door, asks me if we are waiting for three women? We say yes, and we ready our camera. We could see the waiter smiling and holding the door open for someone, and suddenly in walks my wife, with the widest ‘relieved’ grin I have ever seen. She was so happy. So, I asked her, “What are you doing here? This is boy’s night out for Isaac and me.” We all made a commotion, and hugged, and the pastas were ordered. Later, I found out the reason for the pink rose. Turns out the presents (shoes) that the kids got for their mom were wrapped in pink paper. They wanted to color coordinate. Curiosity quenched. Soon, Yo-yo Ma wafts in. And we relax with cake and tea - all the while the second is complaining how it is ruining her diet as she nibbles again. 4 Comments

I almost killed someone last night. Jul 26, 2007 9:45 am 2847 Views After dinner in Monterey Park Chinatown last night, I mindlessly drove our car back home. It was 9 o’clock at night In our neighborhood, which has no streetlamps – it attracts the wrong crowd – I stop for a moment before turning left into my street. As I pull into the street, my wife suddenly screeches. With a jolt I brake. And with all of my senses aroused, I look carefully and I spot rolling downhill toward my car directly in the path of where I was about to make the turn, a little boy lying flat on his stomach on a skate board wearing a plain black and white shirt. He must have been only about 10 or 12. Electricity flowed. I wanted to vomit at the thought of the near disaster. The frog legs I had for dinner jumped a notch and lodged at the base of my esophagus. I parked in my garage, I stayed in the car for just a little bit longer and closed my eyes. I thought about the kid as he passed by my car, and how I could have ended his life just a mere five minutes ago. How could I have lived with that? 15 Comments

Venting Jul 20, 2007 10:23 am 1547 Views It was a horrible day, yesterday. Why do I have such bad luck with hiring assistants? I run a small law practice. I hired this person fresh out of UCLA to be my assistant. She is a very smart and capable person, and she will be with me for maybe one or two years before going on to law school. All that was required of her was to read letters that come into the firm, write simple letters to clients in consultation with me, and transcribe my dictations. The first thing she does when I hire her is to take a week off, and then a month later, she takes another week off. In the meantime, work is piling up. In a busy law office, the last thing you want to see is work piling up. I tell her many times that work cannot pile up. There are real-world deadlines. The work needs to be finished even if she needs to stay very late to finish the task. Quite simply, letters and invoices must go out in an efficient and timely manner. After two months of stagnating work flow, yesterday, I reached the breaking point. I saw a case where I specifically told her that this was urgent and the letter needed go out. I picked up the case and the letter was still there. I could feel energy draining from me, and a sudden resurgence of power fueled by pent-up emotion, and I slammed the desk with full force, unfortunately in the presence of another assistant. I then stormed off into my office and slammed the door with all my might. The office shook. I could not control myself. The last time I slammed a door that hard was in 1978 when I was a sophomore in high school. My mom told me not to do it again, and I never did it again. My frustration level had superheated and the follow-on explosion was just a logical outcome. Later, when I had calmed down, I called the assistant into my office and closed the door. She had no idea why I was so mad, and said that I had bad manners for blowing up like that and she had never experienced anything like that before in her life. And that such behavior was impeding the communication channel that we need in this small office. I was incredulous and my blood pressure was rising again. I told her that she can’t say that to her boss. At any other place, she would be fired on the spot. Can you imagine telling your boss that he has bad manners? On another occasion this week, we were having a telephonic conference with an associate in San Diego, and at the end he and I said good-byes, and I asked her to say good-bye, too, since she was keeping silent. She replied that she will speak when she needs to, and seemed almost offended that I should tell her to say good-bye. Isn’t that something? It is business etiquette when you are in a telephonic conference call to first identify yourself and be very communicative about niceties and such. It builds camaraderie. For some of these college kids, this is their first job, and they have no business etiquette or a sense of urgency. The level of cluelessness is breathtaking. I have decided to give her two weeks to shape up. And then we will see. I hate firing people. 15 Comments

An old friend – I have found thee at last Jul 5, 2007 4:27 pm 1127 Views I received an e-mail from my long lost friend, Fred. We were in graduate school together. I finished up my PhD dissertation in 1991, and left. The last time we talked was about six years ago. Fred is not merely a person. He is a force, an experience of a lifetime. A brilliant scientist, but equally tremendous human being. His laughter was infectious. You could not help but feel better about yourself when you were with him. Not an evil bone in his body. I could never imagine him doing anything duplicitous or criminal (except for one time when he was arrested for illegally lighting up fire-crackers on the 4th of July). DISCLAIMER: I am now going to make a joke, but it is merely a joke and should not be taken the wrong way. So, please do not send me any hate mail or execute any fatwa against me for this remark. Context. Context. Hmm. Here it goes. Now, regarding the firecracker, he is an Iranian, and I guess he just could not resist – Bada-boom. Ooooooh. Ouch. Fred was a great guy. But I often wondered how this guy who could make anyone laugh, not just any laugh, clutching-your-stomach-so-that-your-stomach-doesn’t-burst laughter, how a guy like him was not wildly popular with the girls. In the e-mail, he said he searched the internet intensely to look for me, and finally figured out my business website and contacted me. My name had changed since graduate school. I used my Korean name in graduate school. Afterwards, I legally changed it to incorporate an American name. So, the task was not so easy. He wanted me to be there for his wedding coming September. He is 45 years old and he is getting married for the first time. So, I asked him, what‘s the hurry? You waited this long, why rush into it? They met on-line playing backgammon a year and a half ago, and as they say, the rest is history. She fell for him when he heaped on her the ultimate compliment - "You play backgammon like an Iranian man." We talked on the phone. We’ve had some soulful discussions in the past, but mostly we just loved to abuse each other and kick each other’s butts. I put my wife on the phone, and they talked for about 15 minutes, and my wife doesn’t even speak English. Then I put my daughter on the phone, and the last time they spoke was when my daughter was five years old. Imagine that. My daughter told him that she remembered his unique laughter. He was honored that she would remember that. My wife told me that my persona changed when I was talking to him, as if the clock had turned back 20 years when we were still in our twenties in the laboratory trying to figure out how to make a name for ourselves, idolizing the great scientists and the Nobel prize winners in our midst, pulling too many all-nighters, living life with utter abandon. 2 Comments

Last night Jun 26, 2007 12:13 pm 10774 Views The house was empty. This was one of the rare times when my wife and I were home – alone – together. When my son goes off to boarding school in September, a few short months away, this is the way it is going to be for the rest of our lives. At 45 and 44, my wife and I are empty nesters. This is in essence, the first day of the rest of our lives. We’ve been married for 24 years. Only by the miraculous grace of God, are we here together. To celebrate this occasion, we uncorked a Trader Joe’s Zinfandel ($4.99). We have to be frugal now to pay for two college tuitions and boarding school bills. We prepared our place of sharing. The lights dimmed and the kitchen was flooded with the slow ambience of cleanliness and richness. Sliced some goat cheese and salami – Eva Cassidy on the stereo – we clanged our glasses without saying a word. In wafted the soulful sound of Eva “The falling leaves drift by the window. The autumn leaves of red and gold. I see your lips, the summer kisses. The sun-burned hands I used to hold.“ I told her how I felt, how God loved our family so much, how it seemed that God had changed my heart very suddenly, how I had seemed to be drifting and living a possessed life, but how He gave me the simple knowledge, the simple ability to know what priorities mean, and what the important things in life were. I didn’t want my kids leaving home thinking that dad was an uncaring, selfish man. I did not want to waste valuable time without spending it with them. And I remembered how when we were young, our outlook on life was so fresh with promises within reach but yet just outside of our grasp so we keep lunging forward inexorably to reach glory, how we thought we would never get old, wrinkles would never appear, and we would be in our twenties frozen. Everyone else can age, but we were invincible. But here we were tonight, sharing a bottle to commemorate the beginning of another chapter in our lives. I remembered and recounted for her my feelings of a few Sundays ago, as I was embroiled in the tortured state of mind, how if I could only start over again . . . and I blurted out to her my eyes welling up, “Is it too late?” And how she calmly responded with, “No. It’s not too late.” I remember the relief. The rejoicing of old Scrooge on Christmas morning danced in my mind. The spirits have given me a second chance. I asked her, do you remember me asking you that question? And she smiled yes. I told her how tortured I was, and how I felt that we seemed to be drifting from each other these last six months. To my surprise, she said she didn’t feel the drift at all. She just thought I was possessed with work, and that she was worried for me, but that in fact she wasn’t going anywhere. Hallelujah. As the wine worked its way into our bloodstream, our eyes met, my hand gently caressed her soft arm. I felt like the luckiest person in the world. How in the world did I end up with a woman as beautiful as you, I asked. She choked on the cheese. I told her wherever I go, you are head and shoulders above any woman that I have ever seen in both the inner and outer beauty. She replied matter of factly, “I was thinking about you a lot today.” I am madly in love with this woman. And now she knows. 14 Comments

$65 million pair of pants Jun 26, 2007 10:44 am 10629 Views Koreans have been in the news fairly regularly recently (mostly negative – it must be the negative cycle season) – the Cho tragedy, fake Stanford student story, and now a Korean dry cleaner in Washington D.C. sued for $53 million for losing a pair of pants. Yesterday, the judge handed down a decision denying satisfaction to the plaintiff Pearson. This is a rather unbelievable story. Pearson hinges his whole case on two signs in the store “Satisfaction Guaranteed” and “Same day service”. Since the store lost his favorite pair of pants, it follows that he did not get his pants on the same day and thus he was not satisfied with the service, so he decided to sue the store – for $65 million at first, then dropped it to $53 million. The Chungs were forced to hire a lawyer to defend themselves, but instead of paying the hefty legal fees, they offered Pearson $1,000 to settle. Refused. Then, $10,000 to settle. Refused again. Are you kidding me? I would have taken $299, and bought a nice Bordeaux and raised my glass in a toast to the generous Chungs. What gives? He will now be faced with having to pay the Chungs’ legal fees, if Chungs want to pursue it. I say, don’t be timid! Pursue it, and extract blood from this man. Being in litigation takes a terrible toll on a person. His life stops. He worries. He loses sleep. This is a form of torture, and Pearson should have to pay for Chungs’ suffering so that others will be discouraged from this sort of behavior. 11 Comments

A perfect day May 29, 2007 8:56 pm 10680 Views Memorial Day 2007. A marvelously memorable Memorial Day in the month of May. A perfect day. 7:00 am – reluctantly get up and get ready to run the neighborhood 10k (6 mile) race with my wife and son. We arrive there by 7:30, and hang around. Maybe 1,000 people were there. 8:00 am – run the race under the clouds, perfect running weather. 9:00 am – finish the race strong after my son and wife had come in 5 minutes earlier. Hang around, visit the booths, get a free massage. 10:00 am - walk back home, and on the way, stop by a sporting goods shop, and wow, 50% off. We eagerly rummage through and end up buying a boatload of running pants, running shirts, tennis pants, tennis shirts, golf pants, and so forth. We turn around and there is a parade on the main street, led by the local high school marching band, followed by a horse brigade followed by a lone woman carrying a large pail and broom stick - presumably to pick up what the horses leave behind – she received a large ovation as she passed by). 12:00 pm - we get in the house, take a shower, and walk to a Chinese restaurant for a wonderful lunch, and we head to a café next door, where we get gelato and coffee. We wander on main street some more. By this, the sun has come out and it is a picture perfect day. 2:00 pm – we walk home, my wife takes a nap, and my son and I watch the movie “Departed”. 5:00 pm – I go to the office to participate in a conference call, while my son has his piano lesson. All in all, a perfect day. The most wonderful holiday I have had in a long time. 7 Comments

Another late-night possibly regrettable misguided rambling mumblings May 24, 2007 1:24 am 11212 Views Time seems to run so fast it seems it practically trips over itself swooshing from Monday to Tuesday and jumping to Wednesday, sliding into Thursday, and tagging Friday, in time to meet up with Saturday only to forge ahead to Sunday and cycle back to Monday. My mind is constantly on work - preoccupied. My wife demands attention in all aspects. And I am working and trying and praying that I can mend my relationship with my missus. I want to. I am trying. I am holding on. I am getting killed at work, though, just way too much to handle. I finally hired another lawyer to help out and ease the stress of meeting deadlines. I am burning out of life. My dad told me once, when you are 20, life goes at 20 miles an hour; at 30, 30 miles per hour; 40, 40 miles per hour. I understand perfectly now its meaning. My dad e-mailed me today telling me my brother is so frail he cannot even lift his arm. I saw him for the first time tonight after he got out of the hospital, where he almost died of starvation. I suspect that much of his internal system is damaged. He asked me if God knew his situation. I told him, God knows every hair on his head and knew all this about him before any of us was born, and He wants him to be well and happy. My brother trusts me more than anyone. He is always so glad when I am there. It breaks my heart every time I visit with him to see him like this. Just when I thought I was numb to it all, I feel the pain all over again. My brother has had a strange habit of keeping track of time for these many weeks. We have been wondering why. This night, he sat down and confessed the reason for doing so. I suspect the end of his life journey is in sight. He confessed in tears that he kept track of time because he might be lost in eternity. He says he is not sure whether he can get up tomorrow morning. He tearfully says that he really wanted to help mom and dad because they were so poor but it seems that he can finish this life without seeing his desire fulfilled. He said he was sorry that he cannot help them. In a rare moment of lucidity, he told us how disappointed he was that he had turned out like this. He didn’t want to be a burden. I ran to the bedroom and cried a bucketful. 16 Comments

A celebration of my friend May 2, 2007 2:57 pm 10925 Views I miss my friend Anindya. I’ve been thinking of him a lot lately. He was my best friend. We were in grad school together at Johns Hopkins in late 80’s. He graduated from Yale. Very, very smart. He later went to work at McKinsey Consulting. He passed away of brain tumor suddenly five years ago. Today, I have a void. I have no one to call - to talk over things. I realized once again today that I am a lonely man. My favorite memories. My wife hated him because he always called my house during dinner or when we were in bed doing you know what. It was uncanny. Sometimes, I would talk to him on the phone while we were doing it. She hated me for that, too. She hated the fact that I would talk on the phone with him for hours, and she occasionally inquired if I was gay. Our true bond began during our second year in grad school. We were studying for qualifying exams for the doctorate program. My wife was pregnant with our second child so she decided to stay with her parents in Korea to give me some space to study. Anindya stayed at my house during this time near Memorial Stadium in Baltimore. We had paper everywhere. We cooked spaghetti every night. We would go running at mid-night, and I would puke afterwards. He was Indian and a vegetarian. One day, I ordered pizza with chicken topping. He ate some, and immediately spat it out. He thought the white meat was cheese in the darkened pizza parlor. He asked me, “This isn’t cheese. What is it?” I replied, “It’s chicken, don’t you know what chicken is?” He then retorted, “How would I know? I never tasted it before.” I loved Anindya. He passed away and I couldn’t make it to his funeral. I was too busy. I regret not spending time with him longer. But mostly I long for him to be here on earth just a phone call away. 8 Comments

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