An Ode to a Beautiful Woman, Our 23rd Wedding Anniversary Aug 14, 2006 1:45 am 2421 Views Yesterday, August 12, was my 23rd wedding anniversary. It is amazing that I lasted this long with one wife. After all of the missed celebrations, missed birthdays, missed valentines, and her expressed displeasure that our relationship was now devoid of any “fun”, I promised to her that while I cannot guarantee that her or my birthdays would be marked with any fanfare, that I pledged to give our wedding anniversary a special treatment. We lay in bed on Saturday morning, and remarked that today is our wedding anniversary (boy, am I glad I was the first to bring it up). I told her why don’t we do something tonight. Delighted and with a spark in her eyes, she said, “yea, what do YOU want to do?” I thought for a moment. It has not been long since I have committed to myself that I should not shy away from doing things that I want to do, and not always accommodate others’ wishes. I told her I wanted to take a drive. I wanted to dine tonight in Laguna Beach. She piped in, “oh, sounds lovely, how about the Beach House?” We had been there once before, and we had enjoyed the oceanfront positioning and the luscious food. I said, fine. Let me stop by the office to take care of a few things, and I will be back at 4, and we’ll head out. I make the reservation for 6 pm. I was happy to see her home. We all had just gotten back from Korea. I had come back a week earlier. I missed her. She had come back only the night before. There was comfort and familiarity with her and her loveliness of spirit showed through. Physically still a beautiful and desirable woman. Nature has been gentle to her. At 4, I am home we get in her new silver BMW and begin the hour long drive to a little bit of a restaurant where the sun rains comfort and a slice of luxury exudes in Laguna Beach. People are beautiful here. It seems that there is a calculated nonchalance, and it is so hard to tell if people are genuine or fake in this sun-bleached oasis of art. But we love this place. We are seated at a small table in the corner overlooking the blue ocean tides lapping gently. I tell our waitress that this is our wedding anniversary and thank you so much for seating us at such a nice location. Next to us is a table of a family. They overheard us. “A couple that was at your table before you were celebrating their anniversary, too. They were celebrating their twenty-sixth. How about you?” I replied merrily, “This is our twenty-third”. From our table, we ordered a glass of wine each, Merlot, Blackstone, a bit fruity. We toasted to each other, “To many more years, and to only pleasant memories.” She added she doesn’t want to fight anymore. I said, “That’s good thinking.” We talked about our past filled with friction, but yet progress and determination, and how only through the tender mercies of God are we still together to see the sun go down over the calm luminous ocean on this special day. We prayed together for a brief moment. The waitress, a cheerful lady, came by with a birthday peach cobbler, completely unexpected, with one candle and wanted us to blow it out together. But alas, the ocean breeze blew it out for us, but just as well, we didn’t care. We took bites with sips of coffee, and dare I say, it was the finest tasting coffee that I have ever tasted – the aroma was so rich, and the taste so dark. Only later did I find out that it was Starbucks. How could I have been so fooled as was my wife. We stepped out into the twilight, our stomachs full, the BMW came roaring in front of us. We climbed in. Where to, lady? I ask. She says let’s drive for a little while. Let’s see some houses. I wondered how much houses cost around here. We fantasized that we may live here some day, perhaps someday soon, we hoped. We drove into the side streets and saw what we could, and we randomly happened into a tiny park along the ocean front. We stopped the car and walked into it. I tenderly held her outstretched hand. We walked like teen-agers to the edge of the railing demarking a cliff. We could see the Laguna Beach down from here. It was not so dark yet. We could see the magic of the flickering lights in the distant hills. The ocean breeze was wonderful and I could see a certain background light reflecting on the visage of this beautiful woman standing next to me leaning forward. And suddenly, she turned around, and my lady folds her hands behind my back and rubs closer and kisses me. I don’t know why, but on this occasion, it was the happiest and calmest moment in many months. The combination of the ocean breeze and my first love reaching out to me cloaked in darkness stirred my inner senses so deeply. I reciprocated and we hugged for quite awhile. I wished I could imprint this moment into eternity to save it for the rainy days that may come in our relationship. But somehow, I got the feeling that the rainy season has ended for us. On the drive home, we thoughtfully looked forward to the twenty-fourth and beyond, and began making plans for future rendezvous like this. 11 Comments

Running in the rain Jul 25, 2006 5:01 pm 2184 Views Not to be disrespectful to those suffering the terrible rains in Korea, I love rain. I love rain. I love rain better than the sun. Is it the cleansing aspect of it, or is it an equalizing feature of rain – i.e., “It is raining so I can’t do any work and neither can you.”? Rain hits everybody. I remember the rat-a-tat-tat-tat-tat, rat-a-tat-tat-tat-tat, rat-a-tat-tat-tat-tat continuous taps of rain when I was in kindergarten, sitting in my grandparents U-shaped compound, staring wonderingly, wonderfully into the falling rain in the pebble filled courtyard, and yet amazingly I am protected on this ancient wooden deck, under the shelter of the clay roof. I felt so protected. It is here that I may have first felt sympathy for another human life - for those in the rain without protection. My grandfather sat legs crossed and I lay forward on my knees, my hands on my face, elbows touching the floor. It felt good to be alive, to experience such things, the wonder of nature. Rain signifies a new beginning, and I could sense the cleansing, the washing away of old things and starting something new. I enjoy running in the rain - the freedom it brings of releasing something stale in me and abandoning reason, to breathe out, not into the air but that any toxic breath I exhaled from within me would be immediately quashed by the cleansing liquid and batted to the ground and dissolved and thus absolved. In 1996, I took the Maryland bar exam. It was stressful to study for. I had told my wife, I wish it would rain on the second day of the two-day exam. Sure enough, as I walked out of the exam, done, finished as if a huge burden had lifted, I felt a drip, then a slow but gaining momentum of rat-a-tat-tat-tat-tat to gradual fatter ones. I was overcome with a sense of joy and relief. I drove home, parked, walked slowly around the block, numb, and ran and ran and ran through the showering pellets of rain. When I came home, my wife waited for me with a towel, tearing happy for me, and hugged me. My kids jumped up and down and covered their mouths in glee as they never saw such a dad so crazy as to run in the rain and soaked - and how come we aren't allowed to do that? It sounds so fun. Dad, can we go out, too? I replied, "No. It's just for me." 3 Comments

Late night musings - tieing things up Jul 20, 2006 12:22 am Mood: content, 2154 Views Been very busy lately with work. This blog has been a valuable outlet for me. I suppose it is that I hold my Korean-ness so dear that I am most comfortable on this site - talking about myself, mostly to myself. I sense that this site is my home, and that I belong here. I feel confident here. It is good to have a place that you can claim an ownership to. Everybody should have a place they call home. It is a basic human necessity, I think, as basic as shelter. The kids are off to Korea. My two college age daughters are in Korea now. They will be back in US soon. I will be visiting Korea too next week through the first week in August. But it will be mostly work for me. The youngest is a junior high student and he will accompany me to Korea. I am planning on taking him everywhere with me, even to business meetings. I don't know whether he will like it. My wife is going too, so part of the time, he will be with her. I am hoping to meet some KFF people in Korea this time, too. I have been coming home late these days. She called me at work. She asked me if this was the way it is going to be from now on. Come middle of August, my daughters Sarah and Joy will both be moving to dormitories, and thus, only my wife, my son and I will be residing in our humble house. She was rather stating that it felt funny to be an almost empty nester at our age of 44. She just had her birthday the other day, so she caught up with me to 44. A good number. The prime of our lives. I sniped at my son, Isaac, this evening, mainly because he asked me too many questions, and I just told him to not say "So, . . " in front of every sentence. We act like little kids when we are together, but sometimes, when I am snippy like that, I think it hurts him. I feel very bad right now. My heart is pained because I could not forget the expression of surprise and embarassment on his face. I was tired and cranky, and I am sorry but he got in the way. This happens way too many times. Whenever I am tired or sleep deprived, I get irritable and I lose self-control. Mostly over the years, my wife had taken the brunt of it as she is "mahn mahn ha da". I have gotten better over the years, but I need to control it more. I find myself tearing up more than usual when beholding the vagaries of human condition - both the majesty and depravity. I think I am becoming a flake. I called my mother today to check up on the family situation. It must have been tough. He does not want to take any medication and he calls my mother all manner of cuss words. He will need to be taken out of the home, we feel. My mother - my mother of all people - the stalwart, the rock, the solid foundation of our family - said that she wants to be left alone and live by herself for a little while. I had never ever heard that from her. I felt very sad, and I remembered my promise that I will never cry in front of my mom. So, my way of comforting her was to change the subject, and say that the kids are in Korea now and it is raining so hard in Korea and they didn't pack an umbrella . . . all the while, I sigh inwardly and take in the full measure of the vacuum I feel inside as if falling into a chasm uncontrollably. She said, "What if he won't eat again?" I answered, "I believe that is his choice, mom." One reason I appreciate this KFF site is the presence of all of these non-ethnic Koreans (you know, the Koreans who have no Korean blood but are interested enough in things Korean as well as those who have lived there and learned the language and so forth). I love them all. I feel like I know them all and want to open my arms wide and embrace them and invite each of them to my home. I would call them my friends. So, hello friends. I offer you irrevocably my "jeong". 2 Comments

Paris in April and "Han" Jul 15, 2006 12:38 pm Mood: amused, 2368 Views It is vacation season and I am reminded of my trip to France last year. We went in the spring to attend a conference in Lyon. My wife and I, just the two of us, decided that this would be a good time for us to go on an adventure. I booked the flights through the internet at the cheapest rate, and consulted with AAA regarding things to do and so forth. The itinerary was that we would spend a few days in Paris, then to Nice and then on to Aix-en-Provence, and then a week in Lyon, our final destination. We would spend a total of two weeks in France. This is our first ever trip to Europe, and we were very, very excited. We vowed that we would tackle a different European country every year. We arrived in Paris on a Friday morning, but our bags did not. The bags were delivered to us finally on Monday afternoon. We spent the entire weekend in Paris in our grungy clothes and unwashed underwear – same underwear for three days. We dined in fine restaurants. We romanced on river Seine. We traipsed on the grounds of Versailles. We bought lovely scarves in outdoor farmer’s market. We made sandwiches and ate lunch on a shaded bench along the side wall of the Louvre. We streamed into and out of the Louvre along with the multitude, glimpsed Mona Lisa, and we spent time in our most favorite museum, Musee D’Orsay. We rubbed our hands on the sinewy legs of Rodin’s “The Thinker”, and of course, we climbed Mont Martre in the drizzle of late April in Paris. It took three days to do all these things, but judging from our clothes in the pictures, it seems as if we did it all in a single day. I love Paris and our faces showed. My wife loved Paris even more, for you see, the Louis Vuitton store was situated directly across the street from our hotel on the Champs Elysee. She bought five bags (and I was her accomplice), two for her, one for her sister, and one each for our college aged daughters. I was happy that she was so happy that her Korean “han” for LVs was finally quenched. We took the train to Nice. We passed part of Provence in our sleep. The fields were not lavender yet. We got out in Nice, whereupon my wife fell down the escalator with our luggage, hurting herself, but fortunately she managed to recover, and the injury was not serious. That night we rested, and the next morning, we visited the Matisse Museum, fabulous stuff, and that night we fought like crazy people. One minute we were like teen-aged lovers, and the next, we were a couple unleashed from hell. She wanted to die, and I wanted to die. She wanted to kill me and I wanted to kill her. She walked out and told me she was going to walk into the Meditteranean Sea, and good-bye, have a good life, you selfish bastard. But sometime after midnight, we made passionate love, and we liked each other again. The reason for the fight? I had brought work with me, and she claimed that I was spending too much time working and not enough with her, which was absolutely true, but the problem was caused by the sucky hotel internet system in France. I ended up having to look for internet café all the time, thereby wasting precious intimate time in one night in the romantic town of Nice. Even after a year, my wife does not think Nice is so nice, as it hearkens to one of our most toxic days. Aix-en-Provence was a great place. We thoroughly enjoyed our stay in a rustic hotel for a few days, and sampled many restaurants and found a favorite, which offered candlelit dinner, one with affordable ambience. We toured Cezanne’s Atelier, my favorite artist. All too short, we segue to Lyon, the gastronomic capital of France, where our favorite restaurant was an Italian restaurant. We sampled all sorts of French food, and walked and hiked about the city, which we enjoyed very much, but soon we longed to go home. We got on a plane, stopped in Frankfurt. Security was tight. We missed our connecting flight. We eventually got on a Lufthansa and we landed in Newark Airport, they taxied us to Kennedy airport. We missed connecting flight again, and we got on another plane on American Airline. We arrive in L.A., finally, but of course, our luggage did not make it with us. We waited for our bags, and they were delivered to our home. The contents of everything in our luggage was safe and secure, all except – the four LV bags. My wife carried one of the five on her person on the plane. So we salvaged one. As for the others, they were packed into our luggage. Every one of our worthless and soiled clothing were safe and untouched in the luggage. Only the LV bags were gone. I have been fighting with the airlines to get reimbursement, but no resolution yet. This year, we were planning our trip to Italy. Mrs. Aconfusedman asked me if we could detour in Paris on the way back. There is the unrequited “han” apparently left at the doorsteps of a famous store along Champs Elysee that needs to be tended to. 7 Comments

brother and me - the return home Jul 4, 2006 2:57 am Mood: contemplative, 2229 Views I heard from my dad the other day. My brother came home. He was away at a psychiatric hospital for close to a month. From June 5, he refused to eat or drink. He claimed variously that the food in the hospital is dirty or they are trying to poison him. Mom and I visited. We gave him bottled water that cracked when the cap was twisted. He took a mouthful, swirled it in his mouth, tried to swallow but couldn’t, and spat it out resignedly under the watchful gaze of the hospital attendant standing by the door. He wiped himself with his gown. I rushed off to the bathroom to gather some paper towels to wipe up the mess. We gave him a banana and he methodically peeled the banana, and he chafed off the outer portions of the meat of the banana as well, and ended up putting in his mouth the centermost biteful of the banana, which he chewed and chewed and eventually spat out onto his gown, utterly uncaring as to where this blob of goo is going. I cradled the goo in my bare hands and threw it away in the trash basket and washed my hands thoroughly. My own children were better than this when they were in diapers. He lost 60 pounds in 20 days. He survived on juice. He would not take medication, so every night they held him down and delivered the drugs by injection to his buttocks. Every night he refused to take the medication. When I saw him a week ago, I did not see him as a gaunt man of 40, but rather I saw a rather handsome guy. A good looking man - almost charismatic. I couldn’t help but say to myself what a great husband he would have been to some lucky gal, and a wonderful father he would have made. Over the years, the drugs had aged him prematurely and stripped him of his dignity. He was not attractive and not desirable. But this day, when I saw him in the hospital, I was struck at how handsome he looked. His big nose, big eyes, and square jaws, which were somehow hidden before, now were diplayed prominently. He looked like a different person, a person I did not recognize. He would have looked like this if he had lived a normal life. Girls would have knocked themselves over to catch him, I thought. And again, my wistful mind played its usual tricks. What if . . .he . . . hadn’t . . . and things were different . . . The hospital did not call us when they released him. I guess they wanted to surprise us. He was put into a hospital van, which was to drop him off at my parents’ home. However, when the driver took a wrong turn, Peter was not happy. He figured that they were kidnapping him and taking him to Mexico. He had an altercation with the driver, and the van returned to the hospital, where my parents picked him up. He is now eating and is sound asleep. When he awakes, a new chapter begins and the adventure begins anew. 10 Comments

"Would that be to go?" Jun 25, 2006 12:06 am Mood: amused, 2262 Views I was at a 7-Eleven last night around mid-night to buy a hotdog and coke to fuel another late night working session. The cashier asked me, "Would that be to eat-in or to go?" I was puzzled. I looked around. I didn't see any place to sit. Nor was I planning to stay. I asked, "How could I eat in?" He said, "Well, I could bring a chair out here and you can sit and eat." "To go, please," I replied. Just another lonely guy in a town of strangers. 6 Comments

Hot water Jun 13, 2006 1:59 pm Mood: embarrassed, 2134 Views I am in Maryland at a hotel. And damn it, there is no hot water. I try moving the handle one way and all the way to the other side, but there is no difference in the temperature of the water. I call downstairs and politely let them know that I just got off a red-eye, and I am tired and I need a hot shower before I go to my meetings. Plumber comes up, inspects and tells me he will be right back, boiler problem. I wait and wait, eventually, I just rinse my hair and leave. I instruct the front desk to have hot water ready when I come back for the evening or transfer me to another room. Meetings are over. I go back to hotel. Front desk apologizes and cheerfully tells me that it was a building-wide problem and they are sorry for the inconvenience and inform me that 2000 points would be added to my card as compensation for the inconvenience. I go upstairs. Water is lukewarm at best. I don’t quibble. I take a lukewarm shower and shudder from the chill as I step out and dry off. I contemplate calling front desk, but I don’t bother – too tired for that. This morning, I get up to take a shower, and damn it, there is no hot water again. I call front desk. I need hot water. Someone comes up immediately and moves me to a different room profusely apologetic. I go upstairs to the new room. I feel the hot water in the face sink. I thank her, and strip ready to taste the sweet melting sensation of hot liquid all over my body – the cleansing and soothing. In eager anticipation, I turn the handle on the faucet for the shower – lukewarm water turns colder by the moment. Dismayed and annoyed, I call the front desk. Two plumbers and a manager come up immediately and rush into the bathroom. I sit. They call me, “Uh, Mr. Aconfusedman, your hot water is on, and by the way, there was hot water in your previous room, too.” Surprised, I go in, and see the rush of water spewing from the faucet in the bathtub. I guide my hand underneath and feel the hot liquid on my hand to my utter confounding. Then I see the faucet handle. And my face turns quizzical as the water faucet handle is turned in the opposite direction to where I had presumed was cold water indicator. I am immediately overcome by an abiding feeling of stupidity and embarrassment. I apologize and they walk out with smiles, relieved and probably laughing to themselves – another goofy asian guy that doesn’t know how to operate a simple machine, a faucet handle. And, once again, I felt embarrassed for all the Asians. They are probably going back to their crew and talking about “this Chinese guy in room 809 – what a trip. . . don’t even know how to use the shower faucet and complains he gets no hot water . . . “ In my defense – I must say that the first time I turned on the faucet, when there really was no hot water, I had moved the handle this way and that, and the side that is now the cold side did appear to give the warmer water, and this is why I came to believe that cold was hot and hot was cold – and gotten the handle sides backwards. The moral of the story: Always check both sides of a faucet handle before you draw a conclusion. Or else, you will be in hot water. 3 Comments

I can see clearly now - oh yeaa Jun 9, 2006 9:45 am Mood: cheerful, 2098 Views One of my favorite songs is John Nash’s “I can see clearly now”. It’s light and fun, and always gets me moving my tushy when I am driving. I feel it today. Friends, laughs, early to bed, and leisurely rising - I feel great this morning – looking forward to this “bright, bright sunshiny day”. 2 Comments

More hospital and Bob Barker Jun 7, 2006 4:02 pm Mood: amused, 1751 Views This is rather comical, except for the fact that I am getting all worn out. Today, I took my mother-in-law to the hospital for pre-registration for her intercranial stent implantation surgery tomorrow. So, I will have to wake up tomorrow at about five in the morning to take her to surgery. And tomorrow, I am going to see my brother in the psychiatric ward in the evening. In the meantime, my clients are wondering why I am not delivering on promised documents – well, I have a life to live and I am living it, that’s why. As I sat in the hospital waiting room today – watched a little TV. I rarely watch TV. New Price is Right is on. This show is still on?! I gasp. Bob Barker has grown abit older. I remember him on Truth or Consequences game show in the 70’s when he still had black hair. He was hot property back then. I also remember watching Price is Right on sick days in grade school. From what planet did they get these contestants? Some of them practically have seizures (“Come on down!”) because they are so excited. It is a nifty game show. The hour or so goes by quickly in the waiting room. I am laughing out loud at the antics of these people, shaking and convulsing. It was good to see both father-in-law and mother-in-law smiling the whole time, too. I guess that’s the purpose of such inane shows as these. 4 Comments

Thanks for the speeding ticket? Jun 7, 2006 12:47 am Mood: amused, 1460 Views Yesterday, I got a speeding ticket on the HOV lane going 78 in a 65 zone. Just before, I was bragging to my dad that a Mercedes feels smoother at increasing speeds. I am still a little kid inside. He replied unimpressed, “just be careful”. I was about to show him, and my heart sank as the image of a black and white cruiser appeared in my rear view mirror. I heard a loud command motioning me over to the side, but there was nowhere to safely park in an HOV lane, so he guided me to across five lanes to the right most side of the highway. I didn’t know if he wanted me to exit or go to the shoulder, so in the indecisive moment, I ended up stopped on the right lane with half of my car on the right lane and the other half on the shoulder. The cruiser behind me was even in a more dangerous position, half on the right lane and his other half on the exit lane. I pulled forward so that my car was fully on the shoulder. He roared out of his car huffing and puffing. I was prepared for a Rodney King beating. He verbally called me the worst driver in the world, you couldn't move the five lanes with me guiding you? How hard is that? You could have gotten me killed. That was the worst driving I have ever seen . . . blah, blah. My dad just closed his eyes. We were on our way from the hospital. I felt bad for him. He gave me a ticket, and I thanked him. And as I was driving away, I wondered, isn’t it funny that I ended up thanking him for giving me a speeding ticket and thereby possibly causing my insurance premium to go up, when in fact, there were others that were going faster than me, and still I got caught? What am I thanking him for? Why is this cause for celebration and appreciation? Bizarre. Nobody in Korea says “gam sah ham ni da” for a speeding citation. American language is funny that way, I guess. 0 Comments

 aconfusedman

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