ooyabbong-blog

[ooyabbong-blog]

drawn out sigh

There are times when I randomly wake up in the middle of the night and ask myself “what the fuck am I doing?” The negative energy carries on into the rest of the day. My mind is on auto-pilot as I trudge through the 8 hours of the day, hating myself. The self-appointed prestige of my occupation is highly overrated. 

“mMmmm im a mechanical engineer.” 

“wOw~, you must be so smart!” 

“hehe i guess” ^___^V 

no i actually have no fucking clue what im doing

I don’t think I can take shrooms or acid anymore. The realization of how much shit I have to do overwhelms me. There are times when the dread weighs me down so much that when I get home from work, I just lay in my bed in my work clothes until it’s time to sleep.  I guess the first step in bringing about change is to bitch about it.

One thing that’s been exciting me lately is finally finishing up cool summer night. Even though it isn’t anything remarkable, I feel like I’ve achieved a milestone. That my untalented ass can create something that resembles music, seeing people’s heads nod as they listen to my track through my shitty sony headphones.  

I miss my dad and cat.

[ooyabbong-blog]

Ooyaabbong

I’m naming this blog after the nickname that my aunt gave me when I first came to America and still calls me by to this day. It’s a play on the second syllable of my Korean first name “Woo”. “Oo” is actually a more accurate way of pronouncing it. Anyways, my understanding of Korean isn’t good enough for me to explain the phonetics of my nick-name but it’s supposed to be cute.

Ever since I moved out, I’ve lost grip of my own self-identity. It feels like I’m living someone else’s life. I’m not sure if it’s because I’m not surrounded by Asian people as I have been my entire life or it’s because I’m at the ripe age of self-discovery(xD). Every time I wake up in the morning, I feel like I’m in someone else’s home. Reality settles in like dirt in still waters (literary devices, bitch) and I remember that I’ve been living there for 5 months. I think about the prospect of moving back to Flushing every day. The familiarity is enticing but I think about the mundane lives of those that I know that live there. Do I want to be the fish in the small pond in which he knows worms frolic or the fish in an ocean? I’m indifferent to fish but I really don’’t know what. I think about the title of my friend’s zine that she created with the youth in the youth program she’s teaching. I’m not entirely sure about how it went but I think it was “we can make this place beautiful, right?” Like with everything, I want to say “doesn’t hurt to try.”

Every time I see her, my aunt would sing “우야뽕~ 어디가냐뽕~”  (Ooyabbong, where are you going--bbong)

I’m going home.