|
viviko5 |
read my profile
sign my guestbook
Name: v i v i a n
Interests: shoes hold the key to human identity
Expertise: daily survival as a [twentysomething] korean american female in la-la land
Email: email me
AIM:  viviko5
Member Since:
6/6/2003
|
|
SubscriptionsSites I Read
|
|
|
|
| cobalt blues.
A sniff here. The big cough there. Feelings of sadness wash over me after the rare opportunity to spend time alone with my dad. Again my lack of skills in caretaking were well showcased this morning. Yet it was not so bad today as my usual selfishness was put aside to take time to make him comfortable. Meanwhile his eyes seemed be soaking in my face as any individual would as if it were the last time they were to see it. Sometimes it hurts to the point that words cannot describe to think about it too much. But it feels good to help. After all, I am my father's daughter. That's one thing very positive about death being present in your everyday life. It gives you hell of a perspective on the rest of your life. I know myself and what I want. And I have to say that it makes life that much more enjoyable. Now if only my hacking cough would go away.
Do what you love and fuck the rest. Because everyone is granted this one turn around the merry-go-round.
| | |
| ponder ponder.
What to do. What to do. What to do.
I miss writing letters. Nobody writes anymore. There is a certain elegance to a letter in one's own handwriting. Folded into a threefold to insert into an envelope. Slurp and stick on that stamp to hand deliver it to the mailbox or local post office. Luckily, or perhaps unfortunately, my past boyfriends have been long distance so letters were pretty standard part of the relationship. Then there was a penpal, but now I'm not too sure. Call me old-fashioned but things have become too computerized and almost overly impersonal.
| | |
| Vivian, Vivian, Vivian, Vivian.
I am
burnt out. I know I'm not alone, but nobody can even fathom the extent
to which I dedicate myself to my family. These days I deeply cringe everytime
calls my name because I've recently been revisiting that low where
hearing Vivian is connected to somebody wanting something from me.
Sometimes I even forget except for days like these. It gets lonely.
Don't even try to imagine it because if I was not in it myself, I
couldn't. And no. No you don't understand. And probably never will
understand. Maybe the worst thing to say to an individual in a
situation as you stand semi-helpless while they merely stand across
from you trying to simply muster up the strength to stand up straight
is, "I understand." Nope. Or even better. Those who counteroffer
with their own nightmare, which I agree has its own merits, to you.
Nope. I absolutely, positively hate that. Don't do that because
that's like comparing apples and oranges. Every person's experience
has its place, but don't compare. Please don't compare with that
almost unconsious harsh intent to make your own situation somehow
worse. No. This is not a my dog is better than your dog. I sincerely
hope you will never live what we go through every single day, week,
month, years. I am
literally sick and tired. So a piece of advice those glossy, newstand
magazines offer besides 101 sex tips that is worthy of applying is to
just listen. You probably don't know me, but just trust this coming
from someone who's been going through her mid to late twenties with painstaking experiences
that most people will never know in a lifetime. Just fucking listen.
| | |
| chasing the black high.
Objects in mirror may be closer than they appear. Not. Just when you think you might have figured it all out, it is not as it seems. So conclusively that high off black coffee that my body craves appears to be the only constant besides death in my immediate life. Applying a variety of coffee tips from the friendly baristas on every corner has been somewhat of a hobby of mine in the past month. Ordering a doppio espresso instead of a cappucino would cut down costs. Throw in a whole wheat carrot cake. And maybe, just maybe, the forbidden nicotine. Or if dared, the scrumptiously delicious apple fritter from the dimly lit corner donut shop. And sometimes just inducing a caffeine induced haze to literally speed by my spazzy, frantic mother who then will not have the chance to chase me down with more errands. God provide me with the strength.
Ah-ha! Perhaps answered in the form of being high. Yet drinking this water and beans elixir means that my day is actually filled with detail-oriented duties to do, which is more that what was in the past. Actual piles of to-dos would flitter around being rewritten over and over on the yellow legal pads stolen from the office supply closet. Now tackling the everyday mundane tasks that make up my life seems to be diminishing as my coffee consumption is increasing. Granted it might be the Tab Energy that pats me on my ass to continuously be productive as the mid-day slump hits, but really it is that double espresso that really has a black grip on the rapid beating. Be still my heart. | | |
| behind the marriage.
Weddings. A momentary silence is required by any individual, especially me, before starting to actually describe the magnitude of hours of planning required to make this one day happen. Then the quick blink of an eye sends us all to the memory where my best friend woke me up with dripping wet hair. Behind the darkness on my temporary bed in New York, a furry orange couch, with the words, "Yah! Wake up. It's my wedding day." My eyes popped open with anticipatory excitement for this day to finally start at 5:30a, which would also mean the day is be near over. They say once you start, it is halfway over.
Saturday felt like it would never come. Everyday some member of the family would turn to another and ask repeatedly what day it was today. This constant state of anxiety snaked its way throughout each person to produce a tense yet comfortable environment. I read three different books last week. Burying my nose in books helped me escape to my happy place everday so I could keep up a good attitude in the midst of everything. All this to really try to help my best friend and bride.
Pre-partying started before the day at the reception dinner. The day comes. The ceremony. Now the reception from about 4p to 12a. It was the longest wedding reception that I have ever been to, but the funny thing is that it felt right. This whole day and week has been helping from the bridal shower I threw to this whole day dancing away. Catching the bouquet and having a guy the size of a small whale shimming the garter up my tightly closed thigh in my maid of honor dress, where no underwear lie. Afterwards the joints and party favors floating around during after-party like it was 420 where literally two or three people told me I was their favorite friend of Jane's posse. It was very flattering and touching. The whole process was loving and somewhat treacherous, but maybe they go hand in hand. Maybe even more a reason to move.
Then there was the bride, looking like one who is happy and glowing, dancing in a popular NYC club in her wedding dress. That was perfect because that is who Jane is. I feel so happy for her happiness. Although in my toast I couldn't express it without breaking down in a frazzled state of stage fright and being without alcohol, she is my heart. All her relatives kept praising me to the point where I thought in my rare non-perfectionist thought, "I must have done okay." Until a 6a cab ride to my hotel room, the rest of the night was dedicated to the hoards of people at the dirty after-party I never had after prom.
Congratulations. We did it!
| | |
|
