36. the world is a lonely place. and i hate emo, so don't worry. emo as in feely, not as in Korean aunt.

whether you're coming out as gay, nerdy, trendy, a Belieber, a knitter, etc., the world can and probably will be unkind.

it's amazing the lengths we're willing to go in order to find that sense of community, and how desperate we are when we're harboring so many secrets.

whenever i think back to my days in the Lesbian Closet, it's hard to believe that the person experiencing all those woes existed in the very same body that carries me today.

and some of the things i did to hide myself now strike me as ridiculous:

1. dating boys.

2. throwing on a parka after swim practice and sprinting through the locker room instead of lingering around to shower and change with my teammates.

because, well, girls made/make me uncomfortable.

3. when a girl i was deeply in love with at swim practice offered to let me touch her abs as she was laying down, and we were alone on the deck in just our swim suits, i panicked and blurted out that i had to use the bathroom.

4. telling my parents, at the age of 8, "I know everyone thinks I'm a lesbian, but I just want you to know that I'm NOT."

5. laughing and nodding a little too rigorously when friends commented on a boy's frumpiness.

6. blushing whenever someone asked me what boy i was crushing on.

which actually worked well, as everyone tended to misinterpret the reasons behind my shade.

7. reading Jane Austen novels.

--

and when i finally started to deal with the gay thing and decided to look into the larger community, as well as to more fully accept it, kind of:

1. i googled "gay nerds" and found a forum that featured topics like "Hott Spock" and "Willow, Will-WOW."

i felt "connected."

after watching episode after episode of The L Word, it was nice to see that not ALL lesbians were wildly attractive, articulate, well dressed women.

2. watching The L Word on mute on the basement TV when everyone was asleep.

3. i avoided that girl i liked all the more.

too many feelings to deal with.

4. watching Ellen.

5. looking at colleges that were as far away from home as possible.

as well as their respective LGBT resource centres.

6. hugging people more often.

this seems a little irrelevant, but lemme tell you: when you're so determined to keep that Gay Secret, somehow you irrationally believe that your gayness can be discovered through osmosis or something.

--

but now that the gay thing's all done and dealt with, i laugh, really, at how melodramatic i made everything seem.

my Coming Out process was really anti-climactic and unexpectedly funny.

awkward, yes, and painful at times, but still easier to cope with than anticipated.

so now i find myself finally dealing with all sorts of things that were kept on the backburner: my inability to open up; my overall awkwardness; my nerdiness; my addiction to food; my weird insecurities.

it's almost as if my bored subconscious is trying to refill the big Worry Void that Coming Out left in its wake with whatever it can find.

my biggest concern nowadays is coming to terms with my awkwardness/social skills.

Lesbianism is so passe.

35. friend-flirting vs. flirting-flirting. WHO WILL WIN?

if you've been following along with this blog, you're probably well acquainted with the fact that i'm kind of an idiot in matters of the heart.

not kind of.

...and not just of the heart.

if you're currently being Notes-to-Self-deflowered, well, i just told you.

you're welcome.

and now that that's established, and everyone's caught up, let's move on.

once, when i was complaining about the fact that i'm either the last to find out about other people's feelings towards me or i'm branded as the forever-friend and nothing more, my less-mushy/sympathetic sister told me two things: 1) "hahahahahaha Your love life makes me laugh"; 2) "Be wary of the difference between friend-flirting and flirting-flirting."

What the hell is "friend-flirting?" i wondered.

she told me that when someone wants to be friends with another - just friends - he/she takes an approach similar to the one they'd take if they wanted things to be romantic.

it's more toned-down, slightly less forward.

it's all about talking and getting to know someone.

hanging out, bonding, goofing off.

"So...what's flirting-flirting, then?"

my mind was blown.

"Well, I mean. If you just wanna be friends with someone, you're less likely to try so hard you make an ass of yourself, right? It's less forced. More natural."

no.

no, that's not the case.

unfortunately, for so long i was trapped in a shell that now, whenever i sense any inkling of a connection with someone, i become overzealous in my endeavours and end up making an ass of myself anyway.

in fact, i'd argue that when i first meet someone, any idea of possible romantic feelings is the farthest from my mind.

my primary goal when i meet someone is to be able to force myself to go beyond my shy borders, choke out any potential thoughts, feelings, and interests, rather than resort to my usual, safe, reserved nature.

to be friends.

apparently, this is the wrong way to go about things.

nobody else seems to feel this way.

which means that on more than one occasion, looking back, i'm sure i've come across as something of a creeper to a number of people.

or an asshole.

like that one time when a friend unwisely assigned me the role of her wingwoman, and, try as i might to encourage her target to hang out with us, my multiple texts/invitations/urgings probably only made it look as though i was the predator.

bad friend-flirting.

or that time at Game Stop when a friendly guy came up and struck up a conversation, and i thought it was perfectly acceptable to reciprocate, only to find out that he was hitting on me.

"Are you single?"

"Uhh," with sudden realization, "I am, but...I'm also a lesbian."

[i'm still not sure why i decided to let him know that i'm also a lesbian.]

more bad friend-flirting.

other examples include more times when i've inadvertently led someone on, only to upset them and burn bridges: bridges i didn't even know were burned til much later when a close friend chastises me for my foolishness.

there are times when, apparently, i'm too good at friend flirting.

or i'm bad at it, sometimes crossing that line.

...i'm not sure if that thought process was easy to follow.

oh, well.

in terms of flirting-flirting, well, i'm still working on this.

sadly, once i've decided that i've somewhat succeeded, in any small way, in friend-flirting, as well as the fact that i'm actually deeply attracted to whoever's fallen victim to my awkward friend-woos, things become more complicated.

not because i'm ambiguous or because i "play the game."

but because i do exactly the opposite of those things.

everyone's playing Halo.

i'm still stuck on Parcheesi.

while, apparently, i've been practicing my friend-flirting for a number of years, my flirting-flirting's been put on the backburner.

or i've just got a totally different perspective on how it should all play out.

i was raised in a Korean household, meaning i was always taught that people can and should be as blunt and unrelenting as my mother.

also, dating/flirting/extracurricular social life were all big no-nos in our house, so i didn't get much of a chance to get out there in the first place.

also, there was that whole Closet debaucle.

anywho.

whenever i try to flirt-flirt, i find myself battling inner-demons: those instincts of just throwing everything onto the table instead of showing my cards in moderation.

i blush, laugh too loudly, make awkward, sappy admissions.

basically, my wooing abilities carry with them the power to scare any lesbian away.

a true gift.

navigating that line between friend-flirting and flirting-flirting is hard.

impossible.

i either go too far, or not far enough, or too far without realizing it and regretting it later, or just make an ass of myself.

to those of you i might have frightened away - and what're the chances, really, of you completely avoiding me only to occasionally read my blog - i apologize.

i have the social skills of a very confused kindergartener.

creeping you out was never on my to-do list.

i should probably take to being clear in my intentions whenever i try to hang out with people.

"Hi, I'm Vickie! I'm not hitting on you right now, I just want to be friends."

or.

"Hi, I'm Vickie! I'm actually hitting on you right now, but please let me know if I go too far so I can make a note of it for future friend-deavours or girlfriend-deavours."

sad.

this is gonna be a long road.

34. My mom is deep.

what's this? a second blogpost in just 24 hours?

huzzah!

i've recently received some good news, so i'm in a giving mood.

this post is inspired by a new find of mine, Tiger Mom Says, so it features some pretty impressive tidbits of advice my mother's graced my sisters and me with over the course of our lives.

here we go:

1. "You will not play the flute. You will play the saxophone like my favorite artist, Kenny G."

2. "What is Swarthmore? I know what Harvard is. Not Swarthmore!"

3. "You don't need a boyfriend. You need to become a well-rounded person. Special in everything so that you can host Saturday Night Live someday."

4. "Why are you going to social work school? Why does everything have to be the hard way with you?!"

5. "Why are you going to be a teacher? Why does everything have to be the poor way with you? Don't you want to own a boat someday?"

6. "You won't sing. You play instrument and learn real skill."

7. "University of Chicago? Why you going so far away for state school not even as good as UVA?"

8. "You think B+ is okay? B going to take you to community college!"

9. "You want to join drama club? You make enough drama at home with your grades!"

10. "Japan? I can't talk to you anymore."

11. "Don't cry; it makes you look guilty."

12. "Speak up; shy people weird everyone else out."

13. "I knew you were gonna grow out of the lesbian thing like your grandma grew out of the lesbian thing."

14. "Nobody puts my baby in the corner."

15. "You wanna go to college to get job being funny? I'm funny, why don't you pay me? You can't? Exactly."

33. hot damn i'm stupid.

I wouldn’t call myself a cuddle connoisseur.

Addict, yes, but my limited experiences don’t match up to those of my well handled utensil contemporaries.

But don’t worry: this isn’t going to be a too-long self-deprecating piece overridden with annoying insertions and lacking in embarrassingly silly and valuable learning-tidbits.

If anything, I’m proud of the progress I’ve managed to make over the past few years since my very first Spooning experience.

[Which was, I’ll say now, one of the most terrifying but enlightening experiences of my life.]

When I was in the process of sailing to the island of Lesbos, armed only with Birkenstocks and flannel - or the superficial knowledge of the lesbian being - sex was the last thing on my mind.

Raised in the clutches of a South Korean and a Dominican Army Colonel, who taught my sisters and me that handholding counts as a base and hugging leads to sex, zero attention was paid to the goings-on of my south of the border interests.

At the beginning of my sophomore year of college, the only thing I was concerned with was making my very first batch of gay friends.

So when a fellow, however more-experienced lesbian invited me over to her place to watch SNL instead of going partying with the other gays I met at one of my first-ever LGBT meetings, I didn’t take it to mean anything more than, “Yay! I have a new lesbian friend!”

When we got to her place, she switched the TV on, offered me a glass of wine, and told me to make myself at home on her 4-person couch.

Hospitable, I thought.

She sat at one end and I absentmindedly found myself at the exact opposite end.

As the show wore on, though, I noticed that the gap between us started shrinking.

Well, I guess that WAS an oddly huge space.

And when it got to the point where she was practically sitting on my right arm, and I awkwardly gripped onto the armrest with my left, I wondered if this was just how lesbians bonded.

After the show ended we talked a bit, but at 2am I felt that I’d intruded too long.
“Well, it’s getting pretty late...I should probably get out of your hair.”

“No, it’s too late for you to try to get home,” she said sweetly, “but you can sleep here.”

I hesitated before privately applauding her generosity.

She disappeared into her bedroom, and, assuming I was supposed to sleep on her couch, I made myself comfortable.

But, seconds later, she returned.

“No, no, you can sleep in my room.”

I hesitated again, an unfamiliar tingling going down my spine.

I ignored it.

...She probably has a futon.

And then it occurred to me that I might be sleeping in very close quarters to someone else for the first time.

Please, for the love of God, have a futon.

I followed her into her bedroom, which was devoid of futon; just a red sportscar bed, with high walls to prevent escape.

...Falling off.

I didn’t sleep that night, especially with her body pressed into my back.

Instead, I laid rigidly on my side, my nose touching the bed’s wall.

After, my friends abused me for my cluelessness and urged me to, “Go for it.”

Given that this was the very first time someone of the same-sex was showing interest in me, I was a little eager to see where it went.

The more Spooner and I talked, the more I appreciated her patience and intentions.

She was kind, knowledgeable, encouraging, and understanding.
I confessed things I’d never shared before, and found myself in the new position of wanting and being able to pursue a completely open and sincere relationship with someone, even in non-romantic terms.

Finally, a connection.

We hung out a couple more times, holding hands, me continuing to spout out awkward sappy lines and thoughts.

It was a nice, strange feeling, all those firsts.

Sharing firsts, hugging firsts, handholding firsts, flirting firsts.

Later, when she asked me what I was going to be up to over the weekend, I blurted out the fact that my roommates were all going out of town and I was probably just going to have quiet nights-in with some movies and food.

She said she wanted to keep me company and I, being slightly more savvy by this point, conceded.

When she arrived, I gave her my obscenely full binder of movies and told her that she could choose.

I didn’t expect her to pick the raciest movie in my collection, Y Tu Mama Tambien (which, if you haven’t seen it, is about 85% porn (but, of course, I only own it for its artistic value)).

But she did.

I put the movie on, we ate, and eventually we found ourselves on the couch.

It was my first intentionally-cuddling experience.

She laid across my lap, and the fact that this was physically the closest I’d ever been to someone didn’t escape me.

I relished it.

Though I still had no idea what I was doing.

My hand was around her waist at the beginning of the film, but as the minutes trickled by I noticed that, somehow, my hand was mysteriously finding its way further up her body.

And my heart was up in my throat.

I tested it, concentrating on my hand to make sure that I wasn’t the one responsible.

Sure enough, I was positive that it wasn’t me.

And I was positive that it wasn’t going to stop any time soon.

And, sure enough, I was very much aware that the latest part of the body that I was touching wasn’t flat like the rest.

Like some X-rated Ouiji board, my hand found its way to a new revelation: real-life second base.

I panicked.

My hand was as stiff as my back had been on our very first night together.

And it stayed that way all the way through the end of the credits.

Finally, we got up and moved, commented on how late it was, and agreed to get to bed.

Wait, MY bed?! I thought to myself, trying hard [and probably failing] at keeping my face neutral.

We went into my bedroom, and, unlike Spoon Mishap #1, I was very much aware of the event’s significance.

She climbed onto my too-high bed and I clumsily followed suit.

She laid down, fully relaxed, and I tried my best to do the same.

She was on her side, facing me, while I concentrated very deeply on the various cracks in my ceiling.

My heart rate accelerated; I could feel it fighting its way through my chest.

I couldn’t help thinking that she was quietly watching me.

So close.

This is it, a small voice told me.

Wait, what is “it?” a more urgent and anxious voice asked.

Desperate, I wracked my brains for the few potentially telling clues I picked up during the past few weeks.

Nothing came to me.

I decided to attempt to subtly watch Spooner for hints; maybe she knew what this was all about.

It was an impossible task, I discovered, as I slowly craned my neck as carefully as possible, trying to get a glimpse of her.

She caught me, though, and I knew it.

Tensed even more.

I thought I sensed her smiling.

I tried to breathe.

The jig was up; I surrendered and strained a smile at my own awkwardness before facing her.

A long pause.

This IS it.

“Here,” she whispered, placing a gentle hand on the back of my neck, pulling me towards her.

Closer.

Oh, God, I thought, and, Please don’t let me be bad at this.

I’m pretty sure I was, but I couldn’t have really cared less.

In a lot of ways, I was more preoccupied with the fact that it was happening, period.

Here it was: a testament to the progress I made in Coming Out of both my shell and the Closet.

Close.

I’m still very much an idiot when it comes to all matters of of showing affection; I’m either too timid to show the truth or I’m overzealous and end up mucking things up.

And now Spooner’s off to greener pastures, I’m sure, and I’m still navigating through this mess that is my timidness.

But I’m closer, I think, to figuring things out: laughing at my poor choices and learning from them.

At least, that’s what I’m starting to tell myself.

Every time I stay true to my cluelessness and muck things up.

::Sigh::

32. Coming Out means you go through a second phase of adolescence. or my parents are just overcompensating.

before i Came Out, i seldom said a word about crushes.

or myself.

nobody - my parents, in particular - knew a thing about my taste in...anything.

i kept to myself, opted to impersonate my mother rather than offer up my own thoughts and feelings.

as such - that is, after shipping off to college and the island of Lesbos - after practicing trial-and-error for as long as i have (emphasis on the error), i'm realizing that these feelings of uncertainty and dumbassness and self-absorption in the context of relationships and self must be akin to those my hetero peers mucked around in several years ago.

after you Come Out of the Closet you Dive Blindly Into a Dark, Complicated, Terrifying Bedroom.

and, well, world, i guess.

if i was the kind to tap into that level of sappiness.

which i'm not.

aloud.

anywho.

my understanding of Involved Parenthood of Hetero Teenagers is that mom and dad are so nosy they can't help but say and do embarrassing things in the pursuit of buried, angsty feelings and preferences.

at least, that's how it goes in movies.

with the parents constantly making assumptions and causing their spawn to blush or throw unnecessarily emotional fits.

being that my parents were under the impression that they managed to raise three of the most a-sexual, pure young women imaginable, none of the Toro girls faced much interrogation growing up.

it was only when one of my sisters accidentally let some key piece of information slip that my parents became curious.

for me, that curiosity or concern for my love life didn't come about until i Came Out, and my parents were suddenly aware of the fact that, contrary to 18 some odd years of denial and silence, i actually DID have some kind of "drive."

so those cringeworthy conversations came about.

but instead of being completely agonizing, looking back i'm pretty sure it was all hilarious.

1. just months after i Came Out, my dad and i were at Borders partaking in some Daddy-Daughter Bonding Time [as he called it].

at one point, he called me over to the calendar rack - a crazy look in his eye.

"Pssst, Vickie! Hey, Vickie!"

"...Yes?"

"Come over here!"

"What is it?"

he pointed.

right at a Sports Illustrated calendar.

i blushed.

"Oh...um...great, dad. Awesome."

"You know what I JUST realized?" he asked, in one of those non-whispers-that-was-supposed-to-be-a-whisper.

"What?"

"When I say things about women, you could be thinking the SAME THING."

afterward, when i tried to change the conversation, my dad was determined to uncover my taste in women.

and was excited to find that i was, in fact, my father's daughter.

i was nauseous.

2. at Bath and Body Works, during yet another Daddy-Daughter outing, my dad caught me looking through some scents.

"Whacha got there?"

"Hm? I dunno. Nothing. Just looking."

he grabbed another bottle of the same scent and sprayed it.

sniffed it.

"Hm...Maybe not that one."

"Okay."

"'Cos you know, women like scents. If you wanna get girls, you have to have your own scent. So make it a really good one."

i stared.

"Here! This one's pretty good. I'll go pay for it."

3. my mother doesn't like too many people.

actually, for the longest time, i wasn't even sure if she liked me all that much.

but i digress.

one day, my oldest sister brought her boyfriend over for the holidays.

after, while my mom and i were in a car together, i asked her what she thought of him.

"Eh, I don't like him."

"Really?" i asked, "He's so nice, though! And Olivia likes him a lot."

"I know. But ugh. Beside, I'm yoh mommy. I'm gonna hate any boy you bring home."

"Ha! Well, that's lucky for me!"

at the red light, she stopped, looked me square in the eye.

"Girls, too."

and i knew that she was finally okay with my gayness.

4. i was lamenting the fact that i was single and clueless and hopeless.

my mother's words of comfort were a little uncouth.

"You know, iss actually kinda lucky you're a lesbian."

"...Why?"

"Women tend to like awkward, nerdy people better. Eben the pretty ones. Look at me and yoh daddy."

5. i told my dad that i'd drunkenly gotten a girl's number, but that i wasn't sure about giving her a call.

he was pumped that i shared this with him.

"Ha! You and I ARE alike!" he exclaimed, "When I was your age, and I'd get home from some party, I'd find girls' phone numbers IN MY CLOTHES. It was crazy, but I didn't know what it meant. My friends were like, 'Man, you should totally call her.' And I'd be like, '...Why?' It was hopeless. Ha! It's nice at least ONE of you girls took after me. Nice for me, not for you."

6. my mom told me she was a little surprised by my first girlfriend.

because she had always hoped i wouldn't pick someone like my mother.

i didn't see the resemblance til after that conversation.

and then it was all i saw.

7. the usual talks about how i'm a "wonderful girl, of whom no one is deserving."

gross.

and this is all i've got for now.

31. poor eating/sleeping habits = weird-ass dreams.

i rarely remember dreams.

the few i do remember are all strange, vivid, or hilarious.

or all three.

i know that, apparently, i talk in my sleep.

i occasionally manage to laugh myself awake.

sleep with my legs sticking straight up or crossed.

etc.

here are some examples:

1. in high school, while reading The Importance of being Earnest for English, i dreamt that i sat on a pouf at a small coffee table.

the room was dark, except for the spotlight pointed at the pouf across from me, and on a plate of cucumber sandwiches.

i reached out and ate one.

two.

several.

and so on and so forth.

occasionally, a friend of mine - or at least a familiar face - came along and sat across from me, sharing the sandwiches.

nobody spoke.

the guests filed through, one by one.

and that was it.

i've never had a cucumber sandwich in my life.

i'm not even sure if my imagining of said sandwich was at all accurate.

2. i was walking around with some friends.

eventually, a friend pointed out my funny walk.

everyone else chimed in and teased me.

i kept trying to laugh along, secretly hurt.

i said, "Haha I don't walk like that..."

aloud.

in real life.

and woke up when i overheard myself say "that."

3. i ran into someone i know by acquaintance - someone very pretty, relatively popular, though generally absent.

certain events took place that i can't remember, but at one point we found ourselves in a big king-plus-sized bed.

fully clothed, don't worry.

and she turned over so i could big-spoon her.

i seized the opportunity.

though, for some reason, i didn't really know what i was doing.

she gave me instructions and i was eager to follow them.

and that was it.

for the rest of the dream, until i woke up, i dream-spooned.

and that's about the raunchiest my dreams have ever gotten.

4. it took place during WWII.

i was at a concentration camp, as a Nazi, but after witnessing a heinous crime i decided that i was batting for the wrong team.

i resolved to escape the camp and find allies to enlighten them and end the war.

for the majority of the dream, i ran across the countryside, evading dozens of Nazi trucks, planes, tanks, and infantrymen.

5. i was at an airport, trying to check my bags in.

for some reason, the agent kept telling me that the bags couldn't go through.

i got angrier and angrier.

before i realized, "Hey! This is a dream!"

and my bags magically went through.

and then i gloated.

and woke up.

6. i was dead, in heaven, and someone i had feelings for while alive came up and joined me, after getting hit by a car: an accident i tried to prevent and consequently faced "judgment."

as i was the first person she thought of after dying, i was sent to her as her Guide.

i took her around heaven, showing her the ins and outs.

at around lunchtime she said she was hungry, so i asked her what she was craving.

"I dunno," she replied, "Chinese?"

"Perfect! For that we can go to B-Town."

"B-Town?"

"Buddhism Town. It looks a lot like Chinatown."

"Isn't heaven just for Christians and Catholics and...whatever?"

"Well, I mean...heaven's infinite, right?"

"Right..."

"So why can't there just be room for everyone?"

7. i was doing a stand-up gig.

my joke, "Overly political lesbians look at my color and go, 'Ooooo.' Koreans and Latinos look at my gayness and go, 'Eeeesh.' Straight guys take it all in and go, 'YESSSS.'"

i laughed myself awake.

8. i was in a classroom.

everyone else was working on some craft project.

i was listening to a certain someone give something of a lecture at the whiteboard.

the entire board was covered in her handwritten lists and sets of rules.

she cracked tons of jokes - none of which is coming to mind - and when a professor tried to interrupt, i stood up next to her.

she and i teased each other for a little while.

eventually, she rebutted by punching me in the crotch.

i doubled-up in laughter and pain.

a bystander asked, "What happened?"

the culprit replied, "I punched her in her doormat, that's what."

Do people really call it that? i thought to myself, Also, that didn't hurt as much as usual. ...Hey! This is a dream!

i proceeded to laugh even harder.

to the point where i woke myself up.

actually laughing out loud.

---

that's all i've got for now.

i'll keep you posted in case anything really embarrassing comes spilling out of my subconscious.

30. Korean grandmas are a dying breed. Relish those visors and animal print shirts while you can.

i love Korean Grandmas.

especially my own, but generally i find that Korean Grandmas are the kick-ass sort who flip society the bird from behind their too-large shades with their animal print shirts and permanently sour-puss looks.

as if to say, "Epp you, modahn day nohms, I habuh my own agenda. And dis is my regime's uniporm."

the other day, though, it hit me: after the current generation of wise-cracking, battle-scarred grandmas...disappear...they'll be gone forever.

at least in the US.

think about it.

all that sass came from decades of walking through war-torn streets, learning not to give a damn, and perfecting the art of practical "fashion."

the socks in sandals for comfort, warmth, and full range of motion for those toes.

the animal print, for urban camouflage.

the visors, so the sun won't blind them as they get up to their shenanigans.

like scowling at passersby.

muttering Korean obscenities about them.

haggling.

speed-walking.

nowadays, the up and coming generations of Koreans in the US have become way too trendy.

at least, too trendy to even consider tossing away their - i-don't-even-know-what-their-chosen-articles-of-clothing-are-called-because-i'm-so-frumptastic - in exchange for the Korean grandma fad.

it makes me sad to think that my own grandkids (if they're to exist) will never know what it's like to go Ajimah-spotting.

being waved at in that little way only those grandmas can do, where the hand and forearm almost spasm in unison, and the lady responsible purses her lips in what's supposed to be a friendly smile.

no old ladies to reach out, uninhibited, and pat them on the head.

no little 'fros.

they'll all - mostly - speak English fluently.

i feel like i have a responsibility to future children.

like when i'm old, i have to take on the challenge of keeping the Korean grandma phenomenon going.

learn to speedwalk with my hands clasped behind my back.

purse my lips.

wag my finger at questionable strangers.

overfeed my grandchildren.

clap my hands whenever i laugh.

examine things a little too closely, disregarding the concept of "personal space."

i owe it to my grandkids.

no one should have to miss out on the Korean grandma.

this is a call to short, stubby arms.

the kind that are generally stiff, even and especially when they randomly reach out and yoink you into a hug.

Grandma - Halmony - even though you can't read English, this one's for you.

for all those little slaps you gave my mom whenever she slapped me.

for being the only adult blood relative i had to tell me from the get-go that i should, "Grow up. Go to collegey. Be comedian."

for being you.

i salute you.

love you.

teach me your ways.