Raise Your Hand

The lovely VEDA (Vlog Every Day in August) people are at it again. Only this time, we're not vlogging every day. We're vlogging once a week. And this week's topic is questions! So get busy in the comments and ask me any questions you want and you might see them answered in my video. And in case you didn't dedicate last month to watching all 31 of my August vlogs, hop on over to my YouTube channel, subscribe, and catch up!

The Gift of Good Books

I love it when what I'm reading all comes together for me, when what I read meets me where I am. I don't have to stretch to reach it, turn over to be touched by it, or look anything up in the dictionary. It just sinks right down into my soul and tweaks it a bit. I'm living in these words from Don Miller's Through Painted Deserts this week:

I want to keep my soul fertile. For the changes, so things keep getting born in me, so things keep dying when it is time for things to die. I want to keep walking away from the person I was a moment ago, because a mind was made to figure things out, not to read the same page reccurently.

I've been thinking a bit about discipline and what that looks like for me. And it's funny because I normally think about discipline as the inhuman ability to do the same thing over and over. Like my father. But for me, I think discipline is more about the ability to change things. Even the things that are comfortable. Sometimes most of all the things that are comfortable. What I'm trying to say is that all our lives, we'll be in the process of changing. I think that's the real discipline: to be able to accept when the time for change comes and to not spend time mourning the death of the things that should die, but to get busy having thing born inside you. I've been changing a few things, small things. But it feels good. Sometimes though, we get all caught up in the changes we should be making, in the life we should be living, and we forget that all the good stuff isn't holed up hiding out in our future selves somewhere. So, to temper this responsiveness in my soul:

You feel like this life is always leading up to something, but it isn't. I mean life is just life. It's all happening right now, and we aren't going to be any more complete a month from now than we are now. 

So, the changes are important. Discipline is important. But it's not like I'm ever going to be a more complete person. I've somehow found myself unconsciously buying into this idea that I'm incomplete. I need to buy things, to subscribe to things, to eat certain things, to acquire certain things to be complete. But really, I'm complete already. As complete as I'm going to get. I just have to LIVE now. And living is definitely NOT the same thing as consuming. Consuming is exhausting work, and I'm tired of it.

And then, after reading this book a few weeks ago, I come across a few passages in Wendell Berry's The Gift of Good Earth, which is beautiful. Never thought I would describe a collection of essays from the late seventies and early eighties on agriculture as beautiful, but so be it. It's also profound.

A second law is that anything diseased is more profitable than anything that is healthy. What is wrong with us contributes more to the "gross national product" than what is right with us.

And

In a healthy culture, of course, personal health and frugality would not be difficult- they would not be perceived as "disciplines." They become difficult when disease and waste become normal.

And maybe you guys are all rolling your eyes with that "duh" look on your face because you think about these kinds of things on a daily basis. For me, this is not necessarily new territory, but a new way to see things I've been looking at for a long time. And to understand that I'm finding certain "disciplines" difficult not just because I am broken or damaged or don't have enough intestinal fortitude. But because where I live, disease and waste are normal. And rewinding, moving backwards is almost always counterintuitive and hell, it's just hard. Because personal health and frugality are not prized by our cash economies or our entrepreneurial spirits.

I've been valuing indulgence, treating myself, and getting what I want over personal health. I've been valuing instant gratification and the quick-fix or most convenient solution over frugality. And although it feels easier, it's not. Like I said, it's exhausting and I've nothing to show for it. But working hard for health and working hard to live simply- that's worth it. I will always have something to show for it.

So I guess, I'm changing. And then, I'm being okay with the fact that I'm living life now. That when I make these changes, I don't somehow become more complete. But that with each change I learn how to live a little better, a little more fully. And reminding myself what's important: health, simplicity, frugality.

What's important to you? What changes are you making?

The Big Chop

So, it was time to do something with the dreadlocks. They had become one massive clump on the back of my head. Kenny sat down on Saturday night and cut them all apart so they could hang straight from my head again. But the results were disastrous because I hadn't been washing them properly. So, when he cut the matted hair apart he found a disgusting amount of shampoo caked in my hair accompanied by an also disgusting stench! This would never do. And so, I knew my time with the dreads was coming to an end. I was upset and on the verge of a s bout of depression because I was sure my hair was going to be super-duper-Natalie-Portman-in-VforVendetta-short. It hadn't grown as much as I had hoped it would since I had them done in February. I loved my dreads. They were super simple. But, if you don't respect the dreads and take care of them in the first few months you have them, they don't respect you back and you end up with a mess.

Sunday rolled around and Kenny called The Hair Guy. He had been recommended to us by Philip and Sandra. He is Korean, but spent a lot of time in London so we figured he would know what to do with the dreads. There are a ton of places in the Hongdae area in Seoul that specialize in dreads, but I couldn't be bothered to go to Seoul, and there wasn't enough time for that. So, we headed to the Hair Guy. And Guy worked some serious magic.

1. Guy razored my dreads a little more than halfway off. It wasn't physically painful, but it hurt nonetheless.

2. He and his amazing wife/assistant spent close to 3 hours picking out my dreads with combs, water, and a little magic sauce, which I assumed to be akin to detangler.

3. He combed it all out straight. It was NASTY. Can't you tell? Then we washed it again and again and he started chopping.

And..... VOILA:

Can you believe how much hair he saved? This is what it looks like after I do it myself, which is the style that counts because it's the one I can successfully make in the mornings.  (And yes, my shirt says Dunder Mifflin on it. I found it here in Korea last year on serious sale at one of those little clothes shops in the subway.)

(Yep. My HubbO brought me breakfast in bed this morning!)

I thought I would be stressed and unhappy with the haircut, but it pleases me.

It's so much longer than I thought it would be. Although, I did say, "Oh Guy,

I can't have bangs. My skin is too greasy and bangs just end up plastered

unattractively across my forehead." And he said, "Okay."

And then snipped a right short chunk in the front.

What do you think?

Chubbo NoMo?

This is the one in which I call for your comments. Those of you who stop by all the time without leaving your name or number, now is the time to put yourself out there. 

ChubbO ManifestO

So, being a ChubbO is not necessarily a physical state of being, although it can manifest itself around your hips, back, and stomach (and your armpits, armpit chub is the worst!). Being a ChubbO is more of a mindset. Even though I have lost a good number of pounds, anytime someone says the word donut, I pretty much jump and up and down and clap my hands like you just told me I won something. Even though I can fit in a decent size pair of jeans now, I can still be instantly cheered up just by the prospect of a delicious meal. And although I am (a smidge) happier with the way I look when I stand completely naked in front of my mirror, I can't deny that my appetite hasn't changed one bit. Perhaps the way I feed it has changed. I have learned to say no to The Belly when it growls at me; I have learned to reward The Belly because it deserves a good meal three times a day and not because I did something awesome; I have learned to tune The Belly out when it cries for the entire piece of tiramisu; and I have learned to tune in to The Belly when it needs something good and veggie-like. But despite this, my passion for food has not lost any weight. Being a ChubbO doesn't require a certain kind of food to be devoured. It is the joy and attitude in which you devour it that constitutes your eligiblity for ChubbOness. And so, I still consider myself a ChubbO, because it's from the inside out that we live our lives. 

End ManifestO.

Alas, I've been getting some grief about the old blog handle (which is the cousin of my love handles). Now, I feel a bit uneasy changing up the title of my blog so frequently because it seemed only yesterday I was punching the keyboard and snarling as I wrote with The Rage. So, Rage in the AM had to go because although it's a nice feature and keeps popping up now and again, I didn't feel it was sufficient. And now perhaps I have outgrown ChubbO as well. (I may have shrunk, but my online persona has been inflated with every beautiful and tasty donut of a comment you leave here). So, instead of being all clever and stunning you with a fabulous new look and new title for the blog, I'm asking for your opinion (which I will probably ignore all together and do whatever I want because that's just how I roll. It's a Buckley woman thing and is why my father never offers opinions anymore, even when we ask for them). But anyway, I want to know what you think. Should I give ChubbO the axe? Should ChubbO fade into the woodwork and simply be a recurring theme that emerges every time I dream about a donut or eat my weight in kimchi bokkumbap? Or should it stay as it is because as the ManifestO clearly explains, you don't have to be chubby to be a ChubbO at heart. 

And if it goes, along with those two inches and an entire cup size in my bra, what do I do now? Where do I go from here? 

Friday Treat

An abbreviated installment of ChubbO Pushes Play and Words Come Out. Lots of words. But not quite so many as last time. 

Happy Halloween. Less than a week before I leave for the States to attend my sisda's wedding. What do you think about these video things? Like? Loathe Entirely? 

P.S.

I got a perm. See evidence below. Note facial expression. 

I know, you're thinking, "What perm?" And that's exactly what I thought, too. This picture was taken 15 minutes after walking out of the salon. So much for the Korean "Super Formula" perm for Western hair. (I don't believe this actually exists.)

Anywhoops, Le Scientific and Irrefutable Results:

My hair has 0.5% more body. 

My ponytail is 2% more interesting than the pre-perm pony.

My hair looks 7.5% less greasy when I wake up and go to work without washing it. 

I am 100% sure that all hair styling products are a crock.

I have 99.99% learned my lesson about expecting my hair to do anything besides naturally hang limp and refuse to be "styled." That nagging percentage keeping me from full surrender to the facts is that relentless little thing called hope: the hope that is innate in every human being, but especially active in women regarding their physical beings, which causes them to believe that things could be different from what they happen to be if they would just try a little harder, make a little more effort, or pay a little more for whatever the world is selling today. 

I feel 6% disappointed and 87% duped. 

Ah well. In about two weeks, I'm sure my hair will be back to normal and it'll be like it never happened. 

What do you guys think? 

(Two Left Feet: Does this satisfy your request for a picture of the "out hair" you made about 5 years ago?)

(Mom: I don't need any eyebrow comments. I know they're ghastly. I can only handle one beauty-related issue at a time.)

What the Crap Wednesday

Today one of my colleagues was royally screwed over by my employers in a manner that surprised and disgusted me. She left the school today paid almost none of what she was owed and treated as if she had not done a fabulous job of teaching children less than 3 how to speak English for a year. What the crap?

Oh, the bus drivers. There are plenty of posts here in the Korea weblog community about buses, taxis, and the metro, and many of them have been posted here. The bus system was deprivatized a a while ago, so the drivers are no longer paid hourly, or by how many routes they complete, but are on a salary. So, WHAT'S THE HURRY? Why must you slam the door shut and have to open it THREE times again because people were still trying to exit the bus? Why must you slam your foot on the gas before the door has closed and that old woman is up the steps? And why must you drive as if your purpose is to either kill me or at least get me to throw up? What. The. Crap? 

Notice to ALL PEOPLE IN THE WORLD who commute anywhere on any kind of public transport: If you are going to play that stupid game on your phone, please turn off the damn sound. I do not want to hear the beeping or blipping or doopdedoop every time you roundhouse kick a ninja, get three jewels in a row, or shoot the invading enemy. And if you're listening to music on your mp3, keep it to a reasonable level. If I wanted to listen to your music, I would have asked to borrow your left ear phone and started bobbing my head to your ridiculous beat. This is a common courtesy that overrides all cultural crap. I don't care who you are or what country you're from or how much kimchi you eat everyday- there is no excuse. And ajummas, I'm seriously disappointed in you. You should take some action against these disrespectful punks. I expect you, of all people, to have the guts to lecture them with that incredibly long finger and that shrill, blood-out-your-ears inducing screech you've got on your side. Why are ajummas everywhere not taking up their large handbags and whacking these people? What the crap?

On another note altogether, I totally lost 10 pounds.

What.

The.

Crap.

For. 

Reals.

And to temper the "what the crapness" of this post, or to completely shame me for even posting all these complaints is this nugget of gold from my new favorite writer: 

"It is really easy to be a victim, you know? It is really easy to complain. About your job, your boss, your lame friends, your weight/body, the way the church is going, your lack of money, the way things don't turn out the way they should. Sometime stop and listen to how much of conversation is dedicated to complaining. About George W. Bush, the weather, the in-laws, work. So many things. But all of that is a way of trying to avoid responsibility for one's own life, and it is definitely a way of avoiding joy. We are so much more powerful than we think we are, and there is so much more goodness in each of our lives than we are acknowledging. And if there isn't the goodness in our life that we want, the point is: we can choose differently. No, we don't have every choice in the world available to us. But we have a lot more choice than we are usually willing to admit."

Dang. I am going to choose differently this week. I am going to run right into the open arms of joy. Wanna come? 

Don't Panic... The Rage is Still Around

Oh no, don't refresh. You're in the right place. Yep, it's me, DB, from Rage in the A.M. You know how last post I was talking about taking this blog in a new direction? About not hemming myself in on all sides by anger-ridden rants and head-against-the-wall frustration trying to understand this country, culture, and people? Well, welcome to the new, improved, and still raging, blog.

However, I wanted to free myself up to write about a few more topics without feeling guilty because you dear readers would still be expecting The Rage, and maybe you would wonder why my blog was even called Rage in the A.M. if it wasn't ragey. (Somebody call Websters. Ragey, adjective, used to describe nouns that are filled with, surrounded by, or beat to death with rage.) So I thought I'd collect all the pictures I had so far of me stuffing my face with something and go with the whole Chubbo Chubbington theme, since ChubbO is definitely a theme here keeping pace with my internal firestorms. Heck, I have dreams about donuts. (And someone found my blog this week by googling "dreaming about donuts." How appropriate!) And I feel that being a ChubbO is not confined to your body weight. It's a lifestyle. It's about consuming what life offers you with a smile and shoving it Korean style (which means spoonful, and I mean SPOON IS FULL) into your face. Enjoying the company of those around you, enjoying the feeling of having a full belly, and enjoying the immensity of blessings heaped upon you. So, being a ChubbO is not about being overweight, or having a weenie wheel around your waist, or dreaming about donuts (although this is definitely a qualifying factor). It's not about lusting over food commercials (although this is perfectly acceptable behavior) or clapping your hands and jumping up and down when someone mentions ice cream. No, wait, I take that back. ChubbO is ALL about clapping your hands and jumping up and down when someone mentions ice cream. Anyhow, you get the idea. And if you don't, leave your questions in the comments and I shall dutifully reply. Perhaps I should come up with a ChubbO ManifestO. All that to say, welcome to the new, improved, but still kind of the same blog. 

And I'm making some changes in my life dearest readers, whose comments cause me to lie on my bed in raptures, staring out at the blue Seoul afternoon sky and thanking the Provider of All Good Things for sending these kind, wonderful, delight-inducing creatures to read my bumblings, rumblings, and mumblings. (I'm re-reading some Jack Kerouac. Can you tell?) I want to live a simple, humble, and open life. And The Rage seems to be a hindrance. Although it will still be around and I'm sure you'll still get your healthy dose, it doesn't help me to be thankful, to feel blessed, to show kindness and love toward a generous people who have taken me into their country and done nothing but overpay me and completely ignore my own petty personal boundaries. When I stop to think about what's important to me, ending all the miseries of Metro Purgatory is just not high on the list. 

I read a beautiful blog here the other day (read everything she's written, it's beautiful), at the suggestion of this guy, and I found that it was exactly what I had been looking for. Instead of walking around all day asking myself how I can get the things I want, how I can make things easier for myself, how I can avoid feeling obligated to others, I want to ask how I can love, how I can be kind, how I can give others what they want, how I can make things easier for others. So many Koreans (and Americans, and humans, essentially) are running all the time. At every moment, they are in a hurry to be faster, to be better, to be first in line, to earn the money, to get the thing that will make them happy. And they are in such a hurry to do these things that they run over each other, push each other, park their cars illegally, work until all hours without being kind to their bodies or their families. If I can show just one person, just one, how to slow down a bit, how to see what matters, how to be persistent in kindness or happiness or laughter, then I feel my purpose will be fulfilled. Because I've been floundering here in the Land of Morning Calm. (And it's no longer calm in the mornings. The streets are always alive, no matter the hour.) I've been wondering what it is I actually want to achieve in this year of having a job I don't really care for and am not entirely qualified for; this year of listening to strange sounds and trying to contort my mouth into wonderful shapes that make these sounds; this year of discovering how much I have to learn from my husband-to-be; this year of searching for my self-discipline, for my sense of responsibility; this year of no sweet tea, no grits and biscuits, no sweet tea, and no sweet tea. 

And I have decided what I want to achieve: 

I want to love my kids in a way that shows them they don't have to speak English or read English or be the fastest AT ANYTHING to be special and of worth.

I want to learn enough Korean to speak to Keun Ha's grandmother and tell her how much I appreciate her support and her fierce love for her family. 

I want to treat my body with respect and kindness. I want my body to be part of the gift I give my husband, something I can be proud of and give with confidence. (He would take it like it is now. He even said to me the other day, "Danielle, don't lose The Belly, please. It won't be the same." See? An amazing man. Go get your own Korean, stop coveting mine! Ha.)

I want to show my parents and my sister that I wouldn't be who I am or going where I'm going without their support and their love. 

I want to learn to give my time to others willingly, to heal broken things and people, to serve others because I have had enough time to myself.

I want to learn to cook Korean food so my husband can have a happy belly some of the time. 

I want to write, write, rewrite, and write. I want to stop making excuses and write. 

I want to read, everything and anything. 

I want to find enough discipline to get up earlier than I have to, to make time to pray and think and be deliberate about my day, about my actions.

And most of all, I want to start a new life with my husband, conquering mountains, sitting with monks, and blessing the earth. 

Oh, and I wanna eat a buncha good food. (In my best Southern twang.)

Readers, whom I have grown to cherish and look forward to hearing from like I look forward to seeing puppies on the street that will actually let me pet them and speak to them as if they could understand me, this is my 50th post. Wouldn't it be so cool if I got 50 comments? And can I just shout out to The Korean, who left a comment on my last post, what an honor! Seriously. I just got finished with my dance for you, and it included a lot of graceful bowing followed by lavish jumps and twirls and a few booty shakes. I also want to thank Two Left Feet, Sarah, Meghan, Chester Copperpot, Tariq, Anonymous, Bailey, Quirky, and Beloved for leaving kind words for me on my last post. And love to anyone who has ever left me a comment! I believe I am amassing the best readers on the Internets. 

And for all of you who scrolled down to see if there was an engagement story stuck in here anywhere, sorry to disappoint. I'm waiting to tell you the real deal because I have something special to give you. A gift. But it's not ready yet. So be patient! I'll tell you all about it. But not in that "Hi, my blog has turned into a step-by-step account of my wedding plans and I'm so happy and you're still single hahahahahahah blah blah make you want to rip your eyes out I'm so cheerful and in love" kind of blogs. Don't worry. 

What is the most loving thing for me to do now, after I hit Publish Post?

I believe it would be to write a long response to the beautiful letter I received in the mail from my good friend Nick, who also reads this blog and leaves priceless comments here often. What's the most loving thing for you to do now?

x0x0ChubbO

What the Crap Wednesday

So, I'm not one for discipline, as you can tell from the random posting here, despite all my sincere intentions to post 8 days a week. And I'm not promising a new weekly "themed" post. Unless I feel like it. End preamble. Which was one of the answers on Jeopardy today in the category Crossword "P".

I also knew the questions/answers, "What is Carbon-14?" and "Who is Matthew Perry?" Why I knew that Carbon-14 was used to date fossils surprised me, for I am stringently opposed to all things math and chemistry related. Anyway... what the crap?

I started my day rolling out of bed at 8:20, the time I'm usually getting dressed and about to head out the door. I'm seriously sleep-deprived, and for some reason I just couldn't muster any sense of actually caring about my job in order to propel me to my feet at a decent time. I'm not sleeping. What the crap?

One of my 6 year old kids came up to me today while I was sitting on the floor, looked down my shirt, double fisted my breasts, and then turned around to his classmates rubbing his own chest vigorously and shouting something in Korean. What the crap?

Jun, one of my 6 year olds passed me in the hallway, tilted his head to the side, gave me a very cool look and said, "What's out, Danielle Teacher?" It took me a minute to realize that he was trying to say, "What's up?" I've been trying to teach my kids the whole "What's up/ Nothin' much" dialogue. Not so much for educational purposes as for my own personal entertainment. I also taught them the "Back it up/ back it up/ You got it/ You got it" bridge from the Gwen Stefani song Crash off her Love, Angel, Music, Baby album, using it whenever I want them to scoot back or move in that direction. Just for kicks. "What out, Danielle Teacher?" Awwwwwwww.... I mean...What the crap?

While we're on the topic of the short people, there is a boy in the 4 year old class who is now calling me Thank You Teacher. Usually at the end of every class, the Korean teachers make all the kids say, "Thank you Teacher!" And I'm not ever this kid's teacher because I keep my distance from the wee ones, but I do co-teach a special after-school class that he's in. So, instead of calling me Danielle Teacher, he calls me Thank You Teacher. "Thank You Teacher, look!" No matter how many times I tell him my name is Danielle, not Thank You, he insists on calling me that. What the crap? (Even though it's kind of cute. I'm becoming more and more immune to the cute. Call me insensitive if you want to. I call myself a teacher of small monsters. It happens.)

In other educational news, half the air-conditioners aren't working again. Specifically the one in the teacher's office, where I spend most of my day. Despite the fact that it's hot outside and I've already soaked the armpits of my shirt with pancake syrup (see previous post in order to insert inside joke type of snort here) by the time I've reached school, there is no hope for them to dry or for me to cool off when I am forced to spend half my time in The Oven. (Meghan, I'm making a sign tomorrow if it's not fixed and putting it on the door. It will read, Welcome to The Oven. Burn, Baby, Burn.) Also, this whole sweating all day thing totally makes my wearing-that-shirt-about-three-more-times-this-week-before-I-wash-it practice obsolete. Thus, costing me more time and money doing laundry. And I smell like deodorant all day. What the crap, Seoul Summer? What the crap?

Not a Wednesday incident, but still WTCW worthy. I was sitting next to Cuddle Ajumma the other day. Her friend was obviously lacking in her seat-stealing skills because she was standing in front of Cuddle Ajumma. It was almost my stop, so I thought I'd get up a little early and keep someone else from being attacked by this Less-Than-Expert Ajumma. I began to stand up, and before I had stood up all the way, Cuddle Ajumma scoots over INTO my seat, UP UNDERNEATH ME. I was basically sitting in her lap. Everybody say it with me now.... WHAT. THE. CRAP.

Anyone else out there having a What the Crap Wednesday?