To Facebook or Not To Facebook?

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Is this even a question? For me, it is becoming one. Lately I’ve been thinking about how I connect with people. One day I looked up and wondered why I was even scrolling through the news feed. It had become a habit, something I did between teaching classes; when I was bored, it was something I did to delay the inevitable work in front of me. Lately though, it’s becoming clear that Facebook is not working for me. I’m not making or maintaining deep relationships there. I’m not meeting new interesting people there. I’m not hearing what people really have to say. And are we really saying anything important? I’ve been reading some interesting articles and posts about Facebook, about what it’s becoming and what we are becoming as we use it.

(This one is lengthy, folks. This post is not limited to 420 characters.)

Gwen Bell, one of the most respected social media guru’s on my radar recently wrote a post entitled Defanging Facebook. She and her friend Patrick talk about moderating or abstaining from the site altogether. For me, I don’t think I’ll ever completely give up Facebook, because it is a way to keep in touch with my mom and my sister, both of whom refuse to start using Twitter. Facebook mainly serves as a jumping off point for Skype conversations or longer in-depth email exchanges. And for that reason, I’ll keep it around, at least for now.

Another point of view to consider is Don Miller’s look at Digital Clutter. (Recently, Don has been rocking my world daily with his “Creator” posts, which are basically simple directives about who creators are and what they do.) But he got rid of his Facebook after asking himself some questions:

the question I ask myself with digital communication is different: Did I or anybody else benefit from this the past year? That’s a harder question to answer. Did anybody benefit from seeing my pictures from that retreat? Maybe. Did I benefit from knowing it was so and so’s birthday, or that so and so was in a relationship? Maybe, but probably not, to be honest. I’d rather find out that so and so was in a relationship when they came through town, stayed in the guest room and we caught up while listening to whatever music we discovered. So I decided Facebook should go.

Interesting questions, hey?

This article, written by Zadie Smith for the New York Times looks at The Social Network, the movie about Facebook, but the last half is really a reflection on how we are presenting ourselves, how we are being minimized by the site:

When a human being becomes a set of data on a website like Facebook, he or she is reduced. Everything shrinks. Individual character. Friendships. Language. Sensibility. In a way it’s a transcendent experience: we lose our bodies, our messy feelings, our desires, our fears. It reminds me that those of us who turn in disgust from what we consider an overinflated liberal-bourgeois sense of self should be careful what we wish for: our denuded networked selves don’t look more free, they just look more owned.

I agree that sometimes we leave out the “messy” parts. Who wants to project that they’re a miserable piece of garbage at the moment, feeling everyone is happier than they are? It seems that the Facebook “status” is causing serious anxiety for students, or anyone for that matter. Ask yourself how many times you’ve paused before hitting the Share button. How many times did you revise your status because it sounded too depressing, or even too happy? I’m not going to talk about how many times I’ve reworded something or gone back and praised God for the little x lurking in the corner. 

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This college professor dares his students to take a media fast from all technological and traditional media for three months and asks them to journal about their experiences. Could you do it? How much would we really miss? Are important, authentic dialogues taking place that we would miss? Or would we connect more with the people around us, connect more with the people we live with, heck, would we connect more with ourselves as we sit and listen to our brains, instead of constantly hacking out a new status update?

We keep saying that Facebook is a way to “keep in touch” with people. Maybe so, because I keep in touch with my family across the world, but is it really making us more social? Slate has an interesting article that says it’s doing the opposite:

By showcasing the most witty, joyful, bullet-pointed versions of people's lives, and inviting constant comparisons in which we tend to see ourselves as the losers, Facebook appears to exploit an Achilles' heel of human nature. And women—an especially unhappy bunch of late—may be especially vulnerable to keeping up with what they imagine is the happiness of the Joneses.

and then there’s this:

Facebook is "like being in a play. You make a character," one teenager tells MIT professor Sherry Turkle in her new book on technology, Alone Together. Turkle writes about the exhaustion felt by teenagers as they constantly tweak their Facebook profiles for maximum cool. She calls this "presentation anxiety," and suggests that the site's element of constant performance makes people feel alienated from themselves. (The book's broader theory is that technology, despite its promises of social connectivity, actually makes us lonelier by preventing true intimacy.)

When I read that last line, “preventing true intimacy,” I thought about the relationships that are only played out on Facebook and if they really contain any true intimacy. Are your relationships through social media authentic? Or are you part of the play?

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There’s this video about how to use Twitter and they mention that 150 connections is the maximum number of meaningful relationships you can have and still be getting something out of them. So when I saw that I had over 300 friends on Facebook, I went straight for the “defriend” button. My new criteria for friends are that they have to have written something on my wall, left a comment, or sent me a message within the last year. If you haven’t communicated with me in any way over the past year, it’s not likely you’re ever going to. And you can always look me up and write a message without being my friend.  ;)

I can’t completely knock Facebook, because at this point, I do use it and I’m not willing to give it up. Although, if I did, I’m sure I could still find ways to get in touch with family and friends to make Skype dates. But for now, I’m wary and cautious of what I’m projecting, how seriously I take what other people are projecting, and who I’m allowing Facebook to say I am. 

What about you? Are you your Facebook status?

A Year Ago

{me, dad, and mom watching fireworks in Tennessee, July 2009}

Last fourth of July, I was with my family in Tennessee, watching fireworks outside while the sky was preparing a huge thunderstorm. It was Kenny's first 4th of July celebration and he seemed to enjoy it. I miss my family more around holidays. It makes me realize how important tradition in our family was, and still is, to me. I am staunchly against any changes made to our holiday traditions, even if I'm not there to witness or experience the changes. Perhaps I feel their continuance is some kind of insurance. Even though I'm not there, I can trust that things will go on the same as they always have, so if and when I do return, I can settle back down into my place there.

I often feel like my family is growing and evolving without me. And that may well be true. Even from this distance, I can see the ways they are holding each other up in love, supporting each other disappointments, and generally rejoicing in each other's existence. My family does all of those things for me, too. But sometimes I feel I'm outside the circle.

I know, I know, I don't have any right to complain. I'm the one who picked up and moved. I'm the one who decided to come back to Korea. I'm the one who is trying to make a life in this country rather than mine. If you said all these things to me, I would have to admit that you're right. No one forced me to make the decisions I've made. And the thing is, I don't regret my choices. Every day I know I'm in the right place. I know that I'm supposed to be with Kenny, wherever in the world that is. That feeling of belonging- of being able to belong anywhere in the world because I'm with the person who helps my life make sense- that's something worth following. I never doubt that I'm in the right place. I just doubt that I'm doing the right thing in this place.

I will always miss my family. I think until I have a family of my own to help me make new traditions, I'll feel like that puzzle piece everyone searched for but couldn't find because it fell between the couch cushions. I know that I'm missed at home. I can't wait to get there and see my sister's new house. I can't wait to just ride around in a car running errands with my mom and make her laugh so hard she can barely drive straight. I can't wait to sit with my dad and try to listen more than I talk. There are so many things I'm excited to do. And I'll get to do them at Christmas for two weeks. I am excited for Kenny to experience Christmas at our house, too.

{bursting with love}

I can't stop thinking that if I were doing the right thing, if I found a way to support myself in a way that nourished and enriched my spirit instead of draining it slowly, that I wouldn't quite wish myself home so much. Not to say that I think I'll stop missing my family. Nope. That ache will always be hanging around, waiting for the right moment to smart so intensely I can't breathe. But that ache is cherished because it means I was and am a part of a family that knows what real, unconditional love is.

This fourth of July, I watched two kind, generous, and loving people get married. As they start their journey together, I hope that I can start another of my own, too. One where I am brave enough to do what I need to do. To dig out my place in Korea, even if the shovel gives me blisters.

chubbO does chiaksan: a photo essay

Balance stone upon stone. One for my mother, one for my father, one for my sister.

Envy temple guardian's headress.

Look up.

Listen.

Tastes as fresh and clean as it looks.

Greet dragon.

Obligatory we were here shot.

...

Puppy face at the bottom of the mountain.

Surrender heart and go home.

~~~

We didn't climb very far. There was still ice on the top of the mountain, though most of the snow had melted, resulting in splendid, clear water. There were these stairs, though. And I thought my legs were going to quit and demand severance pay. We didn't get very far, but it was a beautiful day spent outdoors. And there were plenty of puppies to play with and snap about 50 photos of in 5 minutes or less. It took enormous self-control to post only two of those photos.

I'm remembering last weekend in the shadow of this weekend. Yesterday Kenny and I were called away from an awesome 2S2 meeting in Wonju. We drove to Seoul because his grandmother is extremely sick and expected to die soon. There will be a three day funeral at the hospital in a special room. We will not sleep. I will wear a black hanbok. And then, I assume our family will crash into a bit of grief and a bit of joy and a bit of relief.

Christmas Blog Party: Year of the Bike Edition

It was the year of the bike!

This is when Santa existed no longer! I loved Christmas. For all the wrong reasons. Christmas was nothing to me when I was little, other than presents and good food. Christmas was all about me and that is why I loved it. The meaning behind Christmas meant nothing to me. I sat through my mother's Bible reading every year and rolled my eyes to myself thinking "Jesus is cool...but Santa is better." Though my mom tried her hardest to make Christmas meaningful, I had nothing to do with all that.

Christmas Eve would come and the clock would slow down, I swear. The Christmas Eve service lasted too long, and I would kick my leg constantly. Even when my mom put her hand on my leg and gave me the stink eye, I didnt stop. She would whisper, "Everyone on this pew can feel that!" Still didn't stop! How could you sit still when in mere hours Santa was going to come down your chimney? The service would FINALLY end and Mom would want to chat. I mean, how can you hold idle conversation when presents are coming? "Let's go Mom! If we aren't home, Santa will pass the log cabin on Poplarwood Road!" 

When the garage door would rise and we were finally home, the anticipation grew. It was almost time. I would put my pajamas on and get on the couch and watch TV. Every year I would try and pretend to fall asleep on the couch so my mom would leave me there and I would catch a glimpse of the jolly man with the belly full of jelly. But every year, Deb would say to me, "Holly, you are not asleep. Get up and get in the bed." Reluctantly, I would rise from the couch cushion, give a dramatic little kick and sigh, and drag my feet to bed.

Each year, I NEVER slept. If I did, it was short and fitful. I would sit in the bed and listen very carefully to hear the sound of hooves and bells. Though I never heard these things, he never disappointed. I would get up around oh, 4 in the morning. I would go and wake up my parents in the back bedroom, jumping up the bed yelling, "It's Christmas! I think Santa came! It's Christmas!" My mom would groan and mumble, "Seriously?" Finally there was a rule made: if you can't see the sun, you can't wake anybody up.

The year of the bike, I went to bed with the dramatic kick and sigh and laid in waiting. But this year, I heard a noise. However, it was not hooves or bells, or the jolly laugh of the fat man. It was a low moan and a shake of the christmas tree. Excited, I rose. And then stopped. Should I really see Santa?? I mean, is it allowed? Will he be mad at me? I heard another noise and could not help myself. I swore to be very quiet and tiptoe and only see Santa with one eye, because the other would still be hidden behind the door frame. That way, Santa couldnt be mad, because he would never know I saw him. As I very quietly leaned ever so slightly around the door frame I gasped! What is this? This is no man with a red suit. This is my mother's behind covered in her pink bath robe as she bends over my brand new bike. Wait. BRAND NEW BIKE? OH YEAH!!! Wait, Wait, don't get side tracked....WHERE. IS. SANTA?? Why isn't he setting my bike under the tree?? Is it true? Could Kevin McCallisters brother Buzz be correct??? NO SANTA??? Does this mean Rudolph is a lie too?? And the elfs? How could this be? I'm so sad...but I still get presents, so does it matter who they come from? No. I guess it doesn't. As long as presents really exist, I'm cool. Okay, the panic has subsided!

So, as my mom continues to grab presents and I continue to duck my head inside my room when she is turned toward the hallway, I watch how hard she works to set things just so. And I am thankful she loves me and cares how the presents are set when my sister, with her bedhead, and me, with Grover in tow, walk down the hallway into the living room.

The dream of Santa was a sad one to lose. I felt I needed to keep this revelation to myself so next year I would still get presents from this ‘Santa’ And I carried on this charade for a long time. Even when my mother knew I didn't believe, I refused to let her wrap all the presents. Some still had to be unwrapped and presented as from Santa.  Even at 19, Santa still came to the log cabin on Poplarwood Road.

Holly (aka The Sisda) lives in Tennessee with her husband Matt, and her three stinky fatty dogs, Billie Jean, Semper Fi, and Stella. She annoyed the crap out of her sister for about 18 years and then they kind of chilled and have been more like friends for close to 4 years. She is an excellent story teller and should probably start her own blog. Right?

Christmas Blog Party: The HubbO Edition

Hello readers! I am Wonju wife's Hubbo, Kenny. I seldom write comments here but I must tell you that I am one of the frequent (but quiet) visitors, and one of the most dedicated mental supporters of this blog. I come here mainly to check how many pieces of cake she got from the recent blog post, because it determines the size of the smile today, not only for Wonju Wife but also for me. Whenever you guys leave lots of comments, she gets really excited like a puppy in the snow. She dances in the kitchen, rolls her body on the floor, plays drums on her belly, and lays a cutest fart on me as a finale. I laugh with her and I become happy too. So remember! You can bring incredible cheer to our little family with your little finger movement.
Now it's time for the Christmas party! I am going to tell you my Santa spoiler story.

Basically Koreans do not have a long history of the Christmas tradition although we have over 100 years of Christian history. Of course, now we have a big Christmas business and all the department stores are competing like crazy to show how much money they can possibly waste on the lighting decorations. But still it is really hard to say that we have a Christmas tradition for families.

In my father's time, Christmas was just one of the cold days. Free rice cakes or sugar candies from the town church were only things you could associate with the night of Christmas Eve. Besides, to get that treat, you should be a church-goer, or if not, you should promise that you will come to church every week. My dad never got Santa's presents, and although my mom received some Christmas gifts because my mom's father was a pastor, they weren't from Santa. They didn't know about Santa or simply couldn't afford to have him around.

When I was a kid, winter was always harsh for my mom. Struggling with my dad's humble salary, she could barely afford to buy the coal briquettes to heat the house and the cabbages to make winter kimchi. My mom, however, tried hard to give us some 'Christmas' in the western manner. She cut the wiggly pine tree branches from the forest on the small hill near my house. She decorated with cotton snow, some bells and balls, but no lights. For Christmas dinner, she put palm size choco pies with candles on the table while we ate seaweed soup and rice. At night she snuck into my and my sister's room and put our gifts next to our pillows. They were really practical, stuff like socks and pencils which she needed to buy for us anyway, but it worked. My sister and I were thrilled to find the surprise in the morning.

She was missing something, though. Santa. She didn't care much about Santa, or she didn't know how to play Santa since she never met the man. Now I think I didn't care either then. I of course knew about Santa, and I kind of believed in him. But he was just in my prayers, like God, not in real life.

However, one card from Santa changed everything.

I think I was nine or ten. On Christmas Eve, I pretended to sleep, waiting for my mom to come into my room. I knew she would put some gift on my pillow before she went to bed and I just wanted to see her do that. I heard the carol choir singing and my mom and my dad talking with the carolers and giggling, and I waited and waited.

I woke up in the morning and found a gift box on my pillow as usual, but this time with a card.
'근하에게
즐거운 성탄절!
산타클로스로부터‘ (To Kenny, Merry Christmas, from Santa Clause)

It was a belt with a buckle that had the picture of flying Astro Boy in the middle. Astro Boy was the most popular animation character then, and immediately I knew I was going to be the coolest boy in my apartment. And the card! Oh my god! I got a gift from Santa! I couldn't believe my eyes. I hoorayed and took the card to my parents to show it off. Wait a minute. Did my mom do this? Better ask.

"Mom I got a gift from Santa! It says Santa here!...did you do this?"

"No, it says 'from Santa.' Then it's from Santa, not me, isn' it?" Mom said.

"Dad, did you do this?"

"No, why would I? I'm not Santa. I'm your dad, aren't I?"

"Yeah, you are right," I grinned.

I went out to the play ground, and I opened my coat so everyone could see my awesome belt from Santa. The kids were playing with glass beads on the frozen sand. They were too busy to notice my new belt from Santa. So, I had to announce properly that I got my Astro Boy belt and that it was officially sent from Santa.

The kids saw my belt in astonishment and seemed pretty impressed. But Un Gyum, the boy who always hung out with younger kids to boss around them, sneered at me. "Hey dummy! There's no such thing as Santa. Do you still believe in Santa like a baby? The gifts from Santa are actually from your parents, you idiot. "

Huh! I was angry to hear that, but at the same time, I felt sorry for him. Probably he never received a gift from the real Santa.
"You know what? Actually I thought the same thing, so I asked my parents directly about it. They said they didn't do it. They didn't doooo it. Hello?"

"Then your parents are lying," the jerk said.

Then one of the kids (I think it was Suk Hyun) there helped me.
"His father is a pastor. Pastors cannot lie. It is illegal!" All the kid there nodded their agreement and I sensed my victory.

"My parents are not liars. Santa is real. I bet my life on it." I ended this argument showing my absolute conviction of the ultimate truth.

I happily lived for a while like a normal boy who believed in Santa. But it didn't last very long. I think it was around March when I was crying for a new school bag. My mom said 'NO'. I was sad and angry, because I really wanted to have a new bag. My birthday was coming, so I thought I should get it. So I whined, complaining to my mom.
"You never buy me anything. You never care about what I want!"

"Really? I don't buy anything for you? What is that you are wearing now? Where did you get your shoes? I bought them for your New Years present. What about your Astro Boy belt? I bought it for your Christmas present. What about all the stuff in your room..........."

Astro Boy belt for Christmas? So it was my mom and not Santa. The world got white. I couldn't hear anything. Because I bet my life on that guy.

I lost my real Santa then. But my mom kept doing her own Christmas ritual. Every Christmas morning I woke up and found a wrapped gift sitting on my pillow. I knew it was Mom, fake Santa. The strange thing was that I kept waiting for fake Santa. I think I am still waiting.

Kenny writes about his life, his wife, and his art (in Korean) at The Awesome Plan. He has been listening to Danielle talk since October 2006. And he should get some kind of award for that.

It's Still Thanksgiving Back Home

Dang, I miss my family.

Some November goodness...

First snow.

Bike ride.

Bike ride face.

Motivation in winter = Miracle.

The HubbO and Miso = My True Loves!

I could wish really hard that I was at home eating fried turkey. I would inevitably be tackled mercilessly, drug to the floor and then tickled until I almost peed, all the while my throat growing hoarse with my screams for help being entirely ignored by the rest of the family sitting around the table. Because my cousin, Danny, is at home. I could wish really hard that I was sitting next to Uncle Mitch and Aunt Yvette, listening to my mother's laughter. I could predict the amount of time my dad felt was socially acceptable to be downstairs until he climbed back up the stairs to his hermit hole. I could wish really hard that I was talking about poop with my brother-in-law, while my sister gagged and rolled her eyes at us. I would tell her the turkey was so "moist." And maybe add that "I heard that murmur!" I could wish really hard that I was there to hear my cousins snoring in the bedroom and the living room.

Or, I could be thankful for my warm home here in Wonju. For my mother-in-law sleeping on my couch tonight (at her insistence). For my kitties snuggling in bed. For my kids making me laugh so hard today. For the man I'm falling asleep beside. For this new wakefulness stirring in me.

And The List remains the same.

A Quickie

Hey guys, I am thinking about you. A ton. Because everyday I have things I want to tell you, pictures I want to post, stuff to say. BUT. My mother-in-law has been here since Tuesday and we are having too much fun for me to hang out on the internet and compose blog posts. Also, it is rude. So, there was tons of kitty drama this week I must tell you about. There was much crying and wailing and lots of eating and ice cream. Also, I got to speak a lot of Korean this week and it was awesome. Kenny has been in Seoul since Sunday for his job training, which he likes, I think.

But, what  I really want to tell you...

Last night I was Skyping with my parents. My mom and I were chatting on her computer and behind her I can see my dad in the background at his computer and all of a sudden he turns around and says, "Time out. I need your help." And I'm all, Sure. Whatchu want, DaddyO?
And he says. Get this. He says. Seriously. "Where is my Wall?"
He's been using Facebook for like 2 months and just now he is figuring out he has a Wall. He's just been using the Home page. He never clicked on Profile because he thought that was just a place where you put your name and your picture and stuff.

Where is my Wall...Is that not the cutest thing you've ever heard from a 49 year old man?