spontaneous birthings

new home

2006-08-28T11:43:00.000-04:00

please visit my blog at its
new home.

it's the same, but different.

50% Korean, 100% Jubilee!

2006-08-14T15:59:00.000-04:00

It's official. I am Auntie Kristen.

In the spring, my sister asked me what I wanted my niece to call me. I hadn't even thought about it. It didn't seem like a big deal. But the question nurtured various possibilities: Aunt Kristen, Auntie Kristy, Kristen-ajama ("ajama" is Korean for aunt)...The more I thought about it, the more the excitement bubbled up in my chest, and I felt an undeniable urge to mimic what the names would sound like coming out of a 2 or 3-year-old, and all of a sudden, it became quite important.

I couldn't have her call me Auntie Kristy or Krissy. I've always disliked both names. I couldn't be Kristen-ajama, my sister and I both agreed. There was only one "ajama" in our lives - Julie-ajama - a Korean lady who greeted the both of us when we stepped onto US ground for the first time, who had helped my parents assimilate my sister and I into our new lives.

I didn't want my name to sound too plain, but I finally settled on Auntie Kristen. That was what my sister called me when she first told me she was pregnant.

Now the name doesn't even matter.

Lani Anne Derrickson was born last night at 5:56 pm. She weighed 7 lbs. and 8 ozs. I wonder why people always add the weight when discussing newborns, but I think I understand now. It's an amazing thing - childbirth - and the idea that a small, precious body was forming inside of the womb is still almost too incredulous to believe, so it's a tactile way for us to comprehend the miracle. It's almost like having proof that the birth actually happened.

I can't wait to meet Lani, who I've been promised has chubby cheeks. I can't wait to watch her grow and become her favorite aunt - because of course, that's who I will undoubtedly be. Most of all, I can't wait to hear her call my name - however she wants to say it.

the starbucks shakes

2006-08-10T17:41:00.000-04:00

print date: 7/11/06
author's note: punching never recommended in real life

Too funny. Reminds me of Starbucks and the unsuspecting mind shakes I get sometimes when I order a drink. "Do I have to say grande? Should I just ask for a small?" But I admit I adhere to the rules. Saying I want an iced grande chai makes me feel like I deserve it.

This is from Pearls Before Swine, a must-read during my morning commute.

notes from san diego

2006-08-08T17:15:00.000-04:00

I was only in San Diego for 4 full days, and yet, I was able to collect enough hearty, feel-good-ness to last me a month. Being reunited with a childhood friend for a few days rejuvenates the spirit. And when you can both share in the wonderful effects of cheese, then even greater lessons are learned.

You can watch Madagascar, laugh out loud, and not feel ashamed about it. You can watch it with your friend and revel in the fact that it gets better with multiple viewings.

Here in DC, you drink coffee to wake up. In San Diego, you drink coffee for the sake of coffee-drinking and all of the daydreaming that is allowed when sitting on a wooden deck, overlooking a lush, homemade garden. You watch a lotus flower at the center of a small brook as it opens its arms at daybreak and goes to sleep at night.

You eat burritos and steak and more burritos and more steak because you don't worry about getting fat. There is no room to worry when your belly is full. There is, however, always room for cake.

You go to the zoo even though you don't have any kids. And you laugh and point at the monkeys, coo at the baby monkeys, and giggle when a boy yells "What are they doing?" when he notices an unabashed pair procreating (who the adults had been watching but wouldn't dare to comment). And you laugh loudly because you wanted to all along.

You notice how the attraction to feel-good cheese grows stronger the more you age. You notice because you see it happening to your friend. And that makes you smile even bigger.

fight for life

2006-08-01T11:04:00.000-04:00

"The earth's too big," you say. "I'm a wee person and I can't stop the glaciers from melting."

How about helping yourself? Seriously, you can help fight global warming by promoting life. Healthy, boy this feels good!, life. Here's how:

1. get off your ass and watch less TV or play less video games. our ozone will thank you.

2. teach yourself basic means of survival. wash your dishes by hand instead of using the dishwasher.

3. exercise. walk to the convenience store that's 5 blocks away. leave the car in the driveway. get rid of the suv!

4. relief your life of stress. take the train, the bus, or ride a bike to work. who wants to sit in hours of traffic and get to work all red-faced and angry?

5. talk to others about it. sing very, very loudly while walking down the sidewalk, "Recycle, recycle, recycle now! if you don't know it, then i'll show you how. tell your mama and your papa and your sister too...Recycling is the thing to do!" (anyone else remember from elementary music class?)

6. go do something. plant a tree. try not to hurt any worms.

7. vote for politicians dedicated to energy-saving programs.

8. preserve open spaces. turn off the ac, and get out to a park. use your parks. it can help add romance to your life, together time with family, peace to your busy schedule.

9. feed your brain. read about global warming.

10. and for the ladies, stop being vain! blow dry your hair only a couple times a week. who wants brittle hair anyway?

taking sides

2006-07-31T15:32:00.000-04:00

"What's your opinion on all of this?"

I had been listening to the conversation between two new friends, their voices rising as they made their points, their hand movements growing more animated as they talked, the other waiting for a pause so he could jump in and continue, making the same conclusions but from a different angle. I sat and listened for about 10 minutes, occasionally nodding in agreement, ocassionally shaking my head, but was silent.

We were talking about the Israeli attack on Qana. One of my friends who faithfully practices Judaism (let's call him "A"), expressed frustration, "You know, I've always supported Israel. But they have got to stop. They're killing women and children over there." More was said, but I don't recall the exact words, but as he spoke, he inched closer and closer to the table. His face turned red, and the words stuttered from his mouth filled with anger.

My other friend ("B") admitted, "You know, it's hard for me to stay neutral. From my experience, I've found that the Arab people are the nicest people." He had been born in Beirut, and was raised in Cairo. "They both have reasons to be angry and to want revenge."

"A" pitched in, "Israel learned to become a combatative nation. It had to. It had to protect itself from the time of the Crusaders. This goes way back."

Both couldn't agree if the Israeli-Palestinian conflict would ever end.

I couldn't even answer the question. My knowledge of the conflict is minimal. I am ashamed to admit that I understand little of the politics behind the daily headlines and top news stories. However, whenever I read them, my heart drops. I fear that it is has become an expected part of our daily lives -- Every morning I read The Washington Post's Express, a paper for metro commuters, and every morning I expect another bombing and more civilians killed. Will we become desensitized to the brutalities? Will it keep going on?

Recently, I've developed a deep interest in Arab culture and the tumultous timeline of the Middle East. I wonder if, in a way, I'm taking sides. If there's a side I'm on, it's definitely for hugs.

chit chat tree

2006-07-30T11:54:00.000-04:00

a tree full of staccato chit and chats
cannot help but to whistle along
to the songbirds' conversation --
a blending of scattered chatter
and the hush of evening

in between symphonies,
a cluster of birds flee, as if dared
by jokesters that shriek
to the thrill of the tree's sway

all the help i needed (e.d.)

2006-07-26T14:45:00.000-04:00

(thanks exploding dog)

a calm that carries me

2006-07-23T11:53:00.000-04:00

Thoughts unclench and reveal open palms,

The body rearranges and shifts to disarm

Stiffness in hypocrisy, Emptiness in self-conceit,

And instead is charged from the energy of humility,

The harmony in unity, the beauty in simplicity --

Its the calm that carries me

Free from borders the "I" slips from duress,

Hums to the tunes of life's daily tests

And instead of giving in to the ugly face of stress,

I float on the blessings I've gathered from a day spent

The alleys are dark in the shadow of the soul

Where pity and indifference desperately flow

Creeping in the mind, trying to gain control

But the heart is constant and fears not the load

Words slow down, thoughts are a-stuttering

Awareness matures, flawless in its delivery

I breathe in and out --

Focus on serenity, focus on tranquility,

And with gratitude sigh

for this love complete.

Generation Lazy

2006-07-18T09:45:00.000-04:00

In the continuum of generations, I float somewhere between Generation X and Generation Y. Born in 1980, but having arrived in the United States in 1985, I quickly immersed into a culture of Sunday morning cartoons, VH1 and MTV videos, and in due time, the world wide web. I'm like the Older sister in the Generation Y of web-heads. When I was 7 or 8, I played with dolls, and did strange things that only kids would find fun - like collect all the acorns on the front lawn simply for the sake of...who knows what. I created things by hand - lego houses, battery-operated machines that had wheels or plastic buoy-type things that would make them brrrrrrr in the bathtub. And I (gasp) read a lot.

When my parents got Internet, somewhere between 1990 - 1992, I didn't understand what it was. Back then it was a grown-up thing. I didn't know what was grown-up about it, but I just knew it wasn't for kids. For my report on leaves, and the different species of bear (2 very important subjects for a 4th and 5th grader), I used the encyclopedia for information and content. There was no Wikipedia then.

For a true Generation Y-er, the encyclopedia is obsolete and has been replaced by a shiny Mac or PC screen and the numerous (and often invaluable) websites that contain the keyword of choice. Wikipedia offers alternative names for the post-Generation X-ers - the Net Generation or the Google Generation. I have definitely gained quick membership to the Google Generation (google is now part of our everyday vernacular, but that is a whole new discussion), but would not want to be identified as such. It sounds slothful, mindless, and completely uninterested about what's actually happening in the world.

All that being said, regardless if I'm more Generation X or Generation Y, I am reminded that I do belong to a group of twenty-somethings perhaps more aptly named Generation Lazy. Call us web-savy; call us the Google Generation; call us the Now Generation; call us the Generation of Me's; call us I-pod Crazies. The fact is simple. My generation is definitely more lazy than that of my parents. We want things when we want them, without doing anything (but to click buttons), and we want it now.

I like to think I'm not that bad. I am a hard worker. I pay my bills. I still read (gasp) books. But I am an avid googler, and I am quickly reminded of whose generation I belong.

True story:

Every morning, I come into my office, turn on my computer, then fill my Starbucks coffee mug with 1 cup French Roast and 1 cup Hazlenut decaf, return to my desk and start the day.

True conversation:

Me, to a coworker: "Good morning."

Coworker: "Oh you can go first. I know it takes you a while to fill your mug." Emphasis on "your".

Me: "I don't have it this morning. It's sitting at home in the dishwasher. I'll have to come back for my 2nd cup." I say it in a tone that's very close to complaining.

Coworker: "You know, Kristen. You can wash it by hand." I look at her. "I'm serious." I continue to look at her. Then it hits me.

Me: "Oh!" I say, "I didn't even think of that!"

If my brain automatically associates dishwashing by my inserting dishes into a dishwasher, then I shamefully admit that I am part of Generation Lazy.

At least I wash my pots and pans - what's now, the old fashioned way.

"It's all Asian"

2006-07-16T12:57:00.000-04:00

There's a family that lives directly above me. And I rarely hear movement. Once in a while, I can hear drawers opening or closing, a faucet running, a shower. But I have never heard yelling or anything that suggests an argument or disagreement. I've seen a couple young children, around 5 and 8 years old, coming in and out of the apartment, and yet, I've never heard crying or whining.

It's hard to tell who exactly lives in the apartment. I've seen two ladies who enter and leave together, perhaps Mother and Grandmother, but easily could be Mother and Sister or Aunt depending on the perspective. There is a Father. And the two girls who I've mentioned. But once I saw a Son or Nephew. I can't imagine them all living in the one apartment - six people with wants and complaints who don't make a single sound. It's amazing.

It's as if it is they and me who live in this apartment. While there are about eight (I've never walked up the flight of stairs since I'm on the bottom level, so I'm guessing) apartments in my building, this family are the only neighbors I see. With exception to a one lady who I am starting to see more frequently.

I ran into the Father in the Laundry Room this morning. While I was removing my whites from the washer, he walked in the door, and cheerfully said, "Hello!" We've never exchanged greetings with such exclamation, so I was a little surprised, but I naturally replied, "Hello!" It felt like we've had many conversations before, despite my encounters with the different members of his family being silent exchanges, a smile or brief hello or thank you for holding the door.

As if sharing a secret he said something about doing the laundry. "Excuse me?" I asked.

"Today I get to do the laundry. My wife is working today."

"Oh...," I said. "And your kids aren't helping you?" I thought it was Asian for children to help with household duties.

With a chuckle, he replied, "No...Americans don't help with that." Then he asked me, "Are you Chinese? I'm sorry, I forgot." We've asked each other the same questions before.

"No, Korean."

"Ah...Korean," he smiled.

"And you, are you Korean?" I asked him.

"No, Chinese," and with a shake of the head, he said, "It's all Asian."

"Yes, you're right." Indeed.

"Did somebody ever help you with your toilet? When it was clogged?"

A couple months back I had knocked on his door to ask to borrow a plunger. They were the first ones I thought to ask because honestly, I believe that Asian families often help other Asians, regardless if strangers or best friends. Call it a stereotype, but I've never been proven otherwise.

They didn't have one. He suggested that I call maintenance and have them come. He told me to call right away with great earnestness as if the problem were his own. And he apologized multiple times for not being able to help.

I was touched that he remembered my needs for a plunger. The American in me was thoroughly embarassed to even have this conversation about a clogged toilet, and worse, to have that be the connecting factor between me and my neighbor.

"Yes, thank you," I replied quickly. I continued moving my damp clothes into the dryer.

"Oh good." And before reaching for the door to leave, he added,"You know what I do? I hang my clothes before I put them in the dryer. If I don't, they won't dry."

My clothes have always dried, but I didn't say anything. "Oh, that's a good idea. Thank you."

Maybe it's all Asian.

intrigue

2006-07-12T16:36:00.000-04:00

this is officially my first post, and strangely, i feel like it is not me who is typing these words.

the idea of blogs is almost too expansive for me to comprehend. the act of imprinting my thoughts into a network that extends miles around the globe without any direction or intention of mine is a bit elusive. how can i maintain ownership on my thoughts? how do i know what is truely expressed from me, the real day-to-day me, and that i won't discover the dreaded pseudo-me who writes for selfish possibilities?

blogs have become more than personal megaphones, an open doorway swinging back and forth teasing passerbys to peak in and take a look at the crowd. now they're two-way streets between sellers and consumers. they're mirrors to the writers themselves, magnifying their obsessions, their flaws, their significant inconsistencies, and at moments, shine brilliance unexpectedly.

i wonder if blogging will affect my life. if my eye grows keener on instances and observations simply to be able to jot them down. and if i'll want to jot them down for the pleasure of remembering, or if there's a greater message i want to get across.