To love myself.
Become one with the universe.
Have a witness of life.
Contribute in ways only I can.
And be at peace with what I have already
To embrace the slow and smooth
Confidence
It starts with putting on shoes and leaving the house to explore the world outside of comforts. Creating friction and doing what feels unfamiliar.
It is about showing up no matter what.
Consistenly.
Competency follows.
Confidence emerges.
Another way to see it? Habits change our minds, our bodies and most importantly, our actions.
New vista emerges and we always find a way
Origin Roasting De Waterkant
Exposed I-beams painted lime green. Buttressed by black clamps with cylindrical pillars. Brown floor laid with cement. Fans turn at different speeds. Oven doors open and close, bringing freshly baked goods.
Vintage mirror behind baristas. Round and rectangular tables. Emerald green sofa lines one side.
Post Hyrox event, one limps out. Murmur of conversations. Different rhythms and decibels and accents. A baby that cried out is gone? Replaced by the sound of cutlery being cleared, workers talking to one another.
Approaching closing time, crowd thins. I sit back as I write. Wondering what song is playing in the background. Instrumental cover of well known songs, inviting us to sing along silently.
Oven stops firing. She is not bending up and down. She wipes the outsidr with her right, as her left pushes the handle to keep oven closed.
Water runs as he rinses dishes before slotting them onto drying rack.
We are slowing down. This melody that I wanted to run away from. The quietude of silence. Away from socializing. Looking for property to buy. Personal bests to beat. Mountains to climb. Life to create and offers to sign.
Now that the achieving has been achieved. The lull of this vastness of space filled with energy that used to collide… I am learning how to still them. To let them…myself settle into a collection of heaped piles of electrons. Letting the valence collide, into one another. Creating new shapes of me. Unfamiliar but better. A shape of me that burns brighter. Less effort and less pretense.
Start writing.
Without Judgment across three peaks
How do I write for myself, without shame? Without judgment? Without performance?
To outpour what is inside? Anonymity always helps. To be seen without being judged.
I used to thirst for adventure.
Dangling myself from the edge of earth.
Throwing my body out of airplanes. Jumping from ledges and bridges.
Gliding down without engines. Moving from one country to the next.
Figuring things out.
Feeding off of dopamine of distractions and stimulations.
This world of unlimited options, eyes darting from left to right. Living through the age of abundance which we humans have not yet adapted to.
You cannot climb multiple mountains at once, but you can summit the same one over and over again. Every step. Every summit. Every descent is different.
My favorite hike of all time is up and down Lion’s Head. 34 times this year, trying to beat my personal best of 35 mintues from a year ago. Beating it on my 31st: 34:22:02. Then on the 32nd: 32:35:83.
Two days ago, I left my house, vowing to summit multiple peaks. Starting with Kloofneck corner, from the parking lot at the foot of Table Mountain. I go up and take the contour path, passing Platteklip Gorge. I continue up Devil’s Peak. Doubting my ability to meet my goal, feeling low in energy. Deflated?
Every step takes Herculean energy. I am at my slowest today. Can I make it up? Can I make it down?
Atop, I have a Fuji apple, and I feel energized. Going down is not hard, my feet skipping across rocks, joyful steps carry me down.
Do I walk down the road, and go up Platteklip Gorge? No. I retrace the countour before heading up Platteklip Gorge. This, too, feels impossible to walk up. I feel tired. I want to take a bath. Confidence comes from competence. And competence can only stem from consistency.
What separates professional from amateur? Consistency.
So I walk on. A couple passes, and I’m surprised to be passed. I am usually the one who does the passing. Atop, a mother struggles as her four children run up giggling. Through the crack, I emerge and sit in the middle of a rock to drink water. Not straying from the path to Cable Car. Conserving my energy so that I can get to my next challenge. On the way up another chain to the cable car, I grin at grey rocks. My preferred stomping grounds.
A group of black women shuffle into the cable car after me. “Can I stand with you?”, the lady asks as she wants to peer outside. There is another space for a toddler, not a woman with rounded edges. “Sure” I say, and pull myself inside, giving her the view which she records video with her phone. Isn’t it funny how people unapologetically lie to get what they want? And I wish I could do the same. To not just ask. But take up space. Take what I want.
Season pass holder, I have seen this view hundreds of times, and I shall be up again tomorrow. I have nothing to lose.
I stop by the Vida Café to get a Chicken Wrap. “Do you want us to warm it up for you?”
“Yes please.” Pleasantly surprised, I find a seat on one of the wooden chairs, in front of a round table. A couple behind me is finishing their drinks.
Basking in the sun, putting on my windbreaker. Body vaporizes the wrap, and I am surprised at the speed of my consumption.
“Ma’am, was the wrap good?” The nice employees yell out at me.
“Yes, excellent. Thanks.”
They are pleased with my satisfaction.
I am surprised and recognize my privilege. Of being different. Standing out.
I get in the car to drive to Lion’s Head. I expect to be tired and slow. But no. I was wrong. This happens a lot, and I like it. Because it means I am pushing past my comfort zones and learning more about my limitations.
Getting up in less than 36 minutes. Surprised with myself. Familiar wtih these trails, it feels effortless. Unlike Devil’s Peak. Unlike Platteklip Gorge. Walking up Lion’s Head feels effortless. Because this is the path my body knows well. No, not every step and path. But familiarity invites confidence.
And so, I can say what I couldn’t imagine few years ago. Devil’s Peak. Platteklip Gorge. Lion’s Head. All in one day, within seven hours of movement.
It was never my intention to become a fit hiker. But the fact that I have been doing this every other day no matter what the weather does or how I feel means I have not stopped moving. Continuing up and down no matter what. And because of this consistency, I couldn’t help but get fitter. Developing slower resting heart rate. I am at my fittest and I am getting older. Feeling the urge to run 5km after hiking. Feeding off of endorphins that makes me laugh out loud. Colors of my activity board becoming more black in the forest of Lion’s Head and Table Mountain hikes.
Repetition with intention is what matters. I find myself seeking steeper hills. Jagged edges of terrains. I am surprised to face this new human staring back at me. Stronger yet soft. Disappointed but not discouraged. Signining up for another 5KM. Platteklip Gorge challenge. Thinking I could do the Batman run next year in the pitch black. To feel the joy from pushing boundaries and achieving the impossible. One step at a time. No big movements required. No big packs.
World happens outside of our bedrooms. Outside of living rooms. In the open, where people stink. People swear. People play music out loud. Invading my personal space and attacking my senses. But I have learned to lean into the world. Teaching myself. It is not dangerous. It’s just uncomfortable.
Because what is world without chaos and feeling out of control? Because there is no control. There is no plan.
100 Days of Love Letters
Dear readers who have left generous comments, thank you. Your words mean the world to me. I am not sure how you found this blog, in this world wide web of content. Thank you for coming and staying to read a bit.
I have been working on a 100 days of love letters on another domain. emptybeginnings.com
Going back to the love letter challenge, I came across few comments that felt like tail wind to the airplane carrying a big load, not sure if it was going to make it to its desired destination. It’s been 18 months since I’ve come back to plunge into this life of my previous creation.
It’s nice to be back, an easier interface. Did I create this? A great reminder. Breadcrumbs into my previous version. A little better, I hope and more than a lot changed and healed.
Because I am now ready to leave the healing behind. Building a different home full of love and nourishment, a garden to let the world in. To drink and eat from, together in harmony.
Close your eyes
My two outstretched hands grab onto the floor to slide. Using the center of gravity of my body to propel forward, across the wooden floor. Mom calls out my name. Her voice feeble and weak. Can Mom hear me? Is that even her voice? My name escapes her breath, which I ignore. I continue to slide myself across the hallway, willing my ears to not hear her. I want to go outside to play. I don’t want to spoon water into her parched mouth every few seconds. Growing tired of the monotonous act of caregiving to the woman dying from cancer. A woman who gave up her treatment to come home to die, spending as much time with her three children.
Over the years, this image haunted me, etched and burned into my heart of longing.
Berating myself over the years for not fulfilling my duty and leaving her that day. Imagining her pain. Not being able to generate her own spit, her esophagus removed. A feeding tube into to her stomach. Once beautiful and calm, now a patient in my care. A woman I no longer recognized. A woman whose body I used to crawl to, to lay atop her, because I was afraid of everything. A woman who let me do anything and everything. A woman who taught me how to write my name even before starting school. A woman who was no longer my caretaker. A safety net. A giver. Now a receiver. Guilt from this moment haunts me still.
The night she passed away, she begged to speak to her husband, the father of his three chidren. She stayed with us for three days, with constant wailing in the background. Her body wrapped in white cloth, with her face out. Her eyes wide open, searching for whom, you may ask? The father of her children. Worried about the three children she left behind, she coudn’t close her eyes. Even as we closed them with our hands, they would open back up. How cold she felt to my touch. Even then, I didn’t know she was dead. I didn’t know that she was gone forever. My first experience with death. On the third day, I don’t even remember getting into a car, and walking next to my mother being carried up a hill. The wailing and crying, with me in silent observation. No one sat me down to talk to me about what had happened. So it’s no surprise that I am hyper viligant. Neighbors talk about us as if we are invisible and deaf. “They are so young, how can they play games when their mom has just passed away? Tsk tsk tsk.” What else was I supposed to do, even then I thought to myself.
The guilt of a ten year old for not taking care of her dying mother. What crime, I ask myself. What did you expect from a child needing to play? To escape her reality of suffering just for few hours? What do you expect from a child who was given too many responsibilities? A child that’s already been beaten and smashed against too many waves? The pain and guilt that has been growing in her tender and wounded heart? A child who feels too much? A child who cries to close the muchness. To let the light in. To close out the shadows? What do you expect from a child who is hardest on herself? Fyodor Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment comes to mind. We administer self-punishment, whipping ourselves to pulp. Cutting and diminishing ourselves for the shame that is not our own?
Making sense of the impossible, creating connections where there are none, a child’s play to be okay. To weather the today’s storm to live another day. Mother nature fighting to stay alive. Because to process the reality of the situations as they were would have broken me. Tantrums and shaking that would have sent me to insane asylums. Where do you go from your last refuge, the home of your parents after marrying, divorcing and abandoned by the love of your life? Where do you go from this life raft?
Even then, I knew what situation we were in. And so, I did the best I could. So that I could live to this day. To be able to pour my heart onto these pages, with my eyes closed. Sitting on the bench and table I bought for myself and for myself only. Not worrying about the world and how it will be received. To live the life of my own. For myself, finally. Instead of wanting to things to take care of everyone around me. Putting the world against my shoulders, I have walked all my life.
Now, I choose to let you go. All of you, the pain. The longing. The suffering. Even the lifeboats of my imaginations and disconnectedness from the world. I am my responsibility. You are your own. I am not responsible for you. Whoever you are. You are not my father. You are not my mother.
The pain body of the past continues to fight for life. With more compassion and less annoyance, I embrace you. A living life force of my past survival, fighting to survive. I don’t need you anymore, and I am grateful to you for keeping me alive and sane. For putting a blocker and blinder, so I can run as fast as I could to get away from there. The past, the smallness that still ingrates me to this day.
Finally, I am starting to see myself for what I am. What I am not. The being that expands. Switching the narrative. The three generations… the story I want to write is about myself. Doing the natural research by reading 조정래의 Arirang and 태백산맥. Spending as much time as I was welcomed to connect with my past.
How many goodbyes, pain and displacements did I endure as a child? A cornocopia of suffering followed by a group of helpers and guides providing opportunities and experiences. Leading to choices and self-realizations. Into the today of abundance.
They say God never gives you more than you can handle. Sean said I chose to be born into this body, this time, and this family. What am I meant to experience and learn from this life? What gifts and talents must I utilize to dance the life’s gift of breath?
I close my eyes and imagine myself as me, as the ten year old. I do not crawl. I stand up and answer her. I slide the wooden door open. I cross the threshold and sit next to Mom. I take the silver spoon from the bowl of water and pour a little water into her dry and scabbed mouth. She exhales from relief, and I smile into her face. My small hands wrap myself around her frail body. And I tell her. 사랑해요. 고마워요. I love you. Thank you. I tell her that I will be okay because you have already done so much for me. Just like the many evenings after coming home after selling insurance on foot, tears roll down her face, and she reminds me to be good to my sister. Take care of your brother. 언니 말 잘듣고, 싸우지 말고.You’re all you have. She smiles as best as she can. Tears roll down my face. Melting away the guilt and longing.
Empty beginnings
It has been 699 days since my last post. We’re not the same person, you and I. How long has it been since you got back to the work that matters? My accountability partner and dear friend recommended that I have an outline and teaser to get the readers interested. Invite them to join in. So this is my feeble attempt at an outline, a rebuke to my spontaneous energy spikes and whims. To even out the peaks and valleys to have full control of my talents and energy.
It was never one thing. A series of events that led to the today. This present moment. A team of supporters and advisors to push and pull me. My South African friends, colleagues and mentors. Family. Authors: Kahlil Gibran, Marcus Aurelius, Michael Singer, Eckerdt Tolle, Han Gang, Lee Min Jin, 양귀자, 은희경.
What I wanted in plain sight without hiding my desires have come true. In 2023, I wrote on my black chalkboard: “Be in Korea by 1 Jan 2024”. I took off from Cape Town on 31 December 2023. This and everything else I ever wrote down has come true.
Since emptying myself of physical possessions, I have stayed in multiple airbnbs in 6 cities and 3 countries.
Sabbatical life afforded me a glimpse into the future. A mini retirement. My perspective is a privileged one. Work is a privilege. A community of people at large companies I have worked for are extremely talented and hard working. Spending time with colleagues has helped me grow and be exposed to opportunities to grow. Daily stressors keep the pencils sharp. Having a place to belong gives us a sense of comfort and direction. Having nowhere to go to, nothing to do, and no one to be held accountable to, I had to figure out how to fill my time.
January: Suspended in time, I walked and ate. For the first time since childhood, I had time to myself. Discerning the likes and dislikes. Grateful to myself for creating this opportunity for myself. Having enough money to draw from. I still don’t know how much money I spent, thanks to my abundance.
March: Incognito, fitting in with people who look like me. A brand new feeling. Because even as a child, I stood out with my name and academic performance. Overseas, I looked different. At work, I was the only woman in the cadre of engineers. Here, the “only” Asian with the American accent. Learning that I am Korean, the hardworking, studious and forever sharpening my pencils. I’ve never been around such hard-working people in my adult life… No wonder the country looks and operates the way it does.
April: Working at the convenience store. Geting ready to leave. I am from here, but it is too soon for me to be back here.
May: I need a large place for me to rest. This is something I’ve always had, and hence took it for granted… Now, I know better.
June: Large puzzle pieces missing from my life, missing social cues and finding discomfort in finding my serious comments funny. I use to say, “I’m only funny when I’m serious.” Finally seeing the world as others have seen it. Knowing why I missed so many things that I couldn’t see. Thanks to a chance meeting.
July: Learning to date with the divergent mindset. A numbers game to collect as many data points as possible. Reliability and keeping promises. Showing up on time. Knowing how to dress and carry on conversations… I’m surprised to find so many gaps.
August: Falling and recovering
September: Move to Cape Town
October: The middle
November: The lingering end. Brunch at a friend’s. He confirms what I already know. It’s hard to find good people that are good at their job.
December: Starting yet again. Being open to experience and staying honest to myself. To be. To be myself, unapologetically and honestly. To be wild to be me.
Han is…
한이란…. 슬픔과 분노. Born into bondage. Shackled to the helpless history of my country. Unable to do what I wish. Except to keep on walking. Never giving up. Just one more hill. Just one more step. Until there is nothing left of me. There is nowhere to go. And so, I am reborn and live the life of Han. Feeling the volcano inside, not knowing why I burn so hot. The temper of a tyrant. I wasn’t sure why I am always in a hurry. Is it because there is no time for me? Living on borrowed time. Living as if possessed, moving like a marionette. Tethered to the master, at his whims and pleasure. No life of my own. No fertile soil to plant myself and grow. Not grounded. Always in motion, with outstretched hands and feet with only eyes wide open, roaming and dreaming of a different life. How many lives have I lived like this? I can count two so far.
For my dreams and desires were in bondage. What dreams, a privilege. This is why I didn’t know who I was, what I wanted, and why I exist. Living blindly, going everywhere while nowhere with no one of importance. Han is living the life of 억울함. Han is a life inside a mountain of rage and sadness. Built with sediments on top of one another, fossils buried between layers, the anger and rage embedding in tightly packed surface, shaking to be released. Unable to release, with the gravity and pressure bearing down on their angry faces.
They cry and shake, because their rage demands to be felt, heard and seen. So they create a pocket of air that floats all the way to the top, in the shape of tear drops, with the reservoir, filled with what appears to be an unlimited supply of tears.
Tears, tears, and tears.
So that I can tear them loose. To let the tears flow all the way to the top, to melt. To break open the surface inside, to melt and introduce cracks for a clean and clear break of the past sediments. To crack open the fossils to come to life, to release themselves, before the soft core is released.
No more tears. The reservoir is draining still, after 7 continuous days. I am not sure how long this will take. How will this change my life? How long does it take to release the past traumas of unimaginable destruction of one’s body? The injustice on one’s many lives? The violation of one’s free will?
Eventually, when I am not sure. I will be free of tears, sediments, anger, sadness and sorrow. Until everything dissipates. Into little and tiny particles, into the air, ocean, earth, fire and into you. Into all of us. So that you can feel my freedom. Breathe in my independence. So that we can be free to leg go and be let go. I wonder if this is enlightenment.
My purpose in life
My job is to write. Write my experiences and who I am. What I feel. Because I am an embodiment of the past and future. The east and the west. The frail and strong. Because I have the gift of words. Because I have been given the love of writing. To spread the message. To share my story. Because this is why my fingers move the way they do. Why I can type without looking at my hands. So that I can look deep inside of me and you and everyone. To explain and describe the experiences, to guide and motivate you to give it a try. To start again. Start again. Start again. Start again. Start again.
To persevere. Because I have persevered. Because I have never given up. Because I will never give up. Because there is nothing to do but try again.
To start again. There is nothing else. Everyday is another opportunity to try again. Start again.
I can show you how.
By sharing my stories.
My defeats. My triumphs. My optimisms.
My ability to paint the worlds in words so that you can see and experience.
My fingers were born to dance.
My body was born to move. I was born to share my life with you. All of you. Without hesitation. Without fear. Without delay. Persistently. Willingly. Without being afraid. Without holding back. Without being someone who I am not. Without you. Without expectations. Without reservations. Without Without. Just let the words pour out of me. Freely. Flow. Let them flow.
Surrogate home
Flashing lights and calls of siren rattled us awake on our first night in the rented Boston apartment. Next day, my newly minted roommates decided to bail. These suburbanites didn’t feel safe in the city and called their parents. Our one day landlord was understanding and returned our deposit.
I had one week of school before having to move out of my dorm room. As I was packing up my beat up 86 Ford Fiesta, a friendly upperclassman asked me where I would be spending my summer. I said I didn’t have a place to stay but had secured a summer job in Boston.
She offered her parent’s place in passing. I knew it would be impolite to say yes but I didn’t want to stay with my aunt and uncle who lived an hour away from Boston. There was no way my car would make the daily commute. Her parents agreed, and I moved in with my friend, her Mom, Dad, and older brother for three months. Her mom charged me weekly rent of $25.
It was one of the best summers I’ve ever had, if not the best, hanging out with my friend’s family, going to clubs with my friend and her older brother, working long hours, making friends at work, and having what felt like a safe home to go back to every night.
That was 20 years ago. My friend, Eunice’s mom, also named Eunice, sends me happy birthday email every year. Everytime I see her email address pop up, my heart somersaults. Through the small black letters, I still feel their love across the Atlantic.