Everything has a beginning and an end. Kind of cliché, I know. In a world where time drives us through life, we have to believe that there’s a starting point and an ending point. Little things like our clothes are made by planting the cotton seeds, gathering up cotton, going to the factory and to the stores, and finally to our hands. Then we wear it for few years and throw it away, where it decomposes and becomes nothing. Likewise, humans are born, live their lives, and wither away into nothing. After about 90 to 100 years later, the world forgets that those particular people existed (Unless you are a famous person who made a difference in the world).
That’s the sad truth. And I’ve been thinking a lot about this beginning and ending recently, not totally out of random, but because my grandfather is in the hospital right now. He is 77, a man of solitude, who has less than a percent of humor in him. He is a traditional Korean man, who believes that women has to obey everything that men says.
But he is also a man who survived the Korean War, who taught a
t a local school for kids, worked hard day and night to get our family where it is now. When I was young, I remember my grandfather holding a cigarette in one hand, giving me a candy with the other. I remember him writing down his daily stocks on a thin, worn out notebook, just in case he wants to go back and look at them again. I remember holding his hands and walking through a park, with him being silent and me chattering about childish things. He would always be in his room, without friends, without life, watching T.V. and occasionally coming out to smoke.
And now, no one is in his room. No one is waking up 5 in the morning to get the newspaper.
I visited him today in the hospital. We had to go to the ‘Cancer Center’ to find his room. When we got there, I saw my grandfather with three different kinds of needles stuck to his now-gaunt arms. His wrinkles became more wrinkly; no fat, just skin. He tried to get up when he saw us, but he couldn’t, because he hadn’t been eating for a month already. My grandmother looked mad tired. She had been with him since he moved to the hospital. I left his the room after saying hi to him because I was feeling both guilt and sadness at the same time. Guilt, because I didn’t care about him for years. In fact, I thought grandpa was really annoying, with him demanding this and that around the house. Sadness, because he said I was his favorite granddaughter. Sad, because he only looked for me in the hospital. Guilt, because I avoided going to the hospital for an unknown reason.
Perhaps the reason was because I hate the hospital. I hate the plain white walls with the spotless floors, I hate the white gowns on doctors, I 
hate the bustling of activities in the lobby, I hate the peculiar hospital smell, and I really hate seeing sick people helpless getting about their places with a wheelchair.
I went down to the lobby and started to wonder around. There was a building that was connected to the ‘Cancer Center’, and somehow this place was different. I heard little kids yelling, babies crying, women with round bellies walking around. It was the gynecology building. The mothers looked so happy with their recent-born child. The soft, wrinkle-free skin looked so different than what I saw just a few moments ago on my grandfather.
So that’s h
ow it is. Humans are born, they die, and that’s the end of it. If we were animals without a soul, then once we are dead, our existence doesn’t mean anything. Sure, we can live the best life while we are alive. We can go travel the world, discover a new specie, write a breakthrough novel, and so on. But when we all die, when the end of Earth comes along, will we be remembered? Will there be a new planet with a new set of life? A New Beginning?
Photo credits: ami_Glz, knowsnotmuch, scorbette37, kalimistuk, davebluedevil
Technorati Tags: kisaplit07, kiswrites, beginning, ending, time, death, birth
As my high school career comes close to an end, I cannot believe I actually made through it. Starting from a scared little 9th grader to a lazy, doing-nothing senior, I grew and learned a lot from school. Psychologists say that learning in schools actually improve people’s intelligence. I don’t know if that is true, since some people who graduated high school seems less intelligent than a middle schooler. No matter what it is, I am glad that I got to experience the supposed ‘best time of my life’. There were some ups and downs, of course, everyone has that. But I think the most important thing of all in high school is friends. Friends are everything, when we go ‘out in to the world’. They give you a shoulder to lean on, laugh at your non-funny jokes, and like you for who you are. High school made me define who I am and prepared me to make more connections ‘out there’.
ad. But the one thing I will remember is the lunch time talk with my friends, our class’s clown, taking photos of us doing the weirdest pose, the plan to go to Fiji, the serious talks about our deepest secrets…
In each century of our human history, there is some kind of a war or a battle. World War I & II were major conflicts that everyone knew about. Every race battles because there is a conflict, or they want to prove that they are stronger than anyone else. The Western race, throughout human history, seemed unsatisfied with what they have. They would try to conquer and conquest, doing every bit of damage along the way. There are small battles and conflicts even within the very place we live. Everyday we see someone fighting, either in person or in television. Everywhere there is conflict that needs to be solved, either it be a small fight between friends to battling leukemia. It’s constant, unstoppable, never ending. And there is that on going battle with our own selves, which we have to deal with every day.
e in mind is the amount of food intake, the amount of exercise I need, and what kind of activities I should or shouldn’t do. I know this sounds ridiculous; but hear me out. Every person has different things that worry them. And for me, it has always been about my external appearances. This could be because I am living in a society where people are judged by how they appear. Or maybe, it’s just me being unsatisfied with who I am. But this battle is hard. The things I choose to stick my fork into and put in my mouth is thought over every other second, and I cannot undo this overcoming concern of appearance. Maybe this is because I’ve been judged a lot by how I look–ever since I was in the States, I was prejudged because my skin color was different. And because I was young, all I could conclude was that I was never good enough. No matter how skinny or how fat, it wasn’t good enough. This never ending battle with myself will hopefully end soon. Hopefully I will learn that I am who I am, that accepting myself is the first and the most crucial step to a successful life. But I’m not there yet. Just like the battles around the world are hard to stop, the battle with myself is hard to bring to an end, too.
things. Being vulnerable to the cruel, ruthless life can be quite discomforting. Focusing what we can’t control to things we can is one of humans’ defense mechanisms, commonly sited in psychology textbooks. We tend to focus our energy on something that we can have control over. This can be either our favorite sports, arts, or anything we can create and do ourselves.
one of the biggest rising problem, especially in the United States. When hunger strikes, the odor of fresh baked pie can get to anyone. Unless you have an eating disorder. But that’s a whole another story for another time. But when I win over the desire to eat that savory pie, or any kind of food, I feel a little satisfied. Even though I’m hungry and miserable, I’m satisfied that I could control my hunger, my hands, and my brain for reaching that pie. Of course, there are lots of times which I lose that control and binge on all kinds of food. That’s why restricting food is a BAD way of dieting. Besides that, and when I do have that ability to control my eating and control my weight, I cannot feel any better. And that’s how I cope with my life, metaphorically.
But the one thing that makes us serious is art. Creating art, criticizing art, observing art…anything involving art and its form.
love the smell of a fresh new paper.
Have you ever just felt joy without worrying anything in your life?
People say that life is a cruel game where nobody tells us the rules or advices. Even if there are advices, we tend not to listen to them. It depends on the decisions you make along the way, and which directions you decide to make. My decisions and directions for the last 18 years has been hectic, I must say. The road twisted and turned, there were some breaks, U-turns, and whatever other road words that might symbolize ‘hard’.
And I want to relate further on this. So does independence, the so called freedom really make us human beings better off? Jane believed that being interdependent is what we need, making us benefit off from each other. Being “mutual dependent” than being alone or being an individual, is what she said. And I agree that this is true–human beings are social animals, to have relationships and live off one another. We are beings of love, inevitably made to connect. But sometimes I think we are afraid to be alone. Sometimes, it’s hard to step off from the little circle we have created around us, a protective bubble, that we cannot get out of. Just like stereotyping and labeling in my previous blog, we have to find ourselves a group that we can be comfortable in. Of course, this is totally different than being interdependent or what not–because interdependency is beneficial. But sometimes this society, makes us believe that being out of the norm is wrong. Rather, being off track or off the pace can be a huge ‘no-no’ to a traditional culture like Korea or even the United States.