Something New is in the Air

Today I realized that for some odd reason, life here at Penn has become so much better.

Having so many classes crammed into one day sucked - especially because it was Monday - and the fact that work was so exhausting sucked, too, but there was something else in the air today that made me really happy.

I think I have found my peace.

Epik High; Love Love Love

있겠죠 이별해본적

사랑했던 만큼 미워해본적

읽지도 못한 편지 찢어본적

잊지도 못할 전화번호 지워본적

기념일을 혼자 챙겨본적

사진들을 다 불태워본적

이 세상의 모든 이별 노래가 당신 얘길거라 생각해본적

- Love Love Love by Epik High

It's weird how this song gets to me every single time.

It is the one song that has been on repeat countless times on my ipod; a song I keep coming back to no matter how much time passes.

To me, it really speaks of the truth; it exposes how much damage love does, yet we all can't help but coming back to it.

I can't speak for other people, but the song really speaks truth in my life.

Especially with the recent events in my life, I am coming back to this song with a new light shining on the back of my head (I am not quite sure what this means either). I have had trust issues since...I am not sure when, but I know for sure that this issue of mine became full-on after that one particular incident. The damage has been done, and for the most part, all traces of it has disappeared from my life - except I still have some major trust issues.

I thought I got better, but tonight once again proved that this was not the case.

What is with this uneasy feeling...? Do I "let" him back in my life? At what risk? Is it even my choice to let people in and out of my life? Am I being selfish?

Oh dear God. Is this a repeat of 2006?

Jetlagged

Jetlagged.

Which is totally to be expected, especially because of my odd sleeping habits back in LA. Having normally slept around 4:30am west coast time, it should not come as surprise that despite being exhausted after a day of traveling and moving in, I am still having trouble sleeping.

It is currently 3am here - 6 hours until my alarm is scheduled to ring; 7 hours until my first class of the semester.

My new room (no more mice! *knock on wood*) is in a complete disarray right now - things I hastily took out of my backpack are lying all around the room, and it is impossible to walk around without tripping on an open suitcase. Nevertheless, I am quite excited to start off this semester fresh in this cozy room with lots and lots of space. I hope that I settle in soon and decorate the place so it can have more of an "Elisa" feel to it (which means lots of pinkness is on its way!)

It goes without saying that I miss LA already (the weather in Philly completely sucks), but in a strange way, I find myself excited to become ridiculously busy again. Things are looking to start with a big bang tomorrow - (3 hours of class back-to-back, a 2 hour break, an hour and a half class, then 2 hours of work), and I would much rather be asleep right now.

Yawn. Here is to trying again...

Us.

"A friend is someone who sings your heart's song

back to you when you have forgotten the words."

- David Coppola

As corny as this might sound, after all these years, I do not know if he knows how special he is to me.

We met as puberty-stricken teenagers, during those awkward years when both of us were going through a state of confusion; now, as we are hitting the end of our adolescent years, I look back on the journey we had taken together despite the physical distance that existed between us for the majority of the time.

There was just something about him that had captured my interest since...our first few encounters. I remember the first day we had spoken - Valentine's Day, in fact - because of the odd nature of our conversation [something to do with some project we were forced to do in commemoration of V-day], and it was not long before we became close. It did not take much longer for me to develop a childish crush on him. As I grew to know him more and more, year after year, his presence grew bigger and bigger in my life until the point when we separated into our own ways, and the feelings transformed into something else (and to this point, I am not quite sure what it exactly is).

Now that I reflect back on those confusing moments, I can, with firm belief, state that the feelings were mutual, although neither of us had ever expressed it in words. There are some things in life that you just know, and I believe that this is one of them.

He was the "first" of many for me: the first true male friend I had, the subject of first love-like feelings, the first spiritual relationship I shared, the first person to introduce me to His love.

For a while, our relationship was so full of vigor and excitement, rapidly climbing the mountain of feelings - to the point where it stood on fragile grounds, and both of us had to be extremely careful lest we ruin what we had developed. After years passed however, I looked back at one point and realized that our relationship had grown into something so much bigger. In a very odd way, as we individually matured, so did our relationship with one another; now, our friendship is defined by a strange, deep serene connection that is inexpressible in words (and incomprehensible to others).

As we grew up and went through a number of significant others (on both ends), there still existed (and still today exists) some weird childish feelings(?) that prevailed (still prevails). I get a weird tingly feeling when I see him nowadays, but it is more due to the complex history we share more than any the typical ones of "love".

And as David Coppola states, he has truly become the person who can lead me to regain myself during those moments when I am so close to losing it. Just hearing his voice makes everything different - but I think our connection has reached such a level that just merely thinking about him, and all our precious memories, is enough to bring the passion back into my heart.

A Trip to Memory Lane

<- Corsage from my Senior Prom (2008)

Something about Prom still makes me feel all giddy inside. Although I went to two proms (one in 2007, when I was a Junior because I had a boyfriend who was a Senior and my own in 2008), the latter one remains much more special to me. Although due to my terrible memory, I cannot remember much from either night (I was intending to use the word unforgettable but realized it does not quite apply), they each had a charm to them. The first prom in 2007 was fun in that the boyfriend at the time and I were cutesy and all, but my own prom in 2008 was quite a "high school senior" moment, where we suddenly realized that graduation was soon approaching.

Tonight, in the midst of writing my personal statement for study abroad, I began to look through my high school photo albums and ended up dwelling quite a bit on my senior prom pictures. Having taken a very good friend of mine since middle school as my date, I had a good time with him and my best guy friend - the three of us got on surprisingly well, I remember, and we were dancing with a group of friends that only high school could have created.

Looking through the pictures, I realized how gorgeous everyone had looked and how for some reason we had all obsessed ourselves with taking pictures with everybody (therefore, I have a collection of pictures with people that never would have been brought up in my memory tonight otherwise). I smile now at the various moments on the dance floor that remain special to me: the slightly awkward slow dance, the collaboration of P&B with me, the fun moments with P to the widely popular-then song "Low". There's something about the innocence that prevailed throughout the moments that captures me still now, even though I know now that it was foolish for us to think we were so grown up back then.

Although high school in general has such a big, fond part of my heart, senior year was, by far, one of the most amazing experiences of my life. I remember treasuring many, many moments, aside from prom. And these memories are the ones that help me get through when I feel like too much pressure is on my shoulders, when my motivation to continue needs a little boost. Cheers to you, 2008 - because you not only made so many things happen, but continue to make things happen today.

I am really selfish, afterall

Washington Blvd, Los Angeles - Going westward

I don't want to leave. Ever.

What other state boasts such beauty in December?

And yet, a bare one week remains until the day I must leave my beautiful hometown for the dreary city of Philadelphia. When will I be back to enjoy this sunshine, the beach, the beautiful people? - two weeks in the summer, perhaps. Maybe for a longer period, granted that destiny allows me more time before facing my ultimate dread of growing up.

Should I take a research opportunity over the summer, which would involve my staying at Penn for virtually all of vacation but further my chances at Grad School? Or should I take a risk, look for an internship in LA, perhaps go the PR route, perhaps research in the remaining two summers (after this one) while resting at home for this one?

And the question that comes up over and over again in my mind creeps up in my conscience once more: why did I go so far away from home? Berkeley had accepted me with wholeheartedness, granting me the Regents scholarship that would have kept me near home and perhaps have given me more research options.

Oh, the sparkling title of graduating from an Ivy League school had completely tempted me. As if graduating from Penn would stamp my resume in glittering, gold letters: IVY LEAGUE. But now I know that it is really not quite that simple.

Now that I am beginning to stress and worry over my prospects at Graduate School, I wonder if attending Penn would be more detrimental than had I attended a less prestigious school elsewhere.

But no. Speaking with a distant Penn friend today, I realized that my mere three semesters at Penn (oh my I am but only 3/8 done) have taught me so much about surviving in the East Coast, away from the friendly people of Los Angeles and the comforts of home. Not to mention that no matter what bitter feelings I might harbor against Penn, I cannot doubt that thus far, my professors have been absolutely amazing. What such passion they hold! They have taught me so much, and have fired up my goals and love for learning beyond my expectations.

(My professor from last semester has just emailed all of us stating that grades have been delayed due to a system failure in the last couple of days. OH DEVASTATION. I have been anxiously checking for my grades all throughout winter break, on Christmas Eve, on Christmas Day, throughout New Year's celebrations and up until now but yet I am still missing 3/5 grades!)

And in the midst of all these thoughts on my future goals and plans (or the lack thereof), yesterday night I watched a show with my parents where a group of Korean entertainers went to Africa in order to establish a well so that the inhabitants could have clean water. The level of calamity was beyond imagination - all of them, drinking terribly murky and polluted water, feeding it to their children while knowing that the damned water is the source of terrible diseases that took their own parents away at a premature age!

And here I am, moping and complaining about Grad schools, and not being able to be in LA, the fact that my Fall Semester grades are coming out late, blahblahblah. Caught in the "Penn Bubble", I think all of us just forget about the rest of the world. A part of me wants to forget EVERYTHING, let go of all my selfish desires and go to Africa and build some drinking wells.

But I know, life is never simple like that, and neither is humankind. What exactly is stopping me from doing so? Selfishness? But can it be called selfishness when I am just looking after my own good? Perhaps I can justify it by suggesting that after I get my thousand degrees (more like three - BA, MA, PhD) I would be able to help them in a more large-scale way. But does that mean that the lives that I could have - that all of us could have - saved in the meantime should be sacrificed for the greater good?

Mind you, it is 3:47am here on the West coast and I tend to drone on and on during the wee hours of the night. Sigh.

Twenty. 20. 스무살. No longer a teenager.

In exactly one month, I will no longer be a teenager.

When I was younger, I used to think that twenty-year-olds were REALLY adults. Like, adults who knew what they were doing. Adults who, although might not know exactly where they are going in life, have figured out everything there is to know about...well, themselves. But now I know that is not the case. And now I wonder if the elderly who seem so wise to us - the seventy-year-olds...if any of them know exactly what is happening to them, most of the time.

And by the end of all this contemplation, only one thing stands true: clearly, I need to pray more.