Chapter 26: Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter... Beauty and Suffering
It was August of 2003 (yes I'm telling a story that happened in the summer but just follow along this strained analogy). Nearly 6 weeks after surgery on both knees for patellar mal-tracking and tendonitis. By now I no longer needed to use crutches but I still required the use of a cane because any prolonged standing caused immediate swelling and inflammation in my knees. I wouldn't be able to resume physical therapy until I went back to UC Irvine to begin my 4th year of school. Returning to UCI was another matter I was not looking forward to. Over the summer I had switched majors from English to Sociology because the School of Humanities sent me a letter notifying me that if I didn't enroll in more English courses, they would drop me from the department. Changing to Sociology was a pragmatic choice because I had already taken double the amount of Sociology courses, mostly as electives, but inadvertently checking off more course requirements than in my own field. Though I had no idea what I would be able to do with a Bachelor's Degree in Sociology; I'm still not entirely sure what I could have done.
But there was the other matter of KCCC (Korean Campus Crusade for Christ). After devoting 2 years of my life into that campus ministry, I had been unofficially "blackballed" for being a bad influence: too American, too opinionated, too rebellious to attend their weekly Friday night prayer meetings in Koreatown, that began at 10pm and often didn't include until well past 2am. My scheduled knee surgery caused me to miss out on going on a Missions Trip that summer, something that felt compulsory if you wanted to remain in their core leadership group. Never mind the fact that I attended every morning prayer on campus at 7am (they would congregate around a flag pole every morning and pray about various things, whether academically or evangelical goals. In my second year I led a fair share of morning prayers because the older brothers and sisters often slept in). That didn't matter to them because I was missing out on missions and the Friday night prayer meetings. I guess those held more weight. When I unceremoniously left KCCC at the end of my junior year, they were my entire social circle. I didn't have any friends I remained in contact with from high school nor did I have anyone from my home church in the Van Nuys area (I left that church after an ugly split over Head Pastor succession caused a schism in the congregation).
That's enough context. While having dinner with my parents, my dad shared that they would be looking to sell our home in Porter Ranch and downsize. After enjoying an early retirement from the garment manufacturing business, my dad had invested in several indoor swap meets in Stockton, California and apparently it was not going well. I would find out later that he lost most of the family savings and that my parents would need to re-enter the work force and open up a store. Granted a family of 3 does not need to live in a 5 bedroom house in a gated community. It wasn't the downsizing that bothered me. It was the fact that every other of my life seemed to be falling apart and I was grasping for any sense of stability. How I verbalized that anxiety was lamenting that I would need to start over again and that I couldn't keep any friends. Ever the source of emotional compassion that Korean fathers could be, my dad got defensive and blamed me. How dare I complain about moving. He had been able to keep in touch with family and high school friends without any problem, and these relationships spanned different continents without the benefit of Facebook. So what's wrong with me?! Again, had I known that my dad was feeling the pressure of our economic situation then I would have been more understanding to his situation. But those are things that parents didn't discuss with their (adult) children.
I ran (more like limped) to my room feeling completely abandoned and rejected. Not only from my parents but from the world at large. Yes it was clearly my fault that I was unable to keep friends, ensure my own health and well being, or have any sort of future prospects. I was an abject failure as a model minority. In a manner similar to Edward Norton's character in 25th Hour, I looked at myself in the mirror and began an hour long rant in front of the mirror, voicing every criticism and self-loathing thought that I had internalized for 21 years. At some point it devolved into a series of "f*ck you's" and "I hate you's" at myself as the tears poured down my face. I eyed the half bottle of Vicodin on the nightstand that was prescribed after my knee surgery. I stopped taking them a week after the surgery and switched to Motrin because it caused me intense headaches and dizziness. But that night I resolved to consume the remaining bottle and hopefully do the world a favor.
Suddenly through the tears and muffled voice, I had a "divine intervention" moment. A voice came out of my lips that I didn't recognize. It didn't sound like my voice nor did it sound like someone who had been crying for over an hour. "You may not know who you are yet, but I see you. And I'll be here with you as you figure things out. One day at a time." I was still afraid that my life would remain a failure and that I was only delaying the inevitable. But I decided to listen to that voice. I woke up the next morning with a weight lifted from my shoulders and saw myself as a blank slate. How could I rebuild my life and who would I create in its place? That was my first major suicidal ideation.
SUMMER
I think it was the pain of feeling like a failed Korean that led me to Helie Lee. It was the Spring of 2004 when Helie was invited as a speaker at my church, sharing her heroic story of rescuing her family out of North Korea. I was like a puppy transfixed on this remarkable woman standing in front of me. Because the Korean American community is so small (if there are 6 degrees of separation from Kevin Bacon, there's only 2 or 3 separating almost any Korean American. Oh you know Kim? Sure my cousin goes to the same church as his parents, etc) I was lucky enough to get in touch with Helie and actually send her a letter I wrote in response to reading her second book In the Absence of Sun. We exchanged a few emails on-and-off for several years and I told her that I tried to write a book (the VERY abbreviated version is the 'spring' portion of this very blog. You can thank me for saving you several hours of reading through my terrible writing in 2005). By chance she sent an email invite, to which I became a part of her email list, and was invited to a fundraising event for Korea Academy for Educators (KAFE).
That was the beginning of my world in non-profit. After meeting Helie again in 2007, she became my big sister and mentor and I spent the next decade of my life working under her in various roles. I grew to become the Managing Director of KAFE in 2013, I was her roadie/personal assistant to several book club and speaking engagements, she asked me to be an editor for her project Macho Like Me, and when that became a one woman show, I was the theater manager for the duration of that run. While I said goodbye to any hope of having a stable 9 to 5 job, working under Helie awakened a sense of social justice and using one's platform, however big or small, to amplify marginalized voices.
I've already written about Helie and KAFE in a previous blog so I'll give you the abridged version here. KAFe allowed me to finally embrace my cultural heritage and recognize my place in the larger, ever evolving Korean American experience. It helped me feel a sense of cultural pride when BTS became the biggest selling group in music and when Parasite and Squid Game became cultural phenomena. It also gave me a sense of community and togetherness when we started experiencing the rise of hate crimes directed at AAPI in response to the racist rhetoric normalized by then President and (hopefully future prison inmate) Trump.
When KAFE dissolved, I had to strike out on my own. I grieved the professional loss of my relationship with Helie because it was all I had known as an adult. Here I had sacrificed financial stability to chase a dream, and I felt like I was left with neither. This was the period when I was driving for Lyft and freelancing. It was when I met Juls and was introduced to Landmark and OneTaste (as written previously) and was in a holding pattern for a year while I underwent a lot of self-growth and awareness while my bank account continued to dwindle at a rapid pace.
It all culminated in April 2019 with the instance of "job catfishing" when I was scammed out of my entire savings on the same day my mother was to begin chemotherapy for lymphoma. Faced with the prospects of bankruptcy and the very real possibility that my mother would not survive, once more I felt like a failure and that my life had been for naught. I had my second suicide ideation on my way to the hospital to tell my father that I had been scammed and that my naivety put our family in financial ruin. There was no "voice of God" this time to assure me everything was going to be okay. My father threw me a life line in terms of a financial loan to keep me afloat for the next 7 months. That's how much time I had financially and how much time I gave myself before I lost all hope. And in month 6 I found Jenesse Center and began my new career in Domestic Violence.
FALL
Despite 2020 being a year that will go down in infamy and forever memed as a series of WTF moments, on an individual basis it was my best year yet. I was thriving and growing in my new field of domestic violence: not only did the pandemic cause an exponential increase in our case load which organically caused me to step into a more managerial role and thus capitalize on some of my best experiences with KAFE, I was afforded the opportunity to get my friend Serena hired as well. Because the opportunities to congregate and socialize were limited (unless you were a covIDIOT and selfish prick who endangered the lives and safety of our most vulnerable populations), my activities mainly consisted of meeting with Connie several times a week for outdoor walks around the neighborhood with her French bulldog Niko. I took up sketching again, worked on 1000 piece jigsaw puzzles, read voraciously, and caught up on TV shows and movies I had missed out on. And when my friendship with Lexi ended after 13 years, I met the woman who would become my best friend and the most important person in my life.
In the context of a global pandemic that claimed hundreds of thousands of lives, BLM amplifying the still current history of systemic racial discrimination and terrorism of Black lives by the hands of white supremacists and police (oxymoron), and the further disintegration of our "democracy" (which in itself is a fallacy) and basic human rights by then President Trump, I feel guilty acknowledging the positive moments of 2020. God/The Universe communicated that I reached certain dead ends and that I needed to pivot. And I did. All the sacrifice, self-work, vision boards and living with intention, affirmations, and manifestations felt like they were paying off. I finally had a chance to be happy and it all culminated on Nov 28, 2021. Honestly, if God/the Universe told me that night it was my time to go, I would have died peacefully because I got my happy ending.
Unfortunately, there was the next day following my happy ending. Every source of happiness began crumbling around me and every past trauma was triggered simultaneously. I fell in love and then felt the familiar rejection that came from being told that I'm not chemically desirable. Several friends physically moved away and others stopped returning my calls. While my work remained a source of pride and validation, I began to feel the prolonged PTSD and vicarious trauma from our clients. It became harder and harder to maintain a life/work balance. When I was experiencing the full throws of heartache and suicidal ideation, I assumed work would be my one salvo. While everything else is falling apart, at least I'm still good at this. But I began developing more severe cognitive distortions, internal mental filters that increase misery, anxiety, and make us feel worse about ourselves. I began exhibiting all-or-nothing thinking (since I'm not a total success, I'm a failure), magnification (my colleague having a problem with me proves what an impostor I am), mental filter (our department got dinged at the audit which means it was my fault and I'm doing a lousy job), and sprinkle in some overgeneralization for good measure (because I had one bad date, I don't have what it takes to be in a relationship).
I began therapy in April to better navigate my depression and anxiety and build safe guards against further suicide ideations. Seeing as that I hadn't had a suicidal thought since March, I thought it was working and that I was healing. But my mental health dipped again the last few weeks and it felt like I was right back at square one. The suicidal ideations returned and I began praying at nights that God/the Universe would mercifully take me in my sleep.
WINTER
Self-actualized people have a sense of spontaneity. They live more naturally, rather than in a rigid way, and aren't afraid to follow what happens in the moment instead of sticking to routine.
I'm trying to make sense of my life and what lessons I'm supposed to take with me into this next season of my life as I begin my 40's. That's what this entire blog series has been about. And while I'd like to save my final reflections when we reach the end (which means I don't know what they are yet, I'm figuring it out as we go. You only need to hang on for a few more weeks). Maybe I had to be reminded of the ever changing seasons in our life and that nothing is permanent; not the good and not the bad. Maybe I had to be reminded that when we are the most resistant to life's changes, that's when we are the most disappointed because we are reminded how little we can control. Maybe I had to learn that my self-worth and validation for my life is not dependent on my successes and failures; it is inherently worthy. If I listen to the algorithms in my social media, maybe I had to learn that no one will love me until I love myself completely. Tell that to someone who struggles with mental health and walks the tightrope of depression and anxiety on a daily basis. Does my struggles with self-worth and self-love make me unworthy?
You can take your toxic positivity and f*ck all the way off.
What I do know are that my leaves are changing colors again. Some have withered and died. And maybe others will grow in its place. I also know that these transitions from season to season hurt like a motherf*cker. Each one has triggered suicidal ideations and hopes that this will be the last season I will mercifully endure. However, I also recognize that the unique beauty and art of my life experiences have emerged from these painful transitions. I don't assume this new season will follow the same conventions as others in their 40's because nothing I've done up to this point have felt typical either. I deleted and grieved my vision board this week and with it any hopes for a conventional future of love, companionship, and stability. I spent 40 years working towards them and ended up losing them in less than 40 days. Maybe they were never meant for me to begin with and I'm meant for something else. Hell if I know.
But I await to see what colors my leaves turn into next and what beauty is to be experienced.
Portrait Photography: https://www.zacharyleeportrait.com
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