Black Sheep in Society: Season 2

Caviar, Black Sheep: A Rosie Monologue.

liz

The first formal event I went to with Prescott, I felt like a complete outsider. There’s a certain way that one must walk and talk; shit, even breathe. Going to these type of events require tons of media training, especially when your plus one is a sole heir of a fortune 500 company. Prescott was a natural at it; he was always able to give the press what they wanted out of him, and to me, it was a completely different side of him I never see. I like to call him Press-Scott, the guy that smiles and is kind to the press so that any slandering stories made about him are either dismissed or no one pays attention to. Sometimes, I feel like that’s the guy I first met, and whoever this guy is now is just who he truly is.

But it’s the fact that I know he’s capable of being the guy I once met is what truly keeps me here.

I looked at myself in Prescott’s huge walk-in closet. For tonight’s event, he picked out a lavender-color silk dress, spaghetti strapped. I had told him countless times that these type of dresses always make me feel insecure, yet he’s always making me wear them and every single time, he has his makeup artist cover the tattoos on my back, just covering up the things that make up my being.

Prescott walks into the closet. I turn around and look at him, smiling.

“I like this color,” I simply said. “Purple pairs well with brown.”

“I know,” Prescott said, grabbing his suit jacket from a hanger. “I had asked my stylist to see what colors would look best on you.”

“You could’ve just asked me,” I teased, trying to hide how I really felt. Me, being an art major and knowing color theory like the alphabet, knows that purple compliments brown hair and eyes. As much as I like wearing all the fancy shit Prescott picks out, I wish I was able to contribute even just a tad-bit.

“Not the way you dress, Rosie,” Prescott teased, putting on his watch before sighing. “You do look really good in that color though.”

“Thanks,” I smiled as I put on the matching faux coat. “Time to do this.”

“You’ll be great,” Prescott reassured. “You always know what to do.” Prescott turned around and exited the closet. I slowly followed behind him.

…

Tonight’s event was some bullshit excuse to celebrate the next generation of business owners. It was full of pretentious wannabe business owners that were born into these businesses, yet here I am with one of them. I don’t remember how or when I agreed to be Prescott’s date for these things, but I guess in exchange for free outfits, I have to act interested in what was going on. I typically zone out in these events, thinking about who’s secretly fucking who and who has skeletons piling up in their closets. Sometimes, I’m able to keep up with the conversation enough to engage when I’m asked to; tonight wasn’t that time.

“Rosie?” Prescott called out my name, annoyed. I quickly looked at Prescott, trying to appear as present as possible. “Brandon asked you a question.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, now looking at this tall, skinny guy that looks like he’s a lead guitarist of a band rather than a business owner. “What did you say?”

“It’s fine,” the guy dismissed. “We all bring these types of dates some time.” The guy walks away as Prescott tries to laugh the situation away. Once the guy leaves, Prescott’s smile quickly fades away.

“Do you not know how to listen?” Prescott said. “Like sheesh, I know you’re not too bright but if one of my colleagues ask you a question, I expect you to answer it.”

“I’m sorry that I wasn’t listening to the guy who’s business is all about animal fecal matter in soil,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“It’s called being respectful, Rosie; I know you didn’t grow up knowing what that meant,” Prescott spat back. It was times like this that I wanted to do nothing more than just run out of these events. The longer I would have to stay here, the more annoyed I’d become. Normally, I would suck it up and stay; it was better to feel miserable than to have to hear Prescott go off on me when the event was over. Tonight wasn’t that night.

The food finally came out, and from what I thought would be a five-course meal was just caviar and crackers. I couldn’t take it anymore and needed to get out of here. I looked over at Prescott who was too busy interacting with the other socialites sitting at the table. I sighed, giving him chance after chance to pay any sort of attention to me. I slowly grabbed my bag from the side of me and got up from the table. He didn’t turn around to ask me where I was going; nothing. I rolled my eyes, walking toward the coat check section and grabbed my coat, leaving out the venue from the front door.

…

It wouldn’t be the first time I entered a local 7Eleven store in a formal dress like this one. Sure, the people in the store always look at me when I do, but after these dumb, fancy events, I always have to get real snacks and real food from a store to take back home with me. I walked down n the aisles, looking to see what I wanted to get tonight. I didn’t have much money on me this night, but I had to make due what I had. I picked up a small can of soda and csome chips,, followed by some gummy candy as a sweet treat. I looked up from my pile of snacks and see another perosn in the same aisle as me in the store. If it was anyone else, I would’ve just went about my night, paid, and left to go back home…

Of course, I looked up and see Micah, looking just as confused and annoyed as I am in this moment.

“Hey, Roe,” he finally said.

Overexposed: A Self-Love Project.

Overexposed: Traumaversaries.

liz

For most of my twenties, I had carried trauma from events that happened when I was a teenager. It’s no surprise that in the seven years I’ve been writing for the blog, I spoke about this trauma to acknowledge it, accept it, and to diffuse the energy that I allowed for it to carry. Within this last decade, I’ve sat down with my therapist to talk about the events in detail and identify the triggers so that when they arise, I don’t allow it to affect me as it usually does. This work took years for me to finally accept it for what it was and to ultimately forgive myself for the role I played in this event. It wasn’t until later in life that I decided to forgive those who contributed to my trauma; not because I actually forgave them, but because I need to move on and, yet again, diffuse the energy it held. I finally allowed myself to let that trauma go and not let it affect how i lived my life back in 2021.

I was finally free from ever experiencing another ‘traumaversary’; you know, the time of year when the traumatic event happened. Mine were in January and in May; it felt good to take back the positive energy of my birthday month and what was once my favorite month of the year because the weather was at it’s best this time of year.

That was, until February 2023 came around and gave me some new traumaversaries; back to back in the same week.

Hi, my name is Liz, and I am currently going through my 1st-year traumaversary. It is notable that the first year is the most challenging.

The thing about having a traumaversary is that it is sort of like a holiday; you don’t really think about it until the time of year comes around. After moving forward from that situation, I went about my life and made 2023 one of the best years I’ve had in recent date. I entered 2024 knowing that this time of year would come again and I would be brought back to thinking about my trauma in ways that normally would not trigger me. For example, I went for my usual coffee talk and put a random playlist on shuffle. I skipped a couple of songs until this one particular song began to play, and I was immediately taken back to red hair and bleach-eyebrow Liz, sitting on my bed crying my eyes out and singing along. The lyrics to the song talk about being heartbroken and wanting nothing more than to erase the memories away by destroying yourself in the process. I immediately skipped it, not being able to handle listening to the song.

This song was one of my top played songs of 2023.

I guess the point I’m trying to make is that trauma resurfaces in ways that you’re not always ready for, no matter how long its been since going through that traumatic experience or how much progress you’ve made in healing from that trauma. Trauma isn’t linear, and you never really know when or how it will resurface itself; for me, it’s always around the time of year that the event happened. During that time of year, I am extra cautious when it comes to my mental health and my overall well-being.

I am reminded that I’ve come a long way since experiencing that trauma. I make sure to let myself know that I did what I needed to do for myself in order to move forward and begin the process of healing. Since then, I’ve learned so much about my needs and what type of interactions with people I wanted to have. I’ve learned how to be my own best friend by taking myself out to shows and concerts and give myself the same love and care I would give to others. I’ve learned that I also need to have boundaries with myself because I am not perfect nor am I excluded from having the toxic traits that I don’t allow others to have around me. Although I am able to move on with my life and learn from these unfortunate events, it still doesn’t make these anniversaries any easier, especially if they are from recent.

For me, I am taking care of my mental health by doing some self care; in this case, it’s writing a lot. Writing helps me diffuse that energy that these events still carry, and talking about them out loud instead of allowing it to circulate in my mind until the time passes. I know that in this time, I will mourn the loss of the person I was prior to this traumatic experience, and yes, I will sink into this rabbit hole and think to myself, “I was so different before everything happened; life was so different.” It’s normal to mourn the losses that these events caused, and it’s completely okay to miss the people involved and the person you were, but you have to remind yourself why you chose to make the decisions you made and again, remind yourself that the progress you made since experiencing any trauma is worth acknowledging.

At the end of the day, your traumaversary will pass, and you will make it to see another day, week, and year. Just be gentle with yourself.

The Teenage Monologues: Season 2

Tale of Two Drummers: A Milo Monologue.

liz

The show was less than two weeks away, and I was already feeling the pressure of being the only person in the percussion section learning the piece. It was technical and I haven’t been able to grab the hook the way I would normally do on a piece. I felt my stomach tie itself in a knot when Mr. Harrisburg had us set up for this particular piece.

I don’t hear anything or anyone besides the sweet, soft voice of a girl. I look up and see Sophie standing there, watching me tune the drum set for this particular piece.

“Hi, Milo,” Sophie said and smiled. I couldn’t help but smile back.

“Scout,” I said and leaned back in my chair. “And what do I owe for this surprise visit in Percussion Paradise?” Sophie immediately laughed.

“Percussion paradise?” Sophie questioned.

“Two tickets to paradise,” I said in a sing-song melody. Sophie laughed and shook her head as she took a seat next to me. “What’s up, Scout?”

“I was going to ask you if you wanted to practice for the show after school,” Sophie stated, picking at her fingernails.

“Why so nervous?” I questioned, noticing her hands fidget on her lap. She immediately stops.

“Well,” Sophie began to say. “I’m usually never the one to ask to hang out, and I don’t know if you’re busy doing other things like being a dual major.” I rolled my eyes at Sophie, but smiling to let her know I wasn’t serious.

“You know you can always ask to hang out with me,” I said. “And you know I will always say yes.” Sophie smiled and immediately cleared her throat.

“It’s always fun practicing with you,” Sophie pointed out. “Plus, it gives me an excuse to practice anywhere else but my house.”

“Another video visit from your dad?” I asked. Sophie nodded her head.

“My mom is supposed to see him today,” Sophie said. I nodded my head as she spoke. I know how hard it was for her to talk about her dad. I cant imagine not being able to see or be with someone you loved every single day. “And knowing my mom, she is going to take away all of my practice time to sit in this call and I just don’t have the energy today to do that.”

“It’s cool,” I reassured Sophie. “I’m down to distract you with music.” I smiled at Sophie, which makes her smile. Finally. “You know, you should just permanently switch your seat next to me; it’s not like he comes into class anymore.”

“But I don’t play the drums,” Sophie said.

“I’ll give you another drum lesson when we hang out,” I insisted. “And then you can teach me a couple of things on the violin.”

“If you learn the violin, I’m out a spot in the strings section,” Sophie commented. “You’ll be so good, you could be a one-man string section.”

“Well I guess you’re going to have to take my drum lessons seriously,” I teased. Sophie nudged me on my shoulder. Mr. Harrisburg clears his throat, in which Sophie immediately gets up from the seat and rushes to her section.

“Good afternoon, class,” he addresses the class. “As you may know, our mid-winter showcase is two weeks away. This show is a very important one as there will be some special people watching in the audience.” The class begins to softly chatter in excitement. My dad had told me that potential colleges scout freshman for these specialized programs; they basically work with you for the time you’re in high school and pay for your college when you graduate. It was something that my dad did when he was a student at Waverly all those years ago. I can understand why he’s been so pushy about me being good at both of my majors.

In true fashion, the classroom door opens, and in walks in Aaron Serrano. Mr. Harrisburg turns his head and looks at him.

“Aaron,” he addresses him as he tries to sneak past him. “Please see me after class today.” The class snickers to themselves before Mr. Harrisburg quiets the class. Aaron sits in his seat, next to mine, taking out his notebook and sheet music. I slightly shook my head; how can he get away being absent for so long without getting his status suspended?

“I would like to start with percussion today,” Mr. Harrisburg said as he looks in my direction. “Milo, Aaron; please flip to the last four measures of your section.” I couldn’t help but grin a the fact that Aaron has no idea what we’ve been working on and that he’s about to make himself look like a fool. Payback’s a bitch, huh? I quickly open my book to the song that Mr. Harrisburg is referring to and I immediately panic. Where the fuck is this sheet music? I look at Mr. Harrisburg, who is looking at me. “Are you ready, Milo?”

“Uhm, yeah,” I answered, trying to play it cool. Mr. Harrisburg counts us into the piece in which I nervously wait to start playing. I look over at Aaron, flipping through the pages of the music before we come in to play. How the hell did he get this music?

One, two, three, and–

To my surprise, Aaron and I begin to play at the same time, and for the first time actually sound like one section. I tried to not look in his direction, but I was genuinely curious how he knew the piece just as good as I did.

“Okay, okay,” Mr. Harrisburg stopped us. “This is the best I’ve heard you both play together. Well done.” I finally look over to Aaron, sitting in his seat like what he did wasn’t a big deal. How did he learn this piece so quick? How did he even get the sheet music? Aaron looked at me and rolled his eyes, making notes on the sheet music as the rehearsal went on. Something is hella weird.

…

The bell rings and everyone begins packing their bags to leave. As I started to put my books away, I see Aaron walking past me to leave. I don’t know what possessed me to say anything to him; I just do.

“Yo, Aaron,” I called out. Aaron stops to look at me; clearly he’s confused that out of all people, I’m the one calling for him. I’m just as confused. “Got a minute?”

“For you?” Aaron asked. “No.”

“Sorry,” I quickly said. “Don’t mean to take up your precious hallway time with Mollie.”

“Yeah, my girlfriend,” Aaron emphasized. The sound still makes my skin crawl.

“Yeah,” I played along, trying to not him get the best of me. “Tell her that the next time she needs to steal my sheet music in order for you to learn it to let me know in advance.”

“The fuck are you talking about?” Aaron asked, annoyed now.

“Just admit it, dude,” I said, now directly looking at Aaron at his face. “How the hell do you miss all these classes, yet you have the sheet music for a song we just started to learn, and you knew perfectly?”

“It’s called being good at your major,” Aaron scoffed, trying to walk away from me.

“Sure,” I continued to say. “But it’s a coincidence that my sheet music just magically disappeared the day you finally show up to class with the music and knowing how to play it already.”

“So you’re accusing Mollie of stealing your sheet music?” Aaron asked before laughing. “Damn, that’s suppose to be your best friend, dude.”

“Damn,” I mocked. “That’s suppose to be your girlfriend; why would you have her steal my music?”

“Listen, jerk,” Aaron spat out, getting close to me now. “I don’t need to steal your fucking sheet music.”

“So where is it?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” Aaron started to get louder. “But I don’t need to be stealing your shit, and I wouldn’t tell Mollie to do some shit like that.” He points in Sophie’s direction, which startles her. “Now go bitch about it with your band-filler violinist girlfriend.” Mr. Harrisburg immediately calls out our names to stop arguing. The class quiets down and everyone is now walking away from Aaron and I.

“Aaron, I told you to see me after class; Milo, keep it moving and go to your next class.” I grabbed my backpack from the ground and look at Sophie. She quickly puts her head down and walks towards the exit of the classroom. Just when she was getting more confident in her craft. I sighed, leaving the classroom as well.

The "Something" Series: Season 3

“Did I Say Something?” A Grace Monologue.

liz

In America, small concerts were never really small. No matter what, they will try to fit 200 people in a space where the capacity is only 150 people. When I was in college, I had went to a small concert with a bunch of my college friends in the city and got caught in the middle of a mosh pit. Let’s just say my mother was livid when I came back home with random bruises on my arms and legs since my father was due to come visit the following morning. It was fun, though.

In Korea, it looks like they take their events seriously. It was nice knowing that no matter what, I was guaranteed my seat and that the atmosphere was a lot calmer than what I was used to. I looked around the venue, watching everyone take their seats and engage in small talk. Before I could take my phone out, I hear my name being called.

“Grace!” I looked up and saw Summer waving her hand at me. I smiled and began to walk towards her. I’m grateful that even being in another country, I still have family here to visit.

“Hey Summer,” I greeted as I gave her a hug. “Thanks for inviting me out tonight.”

“As someone who is appreciative of the arts, it was only right to invite you,” Summer said as we walked to our seats. “How’s the production been going for you?”

“It’s been so good,” I happily said, smiling as I answered. “I can’t believe it’s already been a month since we first opened. Before I know it, the year would have gone by.”

“Evan always tells me the same thing,” Summer agreed. “He’ll go on tour with this band mates for a couple of months and before you know it, he’s back home.” I couldn’t help but smile whenever Summer spoke about Evan; she was always so giddy whenever she spoke about him. I had met him only once back in America when Summer went to visit her parents. It was nice to see Summer in her element like this.

“He’s definitely not wrong,” I chimed in, looking toward the stage as the lights dimmed. The first couple of bands were really good. Most assume Korea is just a nation that produces cutesy K-Pop music; I definitely did when I first heard about it. I learned a lot about the music through– through Jamie— and to my surprise I enjoyed a lot of the different genres. Some of the bands were jazz-like and others resembled R&B. Evan’s band was K-Rock, which reminds me a lot of my love for rock music back in high-school.

Watching Summer smitten as Evan played on stage was cute. She would bob her head to the music and jump up and down in place, cheering him on. It was sweet to see how a relationship like this looked like. It makes me think if something like this could’ve ever happened for me. It would’ve been nice to have Willow and my family here, cheering me on show after show.

By the end of the show, Summer had took me backstage with her to meet up with Evan. It was weird to be backstage at a show I personally wasn’t performing in, but it was a nice change to the usual madness I experience in a backstage setting.

“Evan!” Summer said excitedly, running towards Evan as soon as she seems him. His smile immediately covers his entire face as he opens his arms wide. Summer runs in for a hug, softly kissing Evan on the cheek. “You did great, tonight.”

“Thank you, gongjunim,” Evan said, still holding his arm around Summer. It’s cute how he calls her ‘princess’. Evan looks at me and greets me by bowing. I return the gesture out of politeness.

“Hi, Grace,” Evan said. “Thanks for coming out tonight, and I’m sorry for not making it to your show with Summer last month.”

“It’s okay,” I said. “You were legit on a tour, which by the way you killed it out there.” Evan nods and faces Summer. She looks back up at him to look at him too. “I wish I could stay and talk, but the guys and I have a meet and greet with the rest of the artists.”

“It’s cool,” Summer said, now looking at me. “Grace and I can go back to our place and hang out. Is that alright with you?”

“Yeah,” I answered. “We finally have more than just a one day rest day between shows.” Summer smiles, which makes me smile in return.

…

“Would you ever permanently move to Korea?” Summer randomly asked me as she opened a kimbap from the convenience store. “Like if there was work out here for you, would you take it?”

“If I was younger, maybe,” I said, eating a bag of chips. “But I truly think this production is the last big gig I get at my age. I’m not what your typical dancer looks like.”

“That’s very ageist,” Summer said, looking at me. I shrugged, knowing it was the truth.

“Tell that to the industry,” I simply said. Summer rolls her eyes, getting up from her seat. “I also have my daughter back in America; I can’t just leave her there for a job.”

“But you kind of already did that,” Summer pointed out. I looked at Summer, a bit annoyed she would say something so vial and rude.

“With all due respect, Summer, you don’t know my life outside of what I tell you,” I snapped back, readjusting in my seat. “Just because I’m here for work, doesn’t mean I’m making this my lifestyle.”

“I didn’t mean for it to come off like that,” Summer said. “I meant that the hard part is already over. Willow is getting older, and if she’s doing okay with you being across the world, then imagine actually doing it as a job. Isn’t this something you always wanted to do?” Before Summer moved to Korea, we spent a lot of time hanging out at her parent’s place. My mom and her dad are lifelong best friends; family even after my aunt married my uncle. When I moved to New York for college, Summer was the one that would show me around the city on the days I didn’t have classes. Even though she was a couple of years older than me, we got along like friends. She moved way before I graduated though, and she was already in Korea by the time I had Willow. She knew what she knew about my life after college, but sometimes I felt like she still saw me as this young, carefree girl with big dreams of taking on the world.

“It is,” I finally answered back. “But things are different now. I’m different now.” Summer looked at me and shook her head before finally sitting down next to me.

“If I didn’t make the move here from America, I don’t think I’d be the person I am today. Just how if you never moved to New York, you wouldn’t have had the life you have now.” Summer was right; I know my life would’ve been completely different if I stayed in Virginia. I know that I probably would’ve been a lawyer in some small firm in Woodbridge, and my life would’ve consisted of weekends at my dad’s, being around other FBI agents, DAs, and lawyers talking about absolutely nothing. But I made that huge move once already, but to do it in a different country? I don’t think I could do it again. “Grace?”

“Huh?” I said, snapping back to reality.

“You are just as bad as when you were younger,” Summer teased, getting up and walking toward the kitchen.

“What? Did I say something?” I shouted so she could hear me. Shortly after, I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket. I took it out and to my surprise, it was Sahim.

Sahim: Hey, tiny dancer – how was the show? Thinking about trying a new place in the city and would love to go with my favorite company.

Grace: I’d love to go. See you at 5?

I looked up from my phone as Summer walked back into the room.

“I’m just saying, Grace,” Summer continued to make her point. ” I think you’re selling yourself short and playing it safe. We both know you’re destined to be great.”

“I guess,” I simply said, looking at my phone once it vibrated again.

Sahim: Put something formal on.

I can’t get any more spontaneous than this.

Misc., The Teenage Monologues: Season 2

If I Wanted To, I Would: A Mollie Monologue.

liz

If there’s one thing about being a dancer is that your leg muscles are stronger than your average person. Sometimes, I hate having dance practice because it takes away my time from doing things I actually wanted to do. Days like today, I’m grateful for my dance background as I run down the streets of Brooklyn to make it to dance practice. For a normal person, this would’ve been a 15 minute walk; for me, it’s a 5 minute run.

With each step, I hear my things jumbling around in my book bag; my metal water bottle and house keys making the loudest noise. Come on, Mol; you got this!

I get to the dance academy and yank on the front door. Fuck. I looked at the time on my phone; it was 4:30. Practice started literally 5 minutes ago. Jennifer had a strict policy on lateness when it came to practice, especially when it came to the advanced classes. Jennifer would give her advanced dancers a 3-minute grace period to make it to the rehearsal. If you weren’t in the studio by then, she will lock the door and not open it. I felt stupid standing out there, looking into the small window of the studio. I was never late for practice; I’ve only ever called out from it. I felt like running home and hiding underneath my covers and shutting out the world. I couldn’t tell Aaron that I had missed another week of dance practice because of our band practice; he would feel like complete shit.

As I turn away from the studio to walk home, I hear the door being unlocked. I turned around to see Jennifer opening the door, looking at me.

“Get in here,” she demanded. I ran back toward the studio and entered it. She locked the door and immediately walked in front of me.

“You know what time you have to be here,” Jennifer said to me.

“I know,” I said, trying to downplay the situation. “The buses were slow and—“

“Has every bus this past month been slow?” Jennifer said more than asked; I already knew she wasn’t buying it.

“I have other things I have to do, Pep,” I said, annoyed. “You do know that I’m in a whole school choir, right?”

“You have an obligation, Mol,” Jennifer emphasized. “And for you to miss all this rehearsal time is unacceptable. You never used to miss dance rehearsal.”

“Well, I’m here now,” I dismissed, trying to walk past Jennifer to go into the locker room. She immediately blocked my way. “Pep?”

“You’re not dancing today,” Jennifer said as she crossed her fingers.

“So I actually make it to rehearsal, and now I can’t dance?” I asked, not understanding Jennifer’s logic.

“You were late,” Jennifer reminded me. “You know the rules around here.”

“I’m literally here though!” I snapped back, raising my voice. “Why even open the door if you weren’t going to let me dance?”

“For one, I am responsible for your whereabouts when you should be at practice on time,” Jennifer explained, folding her arms across her chest. “Secondly, you’re going to sit here and watch the rehearsal and as punishment, you’re staying after to learn the steps, since you wanted to be late for rehearsal, you’ll stay late as well.”

“That’s not fair!” I complained, not understanding Jennifer’s logic behind this scenario.

“Mollie, it is what it is,” Jennifer emphasized. “If I make one exception for you, I have to do so for everyone. Like I said, you know how things work around here.” I rolled my eyes, immediately grabbing my backpack to walk away. “Where are you going?”

“I’m not staying here to do nothing for 2 hours,” I said.

“You’re not getting it,” Jennifer began to say. “These are the hours I technically look after you and for weeks, I’ve been covering for you. Mom is gonna start wondering why you don’t know the routine after awhile and I;m not going to be the blame for your dumb, teenager decisions.”

“For fuck’s sake, I’m 15; not 5!” I yelled in Jennifer’s office. The other dancers in the studio turned around to look into the office window.

“Then stop acting like you’re 5, Mol,” Jennifer said to me; she seemed annoyed more than embarrassed. “Seriously, Mol; if you don’t want to dance anymore then just let me know and someone who wants to dance will take your place.” Before Jennifer leaves the office, she turns around one more time to look at me. “I hope you realize that no boy is worth losing your passion over.” My eyes widened; Jennifer’s comment took me completely off-guard. How the fuck does she know? Did Milo tell her out of spite? That’s the person I once called my best friend. Some fucking best friend, huh?

“Whatever,” I finally said, looking away and down on my phone. I tried to play it cool, but I couldn’t bear looking at Jennifer. If I did, my face will tell her everything.

Jennifer simply sighed and closed the office door behind her. I rolled my eyes and got up from my seat, watching the other dancers learn a routine I was not familiar with. I feel my face get hot; this is a routine they all know and I had no idea about. I feel my stomach turn; it was going to be a long night.

The "Something" Series: Season 3

Something Traditional for Mom: A Jamie Monologue.

liz

Dinner nights with my family typically mean I’m in the kitchen helping my mom prepare the dishes. I don’t mind though; as I got older, I’ve grown to actually enjoy this time with my mom.

“Jaemin,” my mom comes over and drops the kimchi in front of me. “Cut this up for me.” I listen to my mom and start cutting the kimchi for her.

Moments later, Haram enters the kitchen with two bags before placing them on the table. I turned around and smiled at her.

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” Haram said, immediately throwing on an apron and helping my mom strain the rice in the sink. “I had a faculty meeting after school.”

“Were the kids nice to you today?” I teased, walking by her to kiss her on top of her head.

“A little rowdy, but for the most part they were good.” Haram said, washing the rice.

“Are you still teaching 3rd grade?” My mom asked, chiming in.

“Yes,” Haram happily answered. My mom smiled at Haram; she really liked her. My mom and Haram got along well. My mom was very conservative with the people that we brought home. The moment my mom met Haram, they instantly hit it off. I guess that’s a good sign, right?

“So cute,” my mom simply said. “I remember when Jaemin was that little. He used to have so much hair and these big glasses.”

“Eomma,” I said, trying to stop her before she got too explicit with the information. Haram giggled and gently kissed me on the cheek. It made me smile.

…

“Dinner was lovely,” Haram said to my mom. “The garnishes were so tasty, as usual.”

“Thank you, dear,” my mom said, beginning to take some of the plates off of the table. Haram immediately gets up to help her out. I could tell my mom appreciated all of Haram’s help. I watched both of them in the kitchen, cleaning off plates and putting leftovers in containers together. I couldn’t help but smile; Haram seamlessly fits in this house which is something that hasn’t happened before. I begin to imagine life with Haram: a house with a tiny puppy that she carries around with her everywhere. I imagine Haram spending Chuseok with my family and vice versa. I wonder how life without—

“I have to get going,” Haram comes into the dining area and grabs her purse from the back of her chair.

“Already?” I said, watching her put her things together. I see the containers of food that my mom packed up for Haram.

“I do have to be at work by 7 tomorrow morning,” Haram explained. “Two more days and then I’m off work for the weekend.” My mom finally enters the dining area.

“You and Jaemin should spend the weekend here when Mina and Minji come in a couple of weeks,” my mom suggested. “I think it would be great for the women to spend some time together.” I didn’t like the idea, mainly because my sisters were extremely tough when it comes to the women I date. I know this wouldn’t be the case; maybe that’s why I’m freaking out.

“I would love that,” Haram answered for the both of us. I quickly looked at her, wishing she had let me ease into this discussion.

“It’s settled then,” my mom said, walking over to Haram and I. “I will let Jaemin know when we could all do this.” Aigoo. My mom hugged Haram before I have her a kiss goodbye.

“Let me know why you’ve made it home,” I said, hugging Haram tight.

“Of course,” Haram said before leaving the house. She leaves out of the front door and I immediately know where this conversation is now going.

“When are you and Haram going to get married?” My mom immediately asked.

“Eomma,” I whined, cleaning up the rest of the dining room table.

“You are not getting any younger, Jaemin. I would love to see my only son carrying on the Kim name—“

“Eomma, please,” I said, nearly dropping the dishes to the ground. “Haram and I just started dating a couple of months ago. There’s still so much time left until things get to that pace.”

“She’s traditional,” she continued to say. “She values family and education. She was raised in a good family that values the same.” I looked at my mom as she spoke. My mom was protective of her only son and didn’t speak too highly about the women I dated over the years. Haram was different though, and that is what makes me feel so nervous. “She suits you well. I’m glad you met someone back home like her.” I rolled my eyes as I placed the dishes in the sink, turning the water on to clean them. I knew exactly what she meant; my mom never spoke if it didn’t have motive or intention behind it. I understand that my mom wanted me to be with someone close to home and that knew the culture well enough as herself. She never told me this, but I know she was flipping out when I was in America with an American woman.

“Yeah,” I answered back, wanting to change the subject desperately at this point. My mom smiled, placing clean dishes in the cabinet as I washed and dried them. I want to make my mom proud, and I know she just wants to be the son that she raised. But, sometimes I feel like that side of me can’t come back, no matter hard I try. I still slip in English words every now and then in conversations with other Koreans, especially when I can’t remember how to say certain phrases and words in Korean due to being out of practice for some time. So, if me being with a Haram makes her happy, then it shouldn’t be that hard considering that Haram also makes me happy.

But, what if I’m not the traditional Korean man Haram needs me to be? What if I am now too westernized to ever be traditional? What if I don’t want to be traditional?

I look over my mom as her phone rings on the counter. She picks it up when she sees that Mina is calling her. She takes her phone conversation to the other room, leaving me in the kitchen by myself, lost in my thoughts.

If I was traditional, I wouldn’t be overthinking it and if I wanted to be traditional, I wouldn’t be so caught up in the anxiety behind being so.

Overexposed: A Self-Love Project.

Overexposed: Impostor Syndrome & Ageism in the Workplace.

liz

Back when I was a bookseller, I didn’t understand the work ethic of my assistant manager.

Our workplace had opinions on how she worked and interacted with her staff. She wasn’t a horrible person to interact with, but I would always tell myself and those around me “if she was a bookseller, I think we’d all get along with her better. As the assistant manager though…” We all, to some extent, agreed on this statement.

We were all a pretty young group; we were the new generation of store managers and booksellers after a long reign of notable booksellers and managers. We were swarmed with faculty and administrators looking for the old store managers and hoping that they would “fulfill this request” like they would have in the past.

I was the oldest in our group of booksellers. I was 25; a year out of grad school just trying to get some work experience so that I was able to move forward with what I really wanted to do down the line: help students on the college level. Those around me were fresh out of college or just starting college, looking to get a job either on campus so that they were able to attend their classes before and after work, or those that lived within 15 minutes of the college. After me was my manager, who was 27 at the time that I started my job at the bookstore. To be 27 and run an entire campus bookstore? That took balls to do. Although she was young, she was professional and felt wiser beyond her age, and she was older than all of us so of course we showed some respect.

Our assistant manager came in during the first day of classes, or what was “rush” for us. “Rush” was the first week of classes that we were the busiest. We all thought she was just another bookseller being added to our team, until we were told she was our assistant manager.

Later in the months to come, we found out that she was just 20 years old, making her the second youngest amongst us all.

Back then, I didn’t understand why she worked the way she did. I didn’t understand how someone knew what they were talking about, but had a hard time communicating that to us. I didn’t understand why she managed us so drastically different than how our store manager did.

I didn’t understand how someone that was one of the youngest in our workplace even have enough experience to get into a managerial-level position until I did.

Hi, my name is Liz, and I am the youngest person in my office in a managerial-level position with only 2 years of experience under my belt.

I sometimes wonder if my old assistant manager felt this constant pressure of being older in the workplace. You should dress like this and you should talk like that and you should present yourself in a way where you look like you know what you’re talking about. You think that you have to act like you’re older because you had an encounter where a student thought you were a student and didn’t believe anything you were saying to them. You think that you have to change your language and code-switch to a more professional-sounding voice; using “I am following up with an inquiry you addressed per your last email” instead of “I’m reaching out about that request you sent in your last email.” You think that you have to be this person that is older beyond your years, without realizing that your youth brings something special and new to the table.

Instead, you are slammed by faculty, administrators, and former students whose age is way past the mid-life crisis phase for sounding “too young”, therefore “not knowing what I’m talking about”. You start to wonder if you’re even worth of the position you’re in because of these various factors. You develop some extreme imposter syndrome, deeming anyone and everyone who’s older and wiser than you a better fit.

In higher education, I’ve learned that these things I’m feeling are very apparent and visible to those who experience it. Those who work in it work in the field until retirement. They make connections with each other in different departments, trusting each other with their work and are constantly doing favors for one another due to the fact that they worked together on making a situation right. Being new and young in higher education makes it hard to gain that with other people, and people are not willing to trust newcomers that they don’t know or haven’t ever heard of before.

They deem you as new, they deem you as entry level, and they deem you as incompetent of sharing information and being correct about that information. She’s young; she can’t possibly know what I’m talking about. I’ll ask *insert someone older than me* instead. Being young in a workplace that has notably older than your generation makes you feel all the things you think others are projecting onto you: you’re too young to be in the position you’re in, so you have to constantly prove yourself.

Prove that you’re knowledgeable, wise, and competent, while trying to maintain your youth.

At my desk in my very-big-girl-job are stuffed animals that once lived in my room growing up, and crochet chicks that I did over the winter break. I have two Care Bear plushies with my cats pictures on them. I had a Kpop themed 2023 calendar, and still have Victon’s Seungsik calendar on my desk. I currently have Valentine’s day hearts hanging from the rim of my desk. I am known to unapologetically be myself in a setting that can suck the fun out of things. In everyday life, I am the things I place on my desk; bright, colorful, and festive, so why must I dim my light to fit the standards of working in a professional setting? Why can’t we be ourselves and be professional? Why can’t we be wise, smart, professional and young? Why must I sacrifice my youth when in all reality, my generation of professionals are going to be the ones running the same offices in 10, 20 years from now? Why can’t we use our youth as a way to relate to our students; to make them understand that we are not all ancient and dusty and detached from reality?

Why must I feel like the only reason I experience impostor syndrome isn’t because I think I don’t do my job well or don’t know what I’m doing in this position, but because of my age? When are we going to stop believing that we aren’t worthy of our place in professional settings because of our age? I know that this feeling will pass one day. I know that I will one day feel like I’m worthy of my place in my career as I grow more into this role. I know down the line, I will see people even younger than me in positions like my own, and I hope to one day meet them and ask them if they feel the same way as I do.

Nothing that I do professionally is ever conventional. In a field of scholars with PhDs and accolades under their belts, I was able to publish my first ever article in an academic journal at the age of 27; something only those with experience and education do and be taken seriously. This time around, I am in a position that most people tend to have later in their 30s/early 40s. I guess this is just something that I do.

And maybe, that just says something about me and my work ethic.

The Travel Diaries

Los Angeles, California.

liz

I actually had an anxiety attack before leaving for vacation. Only I would cry just hours before a well-need vacation.

Our flight was early Monday morning, which meant that my traveling actually started Sunday night. I grabbed my bags, heavy winter coat and scarf, and took a cab Downtown to spend the night with my vacation-partner-in-crime. He definitely could tell I was nervous; after knowing me for 15 years, I’ve become pretty predictable when it came to these things. Anyway.

Perhaps the 6 hour flight ahead for us was what kept us up all night because clearly, we did not sleep. It was fun to stay up all night, anticipating a fun trip across the country to some warmer weather after being in the cold NYC season for what has felt like decades now. January alone has already felt like a decade. It was now roughly 4:30 in the morning and our ride came to pick us up, driving us all the way to Jersey to depart from the Newark airport. It was times like this that I really wish we had flown out from JFK, because neither of us really knew just how far the airport was from us.

In a ride that normally would take about an hour or so, we got there within 30 minutes. Since it was pretty early on a Monday morning, the airport was actually pretty empty! We were able to go through Security in what felt like 5 minutes, and before we knew it, we were sitting at our gate, waiting for our plane to arrive so we could finally board.

On this particular day, our plane was delayed about 30 minutes which didn’t help my anxious mind whatsoever. In retrospect, 30 minutes isn’t even that long considering there are people that wait hours in an airport for their flight to depart. Although I mentally prepared myself for the longest flight I’ve had to date, nothing could compare to how long the flight actually was. In hindsight, I learned that because of the jet stream, it’s always takes longer to go west than it is to go east; on this day, it took us 7 hours to get to California. I never wanted to get off of a plane so fast in my life, I’ll tell you that.

But we landed! We hopped off our plane at LAX (yes, cue Miley Cyrus singing) and managed to grab a bite to eat before heading to our hotel. The weather when we got there was beautiful; something completely different than what it was like in NYC where it was snowing by the time we got into California. As a northeast coast resident, I am always fascinated by the sight of the palm trees; how could these trees be so skinny and tall yet feel like summer all year round? We took tons of our pictures near the palm trees because, well like I said, we are your typical northeast coast born and raised residents.

After a long day of traveling, we finally checked into our hotel and my god, it was such an amazing experience. Personally, this was my first time ever staying at a hotel for a vacation; every trip I’ve been on so far I’ve stayed with family or friends that I was visiting. I now understand why people would rather get a hotel than sleep over their friends or family’s house. For starters, the bed was enormous weighing in as a King sized bed. I sank into that bed and nearly took the longest nap of my life; 5 hours to be exact.

We got up and decided to explore the area in which we had found a dispensary within walking distance to us! Now, there are tons of dispensaries here in NYC after it became legal here, but to my surprise, only 11 of them within the five boroughs are actually licensed and legal to sell. Eleven! That’s insane considering there’s at least 11 smoke shops within the vicinity of my neighborhood and the one next to it. Anyway, this place was legit, to say the least. They had armed security at the door and upon entering, you must show your ID in order to browse the shop. Upon looking around, the various strains were in these plastic bubbles with a rubber seal that you were able to remove in order to smell them. Perhaps it’s because I’m not really a smoker, but everything smells the same to me with like a hint of different smells and such. We first decided to start off small, which actually affected me the same way that it would in NYC. Every now and then we would go downstairs to the front of the hotel and lounge by the pool and jacuzzi area to smoke; my favorite time to do so was at night. The first night, the sky was clear and the air was warm for the most part. I think this was my favorite part of the entire trip.

As someone who grew up watching The Parkers on broadcast television, one thing that Kim and Nikki Parker would always talk about was getting food at a restaurant called Sizzler. With locations now mainly in the west coast, it was only right to go and try their food. We had gotten the riblets with mashed potatoes and jumbo shrimp; man, that food was too good! The atmosphere was great and the people working there were genuinely nice, which is something you don’t typically see in chain restaurants similar to Sizzler these days.

The weather wasn’t that great towards the end of our trip, which pretty much limited our activities. For one, I was not properly dressed for a California-like winter where the warmest part of the day was from noon to 3PM each day. On our last day, we went to a little fish and chicken place not too far from where we were staying and I swear, why was all this California food so good?! For starters, the fried chicken was made close to perfection, the jumbo shrimp was so tasty and even the fries were seasoned! The highlight of that restaurant was the various fountain sodas they had. Of course, I had to get myself a black cherry soda as it’s my number one choice for any fountain soda type of drink. If we do go back to California in the future, we definitely have to make it back to this place!

Before we knew it, it was time to get ready to pack our things to head back to New York the following morning. Every morning at the hotel. We got up bright and early to make it to the free breakfast. The first morning we were there, we didn’t think much about the quality of the hotel breakfast and didn’t eat as much. By the second day, we were taking plates of food back to our room to eat breakfast in bed, watching television. That morning we were scheduled to leave for New York, we ate breakfast one last time before getting our bags together and ready for our flight. The flight back home was much smoother and only took us 4 and a half hours to land into Newark. By the time we got back, I was already missing the warmer weather of California, freezing in the little leather jacket I was wearing.

I didn’t realize just how sad I got as free coming home from vacation and getting back to normalcy living in New York. I realized a lot on this trip; I wanted to spend this new decade of my life traveling. Each and every trip I go on, I am making it a mission to go further and further so that in the future, I’m able to sit on longer flights, like to Europe and eventually to Korea! As of now, I plan to take little bus trips in the time being.

Cheers to the rest of the year being 30, and here’s to more travel diaries on the blog!

LFL's Anniversary Blogging Celebration!, Overexposed: A Self-Love Project.

Hello, 30.

liz

Hello, 30.

I know we just met and we’re getting to know each other, but I wanted to let you know that I am excited to finally meet you. I’ve dreaded to do so in the past, feeling like meeting you would mark the end of my youth and things would just start to feel and get more serious. I was like I wasn’t ready to take on the responsibility that I would inevitably have to take, and for quite a while thought I wouldn’t ever be ready for.

But here I am, meeting you for the first time, not feeling as scared as I once was.

I know my 20s have gave you all of the insight you need to know about me. I know my 20s told you how impulsive I can be; changing my appearance and wanting to control every little thing about myself since having weight loss surgery at 27. I know my 20s told you that I challenge my anxiety every single day by doing something outside of my comfort zone ever since being first diagnosed with a disorder at 24. I know my 20’s told you that even though you are meeting me at the best part of my life, they have seen me at my lowest: 21. 23. 25, 26, a bit of 27.

I know my track record doesn’t look that great; sure, I’m in the best place I’ve been in my life, but that only came after becoming burnt out studying and getting two college degrees in the process, losing family members through sickness and cancer, losing childhood pets and animals to old age, losing friends in the various stages of my life– for fuck’s sake, I lost a lot during my 20s, and I am constantly afraid of losing anything else I have. I know they told you that it nearly took me a decade to finally figure shit out and learn things that although I’ve been told a thousand times, needed to figure out in my own timing.

You will come to learn that I am a walking diary, and this new decade of my life is just the start of another book to document all that is to come in this next decade. You will come to learn that I write down everything because I remember almost everything; I guess that comes with being a writer though. You will come to learn that I mark my success and my growth through the years—if you haven’t figured that out yet. You will come to learn that I’m trying to do things differently than what I grew up seeing and what I was taught to be when it was time for me to grow up. You will come to learn that I’m a simple being that simply wants to feel happiness after decades of feeling like I wasn’t deserving of it. You will come to learn that I hold myself on a high pedestal after decades of convincing myself it was selfish to actually see worth in yourself.

I know my 20s have told you all about me, and I know you’re not too sure how to proceed with me, but I know that you’ll learn that I’m just a creature of exploration, passion, dedication and motivation. I know that you’ll be able to talk me through the toughest decisions this next decade of life has like saving money for rent and utilities, taking care of family in the way they took care of me, appreciating the smaller things in life that I overlooked in my 20s, and so many other things that I know I won’t ever be prepared enough for. But I have faith in you, 30s, to continue teaching me and guiding me in the direction that I am meant to go on, and to continue help me grow as a person and seeing just where I fit in in this world.

I am excited for you, and I am ready for you. Hello, and welcome, 30s. My name is Liz.

LFL's Anniversary Blogging Celebration!, Overexposed: A Self-Love Project.

Overexposed: A Letter to my 20s.

liz

To my twenties—

I wish I celebrated you more when I had the chance. I don’t regret it, but I wish I knew what I know now about what life would be like in your twenties. But I guess that’s the point of being in your twenties: you learn things about life that you didn’t know you needed to learn.

I learned that the past will always be the past, and you have control over what lessons you take from it. I learned that I have embedded traits; the ones where you want to desperately want to change but in the end can really never shake off. I learned that there are always going to be gray areas in things that are back and white, and what works for the next person may not work for you in the long run. I learned that mistakes are inevitable no matter how wise you’ve become.

I learned that these years are meant to be the messy ones: you learn that your circle of friends get smaller and smaller once you’re out of college and into the real world; and speaking of college, you learn that your college education and degrees truly don’t guarantee you a job once you graduate; you get them by utilizing the people you’ve met in these years and networking with others in your field. You learn that your relationship at 21 in a big city will not always look like a relationship at 21 in a small town; you will not be married by the age of 26, which is what I thought will happen prior to entering my twenties.

I learned that it’s okay to not know what your path of life is after leaving college; I learned that you’re not fully an adult at 22 as much as life wants you to be one. Shoot, you’re not truly an adult even after graduating with your masters degree at 24. I learned that you will go through a dozen different versions of yourself, trying each one out like a new pair of clothing and see which one feels the most comfortable in; the most authentic you. I learned that in these years, you are meant to still live life and feel young; something I took for granted in my own 20s thinking I needed to have my life figured out by then. I learned that we are not our parents, nor in their generation, and the things that they did during our age will not look like the things we are doing in ours. It’s okay to be in your 20s and still live at home. It’s okay to not want to have children in those prime years of your 20s if you do not feel fit to be a parent. It’s okay to readmit into college after 25 and who cares if you are taking the same coursework as those just entering their 20s?

I’ve learned that it’s okay to be a late bloomer– whether that be professionally, socially, academically, or spiritually– in your 20s.

I learned that your 20s are meant for constant change. These are the years that you go through different phases in your life, like a full-blown K-pop stan stage from 26 to 28 or a true-crime screenwriter stage from 20 to 22. I learned that these interests will never completely identify you, as you are constantly growing in and out of things through your 20s. I entered my 20s wanting to become a TV screenwriter and now leaving my 20s working as a professional administrator in higher education. Sure, we choose the paths we want to cross during our young adulthood but you learn that you never truly end up where you thought you’d be.

I learned that your life isn’t over when your 20s are. I learned that your 29th year on this earth will be your most influential one; it will test you for what’s to come if you are not prepared for it. I learned that what those people told you throughout your 20s is true about your 30s: you stop looking for validation from other people and other things because you already are in a space where you’re able to validate yourself. You don’t care what other people have to say about you or how they feel about you because you already know how it feels to be your own best friend, enemy, cheerleader, and judge by just getting to live in your skin 24/7. You feel secure in who you are and what you are because you spent the majority of your 20s finding out what that means for you.

I think I will celebrate my 30s knowing that my 20s deserved to be loved and supported in every way possible. I know my 20s spent the first half trying to heal from my teens and that the last half was spent to give everything my teens couldn’t get. I guess my 30s will be just that: celebrating everything that I gained, lost, yearned for, and received in my 20s.

To my twenties— thank you for such a monumental decade of my life.

This is Liz, signing out one last time in my 20s.