Phantasm.

Real life, or whatever

I stopped watching Modern Family around the time it began to follow the Full House model (complete with cheesy lesson at the end). But I recently saw the episode titled “Baby on Board” and one line stuck out to me, when Cam tells Mitchell “I know it must be hard to keep it together for the both of us.”

I first (selfishly) thought of myself, how I’m trying to always keep it together for others. I tend to gravitate toward leadership positions and as a result I actively try to be professional, efficient; I pride myself on my competence, my general togetherness. 

But just now our house was TPed (in good fun, with little-to-no malice, and not because of me). Our front lawn lacks trees so there were white swaths, already damp from the grass, bright against the darkness. A few seconds after noticing, my mother put on her rainboots over her pink pajamas, the pants billowing over the tops, grabbed a rain jacket (even though it was warm and wasn’t raining) and a trash bag and set to work. While I tried to process what looked like a disaster, and one that could be taken care of tomorrow, my mom had already marched out.

And so I was struck by how many people are still competent on my behalf, or in some way keep it together for me, for my sake. I joined my mother, of course, in my own rainboots.  John, too, deserves his own mention given that he most recently endured the utter breakdown last semester where I admitted to myself I didn’t want to go to law school and sobbed all over his arm. (Yes, I’m embarrassing). And all my friends, who have listened to me rant and whine and cry and rage—thank you for reserving your judgment and putting up with me.

So for all you competent young women who keep it together for others, remember that there are also people who keep it together for you.

pinkvelvet:

Remember when you were little, all you had to say was “Let’s be best friends!” and that was that, you had a new best friend?

He rapped about his rough upbringing, transcontinental moves, immigrant parents, Koreatown, lack of an education.  I stared up at him and thought that in another life not so different from my own I could be him.  Not Dumbfoundead, exactly; not a Korean rapper, but someone similar, someone who had to fight and bleed and work to make ends meet.  The tiny threads, the happenstance luck constantly amazes me—because truthfully, if only a few things went differently for my grandparents, or my parents, I would have a story likes his to tell, a story radically different from the one I tell now. 

an exercise in character, part one.

He is the sort of person who walks slowly and breathes steadily. He likes flavored coffee and drinks it black and reads nonfiction books. He thinks I lead a double life because we spend little time together. He is a terrible dancer but likes to think otherwise.  He gets outraged, absolutely outraged, when tickled.  You should try it sometime—it’s a sight to see.