How American Am I?

Growing up in this country in the 70s, I saw few Asian faces in the media that might have informed how I, an Asian-American, might fit into a predominantly white society. The answer my parents provided was simply to study hard and get a good job. But would that make me a proud American? I always had my doubts. Living in Korea in 1996 forever changed the way I felt about my heritage. The Olympics were in Atlanta that year and it was the first time I was going to get a really good view of what Korean athletes could do. In sports like archery. Badminton. Ping pong. Wrestling. Judo. Hardly what one would call the glamor events of the games. Yet I immediately sensed something afoot when the Korean stations broadcast archery live and all my friends decided that they were going to spend the night at my apartment and watch it with me. Yeah, OK. But there I was cheering the archers as they unleashed arrow after arrow at the bullseye. There I was getting excited by a sport I was seeing for the very first time in my life. There I was hollering when Korea won the gold medal. In archery. Then I knew I was a Korean. A little bit of research later I discovered that the bow and arrow were the traditional weapons of the famed warriors of Goguryeo, the ancient Korean kingdom whose boundaries stretched all the way into present day Manchuria and Russia. For the first time in my life, I felt proud of the blood that coursed through my veins.

After 1996, there was 1998 when Seri Pak won the US Women's Open at Blackwolf Run in Wisconsin. That was another stay-up-all-through-the-night ordeal as Korean television broadcast live her 20-hole playoff against Jenny Chuasiriporn. Watching Seri make her final birdie in the early hours of the morning, my friends and I erupted in elation. (That apartment saw a lot of wear and tear.) Fast forward through the Sydney Games to the World Cup in 2002. All I have to say is that I was there when Korea went to the seminfinals. I was there when Korea beat Poland. And then Portugal. And then Italy. And then Spain. It's just impossible to describe each event. The cheering that took place in the streets. The parties that took over the night. I was alive. And I was Korean. Not much more to ask for.

So here we are. 2008. I thought I was going to be watching the games live in Beijing. This was before HIV changed the course of my life. I'll be watching the games here in NYC. Begging for a glimpse of the Korean athletes. I might get to see Park Tae Hwan in the 400 meter freestyle in swimming. And not much else. Will I cheer on the Americans? When they're fighting against the Russians and the Chinese, I will. And I guess that answers my question.

Checking In at the JetBlue Counter

"Good day sir, where are you going?"
"LA."
"Three bags, I see. It's 100 for the first, 200 for the second and 300 for the third."
"Six hundred dollars to check in my bags?"
"Fuel costs, stupid. Get on the scale please."
"Why?"
"Surcharges for fatsos, of course. The days of light, healthy people paying for the evil choices of Heart-Attacks-Waiting-to-Happen are gone."
"I was meaning to start a diet this week."
"Should have started a month ago, Blubber. My, my, 226 pounds. The first 100 are free, courtesy of the Bluester, but it's an extra dollar for every pound up to 200 and 10 dollars for every pound after that."
"Isn't that discriminating against people who weigh over 200 pounds?"
"No one told you to shove that last Ho Ho down your throat for breakfast. That'll be an extra 360."
"So what am I up to?"
"WTF, you're stupid and fat? Jeez. Lemme calculate this quickly here. 960 in surcharges so far."
"Man."
"We're not done yet, sir. You're of Asian descent, yes?"
"What does my ethnicity have to do with anything?"
"It's an extra 5000 when you're Middle Eastern or look or smell anything like a terrorist. That's the 'terror tax' we tack on to those customers. Federal marshals don't fly free, especially the ones who look like tubs of lard. But since you're Asian, it's only 1000 more."
"So I have to pay $1960 on top of the 600 for the original round trip ticket?"
"Will that be cash or credit? There's a $700 surcharge when you pay by credit card. The electronic transactions take up more gas than you'd think."

I Love Michelle Wie

Being HIV+, you quickly learn how important it is to stay positive--in your outlook, with your health; otherwise, it can all go downhill really quickly. You also learn that there's no room for hate. For frustration, yes; for hate, no. Ever since she played at the Sony at the age of 14, Michelle Wie has attracted her share of haters. Today she teed it up with the big boys again at the Legends Reno-Tahoe Open. For that decision, she got grief from Jay "I-don't even-know-who-that-is" Williamson; Annika "I-don't-understand-why-she-continues-to-do-this" Sorenstam and Paula "that's-not-the-pathway-I've-chosen" Creamer. For the record, Michelle shot a 1-over 73 today which means she'll probably have to shoot 1-under tomorrow to make the cut. (Jay Williamson shot a 74, but Michelle has too much class to rub that fact in his face. Luckily, I don't.) Every person has his or her own path to walk. Their own dream to chase. It's never been a secret that Michelle's has been to play in the Masters. What's wrong with embracing that dream with her? It may not come true. Perhaps Michelle's best bet is to play the LPGA. But there are so many dreams out there that will never come true. I think Michelle is still young enough and talented enough to keep dreaming for a while. You go girl! Make the cut tomorrow! Even if you don't, this blogger loves you greatly for having the guts to put it all out there. Good luck Michelle!

Michael Jordan Doesn't Like Korean BBQ!!

What's up with that? Who doesn't like Korean BBQ? Well, at least, that's what MJ says in his new Hanes commercial with Charlie Sheen, who it would seem DOES like Korean BBQ. What a long way Koreans have come since everyone thought that I was either Chinese or Japanese. First there was the Hyundai commercial in 1988, and then people began to know what tae kwon do and kimchi were, but it really does seem like the BBQ is what many Americans love about Korean culture. (There is this really bizarre Pine Sol commercial with a black woman and a man speaking Korean in a temple, but I doubt many can recall this still running TV spot.) And of course, now there are so many Korean-Americans making their mark, among them my new favorite athlete Anthony Kim. With two wins under his belt, a third possible tomorrow if he goes low in the final round of the Canadian Open, this kid is the new Tiger.

Senselessness and Sensibility

I recently finished my second screenplay and have been thinking about several ideas for my third. The problem is that the stuff in the headlines is so outrageous that anything I think of seems to pale in comparison. Kids in Congo dying so that kids in America can play Play Station. That one just made me want to pull my hair out. This cannot be a sane world that we are living in. One minute we're supposed to laugh at Miley Cyrus' latest fashion faux pas and the next we're supposed to worry about suicide bombers in Iraq. It's all getting to be a little too ridiculous. How are we supposed to care about anything? Which brings us to yesterday when I got totally dumped by someone I had developed real feelings for, but the feelings hadn't been mutual. Part of me feels I was lied to, another part of me feels I was just an expendable person whose feelings didn't matter. Things really don't make sense. How long do we keep pretending that they do?

If You Were Dying, Would You Want to Know?

Today I went to the hospital to say good bye to my friend Steve. Steve is going back to his home country tomorrow. Steve is 30, has a brain tumor, has less than a year to live and doesn't know. But everyone else does. Steve's uncle told me last week that the doctors have done all they could for him. But Steve seemed really cheery today, talking about the future as if it were going to happen. He mentioned today that he wanted to be a nurse, that being in a hospital for a month had given him a real respect for health care professionals and the work they do. It was lunch time when I got there and he complained about the food; I commiserated. There was nothing on TV. I let him do most of the talking. He said that he had been in such pain the month before he was hospitalized. Does it make sense for everyone to know that Steve is dying, but Steve does not? Apparently he only has a few more months of lucidity before the tumor will wipe him out. Do we let him enjoy these final months? Or do we tell him so that he can prepare himself?

I remember how terrible I felt when I had been arrested and deported from Korea, all within two days. No chance to say goodbye to friends, relatives, colleagues. No chance to retrieve the things I had worked so hard for. Maybe this is why I wanted to say goodbye today instead of 'see you soon'. But again, a simple lie took the place of the demanding truth. At the end of life, do we end up buried under a peaceful mountain of little lies?

If Only Doug Had Waited

Back in college I knew a guy named Doug. He was probably the best looking guy I had ever seen in my life. I know that with the passage of time, we tend to enhance the memories of people who are gone, but I still remember very clearly the huge crush that I had on him. Doug didn't go to my school, but he lived nearby and was friends with someone from my dorm. At this time, I knew I was gay, but had absolutely no gaydar and didn't know that Doug was gay. It wouldn't be until years later that I found out about Doug's sexuality. It was also years later that I would find out that Doug was HIV+ when I knew him. This was in the late 80s and early 90s before there was cocktail therapy. Back then, HIV really was a death sentence. If only Doug had waited until 1996. That's when the cocktail therapies started. And that's when Doug could have dared to hope again. But I guess the loneliness and isolation were too much for him. So he committed suicide in a hotel room. I am going through some hard times lately. The problem is that I don't think I would know how to commit suicide. The problem is that I still have some hope. Sometimes I wonder how I could just get rid of that last bit of hope and go away peacefully and be with Doug. I miss you so much.