a series of numbers

i think my life is a series of choices. some are bigger then others and some seem smaller at the time but end up being quite huge.

i have just made another one of those big choices. i am going back to the place that started this blog. the first entry was about leaving the place where i spent most of my life to come to the place where my life began. now a year and a half later i will be leaving my original land and returning to the place that supported me for so many years.

i am still not sure if it is the best choice, but it seems like the right one to make right now. i dont have to make this choice, and sometimes i still dont want to make this one. but its done now, and i will be off. i hope it turns out to be the right one. but i dont think there is a right choice. choices just lead us to different opportunities. i hope the good ones come my way.

i am going to miss a lot of things. when i first moved into the box that i sleep in now, it didnt exactly seem like a great place, but i am going to miss it. i will miss this place. i am going to miss the places that seem like home to me now. i am going to miss the kids who i have seen 4 times a week or more for the last year plus. i find it interesting that when i was young older people made big impacts on who i am today and i prolly made no impact on them. while now i have learned so much from these elementary school kids. i am not sure if they will remember me, or if i have made them different people, but they have changed me forever. its strange how that happens. i think its strange at least.

well there is about 30 days left and im gonna have a lot more choices to make. its going to be a great series of choices that will help wrap up this chapter in my novel.

sunday morning conversations

do you want to have a sunday morning conversation with me? in my head? imaginary style? because i do.

when you meet someone...

when i meet someone new. every time. there is some sort of amazingness.

Its funny to me. i guess its sort of a given. you meet someone new, and there is things about them which are pretty sweet. that first time we meet someone, its a mystery. will i meet them again? maybe. will we be good friends? will we see each other often? maybe i wont see them for a long time, but when i see them again will it be like the first time? i am kind of obsessed with meeting people. i can't really tell you why but it is fascinating to meet new people. its a puzzle. a game. i will never get better at it, but i still enjoy it.

do you have some goto things to talk about? i dont. i think i talk about different things. sometimes certain things seem right to ask, while others dont. sometimes i will get their age, other times i wont. sometimes i will hate them and then like them, and sometimes i will hate them and hate them. are encounters really important? do we need many friends? or is it just kinda fun to make up little stories about people and pretend we know them.

recently i have been obsessed with imaginary friends. i used to have some as a kid. its funny though. i had a lot of friends as a kid, and i wouldnt say i was a lonely child. but, i still had a lot of imaginary friends. i talked about them as if they were real. i called them on the phone. and it was nice. also it was a whole family. i have never thought about why or if it is important that it was a family of imaginary friends. but now that i think about it its kinda interesting. I mean i think most imaginary friends are friends which are about the same age as us so we can talk to and relate with them. but i had it all, a pops a mother and some brothers and sisters. I also had a lot of stuffed animals, just gathered at gifts throughout my baby life. i used to stay up half the night talking with them. they were my friends as well. some of them were mean to me at times, some were nice, they were real friends. every night i would climb into bed and be in that animal world. i actually named it that. in my head of course. this is the first time i have talked about animal world with anyone. kinda strange, its just as odd as imaginary friends, or just as normal. i didnt sleep that much as a child because of this second life i lived in with the animals. i miss them sometimes.

i wonder why it all stopped. why don't i have that imaginary life anymore? is life too complicated now to have 2 or more? am i too old for it? im not sure, but i kinda want that imaginary creativity back.

"i'm never going to know you now, but i'm going to..."

the things that stand out

there is a lot that stands out to my eyes.

2 things

there are two things i really dont like to do. get haircuts and cut my nails. maybe that is why i dont mind spending money on haircuts and buying new nail clippers. both are pretty attractive in my eyes, so if you ever want to get me a present b/c i write amazing things buy me a nail clipper, i still need a neon pink one to go with my neon collection.

im not sure why i hate these two things, but i did both of them today. its the first time in my life that i have done these two terrible acts in one day. but i have to say it feels nice. other then having some tank marks on my extremely large forehead and some strange feelings on my fingers and toes i am feeling pretty good.

while i was getting my haircut i realized it would be pretty amazing to be a hair cutting person. you would get to meet your regulars maybe once every 2 months or so, get a lot of one timers, see a lot of people, when you went to the near by mall everyone would probably look somehow familiar, and you would have all kinds of stories made up in your head about your clients. maybe that is what i should aspire to be just so i could have the client relationships. is that a wrong motive?

why is your pencil in between you red pen and your black pen?

some people ask me why my pencil sits between my black pen and my red pen. some people think it looks funny. other people think its quite illogical for the logical brain which rests in my stomach. but i guess that is just how things are. the way that we like them. and that must be the right way. that way it should be.

not long ago a person asked me if i really think the things that i write. about if these ideas were my ideas. and who i was writing for.

it really took me back i didnt really know how to answer this question. i mean people have asked my why i write my blog and my standard response is to please my super wonderful 1 fan.

but i mean really? is this a real question? why would i write about things that i dont think, or ideas that are not mine. i thought it was quite obvious that i just write a journal kinda thing that makes my mind shut up if i sit down and write what ever my mind is yelling at my in side my peabrain. this is what i first wanted to say, but i felt a bit bad because i didnt know this person that well yet. so i thought about it, how to actually answer this question. in doing this brain exploration inside my head it was a quite insightful experience. i mean why would i write this for other people to see. all i do is talk about what i think, what i see, and more about me. i hardly talk of other people, i cant really teach anyone anything, and i really i dont do much of anything but blah blah blah along beep beep im a jeep.

So why. i think i have been writing some sort of journal thing for as long as i can remember. but my handwriting is horrible. i would think if there is anything that i am good at it is bad handwriting. i should be in the top 1% that along with my spelling ability. so writing in a journal with a lock (which by the way is a dream of mine) never happened. b/c i would write and not be able to read it. so naturally it has always been on the computer. i actually think better when i write on a computer b/c i am that kid. it started on word docs, random other blogs, liver journals, secret blogs, pretty much everything you can think of. but no days, i dont really care if people read what i write and sometimes its kinda fun when people read it. i dont know why i enjoy the fact that others might be reading my crazyness, but i kinda like it.

as to the things i write and why. i guess i write more just because sometimes it keeps me sane. my mind sometimes takes me on a writing extravaganza where it narrates what i should write. for example sometimes, like the previous entry, those were all things that were formulated inside my brain, and they played over and over again inside myself. as if i was narrating my own life for my own entertainment. it was analyzing things over analyzing things and at times just stating things. they really wouldn't stop, it was like my mind was reading a book aloud to myself that my brain wrote. so i wrote them down and jotted them here latter so someday i can look back and remember that moment in time.

for some reason i have this idea that these moments in time where my brain is going a little crazy are important times. like the feelings i had at those moments are real and different and that i should try to capture them some way. like how some people capture art. how the feelings that they have the people and culture around them, are all mashed up and laid out for someone to look at. as if we can trust our eyes anyways real eyes are fake eyes.

at times, and i think if you read much of what i have written or what i will write you will see that there are so many things that i think the world wants me to do, or the things the world tells me are the things that i should do. and then there are the things that i want to do. and i am always confused as to which are the things i want to do and which of the things the world wants me to do. there is this constant tension between them. and this is the game. i want to win, but i have not yet.

so i will continue to share my minds conversations with itself, sometimes it will be just a day where i am sleepy but my mind forces me to ramble, or times when i think of something profound and want to capture it, or times when i want to capture a time when i felt something strange and important. it will often be on rainy days because i love rain because rain triggers this automatic sensor that says ryan you will now write your brains out instantly with no looking back. i have also found that when i am most content i will not write and that is when i know i am failing. contentment is the biggest problem in life. its the more feared thing. and i hate it more then anything else in this megaworld.

last week i ate 5 plums. plums are amazing. i want to eat a raspberry too. do you know why its called a raspberry with a p. well my grandpa knew. he also knew everything. if i asked him a question he would find out. one time i wanted to know about the raspberry and he told me the next day. he had the biggest atlas i had ever seen, along with one of those dictionaries that were heaver then my head. he also could fix everything. and he also claimed that there was only one way do everything including how to wind up a hose and how to paint a house. when he died, he called me into his room, he was in his last few breaths, and the last thing he told me was how to paint a fence.

rawr rawr i want to be a dinosaur.

re tracing and tracing

its the routine.

its finishing the book which was bought some day in 11th grade which sat on the bookshelf until many years later when it was finished on the bus bound for mopo where i would teach the 7th grader english who was bound for an american middle school later that month.

its passing by the mother who walked out of the hae jang guk restaurant who was speaking in a recognizable voice.

its the children inside the taekwondo school happily cheering and yelling while walking in the perfect summer night to teach some enlgish.

its watching a curious mother elevate herself on her tippy toes to see over a small guardrail to examine the playground which was under construction while holding the hand of her daughter who was happily licking her lollipop.

its talking about goals and dreams with the 7th grader.

its waiting for the bus which will take me back to shinchon while noticing everything i dont want to see.

its the thrown away kite in the pile of trash.

its the mother jumping rope with her overweight elementary school son.

its walking back to the bus stop to wait for the bus which will take me back to shinchon noticing everything while not wanting to notice anything.

its putting on some music to drown the sounds of the almost perfect summer night in hopes to stop noticing the things which dont need to be noticed.

its walking across the intersection to get back to shinchon where two young women carried away with laughter jumping in place because they were so overcome by that laughter all seen through my eyes while drowned out in the same music which i have always listened to.

its passing the young lady talking on the phone who naively wore her emotions on her face while talking to a loved one. the expressions which no one should see, the expressions which should be saved for her to wear only in the privacy of her own home.

its seeing these things without sound as if life were a stop motion motion picture with the songs which i have always listened to as the soundtrack.

its walking up the stairs where the man who gave me the notebook which was attached the english flyer where this was all written.

its riding the bus from shinchon to the place where i will wake up tomorrow.

its looking on to the places where i ate dinner, the cafe where i was reading after dinner, the bus stop which i stood at this morning, and finally arriving back at the front gate of the place where i will wake up tomorrow all seen while riding the bus retracing my steps of the day in fast forward.

and then its receiving a small notebook attached to a flyer for english academy while on the way to teach the 7th grade boy english where this would all be written on for the first time.