Well, I Never was the Good-Enough Girl to Begin With

These last seven months in Korea have certainly taught me things I never expected to learn (and haven't taught me the things I did expect). As usual, I went into the new situation with a mix of anticipation and terror (perhaps in equal parts, I felt somewhat numb through the first few weeks). I had visions in my mind of what would happen. Most of those things have not happened. I got community, but not what I was expecting, friends, but not where I was looking, growth in things I didn't want to grow in. I've experienced manifold disappointments, largely due to how very real reality is. I've experienced a lot of joy, too.

Yet, still, there is one thing that has caused me considerable turmoil. It's really something simple, and I'm sure that there are enough people out there who will consider it trite. It's not trite for me.
I've found considerable joy in the company of my unbelieving male friends.
As someone raised in a conservative home. Trained in Reformed Southern Baptist churches. Advised not even to call men of the same faith lest things be misinterpreted or I prove myself lacking in character. As all these things, how do I reconcile the joy I find in spending time with them, in talking with them, in putting up with them with what I am? How do I reconcile their joviality, their openness, their...conviviality with the downright shallow and mistrustful attitude of most people within my faith. Confessions of believers are usually facile at best and edification is generally confused with criticism. We're cowards, we are. The lot of us.

How do I reconcile my general discomfort of being among other believers (namely because of that deep deep feeling of being at a masquerade and the way that advice often obfuscates a subject more than defines it), with the mandate to not abandon believers? How do I reconcile a general distaste for the deception that is required of me at church, the rigorous sanctimoniousness I feel is expected, with the Biblical saying that if you love God you will love the Church, you will love fellow believers? I love people, fellow believers I can hardly stand. How little does that mean I love God?

How do I reconcile that even more to the joy I have in hanging out with men who are not only unavailable for marriage, but also who are unbelievers? Who are like your friends.
I feel caught between a bus and razor wire. So maybe he's a bit Buddhist, and that makes me sad in a kind of deep ache because I care about him, don't want him to go to Hell, wish he could/would convert just to ease my heart, but he's my friend, and the real me is safe around him. Maybe he's about as pretentious and erudite as almost anyone I've ever me, but he's nice to me, and his pretentiousness entertains me more than it irritates me. He's layered. I like that. Maybe he's kind of scrawny, and drinks too much, but he's fun, and I like his accent, and talking with him is easy even when I hate everyone else in this stupid country. Yes, he's short, and a bit like coffee with too many shots of espresso, but he's genuine, a wears his heart on his sleeve type, and he's never afraid enough of something to let it stop him.

Yes, they curse. And sometimes they do truly stupid things. They annoy me. They've hurt my feelings a few times. But...it's worth it. It's worth it to see real people. I want to see real people. I want to be a real person. Not a real person inside, a real person everywhere.

You Know You're on Farmville too Much When...

I had a Farmville dream last night. Yes, I can't describe how surreal that is. I dreamed that the Farmville programmers had updated the program again. It was now a kind of interactive virtual reality. At first it seemed like my whole farm had been reset back to about level 15 and I was really bummed. A chicken pen with ten chickens and about 35 plots. Then it was that but the land seemed to stretch into the distance. Somehow I reloaded the page, though I was standing on the farm, and finally I saw my farm. It was amazing. The addition was a gymnasium, which I'd apparently recently bought to compliment the school. I could see farmhands working and people browsing the market with their kids in strollers. Kids running around, people walking through the newly opened gym. And, the bakery, open for business with fresh breads and pastries ready for sale. I stood there in shock, and had a really ironic moment where I thought 'oh my gosh! I'm rich!' Then my parents were there and I proceeded to give them a tour of the new facilities, saying I designed the place for the community.
The grass was green, and the buildings large and real. People in clothes with hair. All details there. The farmhands were shirtless, moving bales of hay. There was a large basketball court. My sister showed up and I showed her the new court. A place that stretched into the distance and I'd done it all, prepared it all, worked to build it up, and it was real, and I couldn't get my mind around it.
I wonder if this is my mind's way of saying I want things to be real, I'm tired of a 2-D picture. I want something I can show off.

Thinking of a Dream House

Yesterday I taught my gifted students the concept of a dream house. I certainly hope I'm corrupting them propperly. Though I'm not even sure that a 'dream' anything is Biblical. It was all girls so I got to use the example of a dream boyfriend, which, being 11, they picked up on quite well. Gotta love the tweens.
My favorite was a girl who designed a room just for her cats. She has 9 russian blues. I also liked the one that had cloud wallpaper.

All of that reminded me of when I was a girl and I would design my own dream house. I remember spending hours designing it. Really, it looked like a fleshed out version of the house my family lived in while we were in Idaho. It had an attic and a basement, garage, two floors, and a multitude of rooms. Why? Because it was a place for a family. Ever since I was a girl. All the way back when I thought my life would play out in this perfect plan, that there would never be any real detours.

On the topics of pets

I don't know what it is but I've never been attracted to small pets. There's something about them that doesn't seem...right (I'm sitting here trying to think of a word playful/unbreakable/competitive/admirable/equal). Whatever it is I look at small pets and think...yeah, that...wouldn't make it. So, after having watched clips from Cat's 101 I've decided that I want either a Maine Coon, Ragdoll, or a Savanah (yes, I'm aware this cat is the least likely as it costs thousands of dollars and is illegal in some states).
"Heeere giant kittykittykitty."

I'm also partial to Great Danes and Mastiffs as dogs. There's nothing to make a girl feel small and feminine like walking a dog that weights 95 kg, looks like a horse, and thinks he's your cute little puppy.

I've been thinking and that's always a dangerous thing

Feeling very ecclesiastical today. Vanity, all is vanity. What have I done with my life that matters in eternity? What could I stand before Christ and be proud of?

A Perfect Morning

This is what a perfect Morning would look like to me:

Wake up at five in the morning to a clear blue sky and cool air. Slip on some trainers, exercise pants, and a sweater and go out for a run. Running in a safe area with lots of trees, grass, flowers, and a sidewalk in a quiet area, no car fumes to choke me.
Get home and shower. Have a quiet time while I drink some water. Eat breakfast, oatmeal with cinnamon, honey, and strawberries, and a boiled egg. Check the news and my email online. Stretch and make my bed, wash up breakfast dishes.
Leave the house around 8 or 9.

2 AM Ramblings

I've been reading again. That's never a good thing. I've also been imbibing massive amounts of meat lately thanks to the caterers at my school and my period is going to start in a few days. What does this mean for you, the reader? Well, it means that I'm a tired, half cold-infested, hormone packing person, who's been reading.
So far I've restrained myself from putting the PB&J in the freezer, taking apart an electric tooth brush, and cooking a bunch of Pad Thai, so I'd say that I'm still salvageable. I've been reading Know-It-All by A.J. Jacobs. I like his name. I think if I ever get published I could do it like that. It's very rhythmic. A.W. Towzer, C.S. Lewis, J.R.R. Tolkien (he had two middle names?).

As I've read the book I've found it funny and very informative. I've also found it to be something I relate...almost perfectly to. And here I sit, wondering, why do I find it so relate-able? Is it because this guys works for Esquire and therefore has the skills to write to the general masses? Is it because of the bit of facetiousness in that the author assumes that he's a bit smarter than average but treats the reader as an equal? Do I relate because I like feeling a little smarter than average? Am I actually a bit smarter than average and that's why I relate? Do I relate because this is a tale of a man who is knowledge obsessed, just as I am? Me, who finds the idea of memorizing the dictionary a noteworthy goal. Is it because it's about a man who is slightly socially awkward, who shared too much and never quite knows the exact right thing to do, and how I feel that I am very similar? Is it because it's a story of a geeky man with an IQ complex, and I am a geeky woman with an IQ complex?

You know, an IQ complex. It's for people who are a little smart, or fancy that they are, but realize that they're not geniuses. They know they'll never win a Nobel, never have a hospital wing named after them, never contribute something absolutely astounding to society. And yet, they are smarter than your average Joe, smarter by just enough to notice it, to feel it, and to hate it. They are torn by feeling superior to the average man and vastly inferior to the genius. These are the people who hear "You sure know a lot" and "You're pretty smart" often, but never "That's amazing!" or "OMG! I wish I could do that!"  I am coming to the conclusion that there are only two things for people like us to do. 1. Procreate (really, we're the best candidates for it. Not so intelligent that our lives will end in suicide or homicide but smart enough that we might at least contribute to a cleaner environment, trustworthy services, and the neighborhood watch) or 2. Write a book. As far as I can tell we're pretty useless for anything else. Too smart to like ourselves, too dumb to make other people envy us. Sometimes I wonder if I should just get my slow decline into stupidity over with by bashing my head into a wall or snuffing glue (though that would probably result in puking, which I hate). Heck, who knows maybe I'd be able to find a husband then. It does seem that all the more average ones are married (and the really smart ones, and the nice ones, and the ugly ones, and the mentally ill ones....).

Since I have thus started to digress into the level of purgatory known as "Why can't I find a bleeding husband?" I'll stop myself now.

Know-It-All is a laugh out loud book for anyone with neurosis and a desire to win at Boggle. I would definitely suggest it, and give it a solid 4 out of five Korean bubble stickers.
'Night all.