The Illusion of Christmas

We’re told as children that there’s a man, also known as Santa Claus, that comes down our chimney to give us toys. I always wondered how he got inside my grandparent’s house, since they didn’t have a chimney. I also wondered how he knew where I was located each year for Christmas. He was never in my grandparent’s house and he didn’t know where I was, because Santa is a figment of our imagination. I still admire my imagination, but it’s no longer the type in which I can imagine and have no realistic worries.

As we get older, our excitement for Christmas clearly fades away. It’s the “norm” to be happy and cheery during the holidays. Stores are filled with decorations and gifts. Television commercials are all holiday related with over-joyed people. All anyone hears for music are the jingling of bells and different descriptions of Rudolph. It’s about how society portrays the different holidays.

When December hit, I was stressed. I made my list of presents I needed to buy for friends and family members. I’m a procrastinator, so of course I waited until mid-December to really put my list into action. As Christmas came closer, I decided that I wasn’t excited for it. It’s just another holiday. Sure, as a kid I was ecstatic, because it was all an illusion. Now that I’m older, I find the holidays to be bittersweet.

Christmas reminds me of my grandparents, and especially my grandma. As a kid my family and I would go to my grandparent’s house for Christmas in Massachusetts. My grandma would be in the kitchen the entire day on Christmas Eve. She was Italian and would make her own ravioli and sauce for dinner. My grandpa would help me write a letter to Santa and leave him cookies for his visit. My brother and I shared a room in my grandparent’s study. We would stay up and wait for Santa. He would quiz me on basketball players and basketball shoe names. I’d wake up in the middle of the night and sneak downstairs to see if Santa had come yet. He had. He was the coolest guy I had never met and I believed in his existence.

Christmas makes me miss my grandparents more than ever (both passed away three years ago near the holidays). My brother no longer spends it with our family but now with his wife’s family. I no longer find myself becoming excited and joyful around Christmas time, but rather stressed and angry.

Today, Christmas Eve, I woke up and decided not to be angry about the holiday, but instead to be thankful and open minded. Thankful for the family and friends that I do have around to spend time with. Open minded about how everything could always be worse. Some people may be alone on Christmas and others may not be able to be with friends or family. Sure, I could complain and whine about my missing certain people, and spend my time sad and depressed, but will that make me feel any better? Fat chance.

We all need to remember what the holidays are about. Christmas is about giving back and volunteering. It’s about ridding away the bad memories and making brand new ones. Let the children believe Santa’s coming to town. Let their imaginations run wild until they crash into reality.

Regret me not

We all tend to lean towards the word “regret” when trying to fix a certain situation. It could be a small and easily fixed issue, or a bigger one.

For example, the other morning was very brisk. I didn’t heat my car up before work and regretted it, but then I looked at the situation as positive, and I didn’t regret it. I may have been cold on the way to work, but I was on time and not late. Such a small situation to fret about, but it did come up in my mind.

Another example happened when I was younger. My ex boyfriend was an illegal distributor of marijuana. I had dealt with him and his “work” for about two years. I was attached to him. We were stopped one night by law enforcement and he had lied to me about where his stuff was. He had put it in the trunk of MY car, and then told the police it was all mine. I had never felt so betrayed. Of course though, I told them he was lying and to check his record. He admitted to his lie and began to cry. In this bigger situation, I could’ve regretted ever being with this guy. I could’ve regretted letting him ever live with me or use my car. But instead, I learned from that experience. I take that experience as a major factor that has shaped me and made me who I am today.

We need to stop looking for the “easy” way out. I ALWAYS lean towards regretting a situation. In my mind at that certain moment, regretting what happened seems to temporarily patch up that emptiness inside my chest. Then the patch tears and becomes empty again. Instead, I look at the bigger picture and the positive outcomes that come from negative happenings.

Learn from your mistakes. Learn how to handle a situation differently than before. Leave yourself satisfied. Inside of the negative is a positive, you just need to find it and believe that it’s there. You’re not alone, everyone does it. ✌️


Thanks for adopting me momma & dadda 💚

We all think of different things to be thankful for when thanksgiving comes around. What came to my mind this year? If I’m thankful for being adopted. I’m not sure why it was the first topic to pop up. Let’s just say, I’m extremely ambivalent on my being adopted.

I came to America in August of 1991, and have lived in little ol’ Rhody for all twenty two years of my life. Adoption was an issue for me growing up. I knew my birth mom gave me up so that I would have a better life, but I couldn’t put my finger around it. I didn’t want to believe it. I hated her. I wanted to find her and tell her how much I hated her. I always knew I looked different from my parents (who are Caucasian) but wasn’t quite aware of judgements made, until fourth grade. My mom had come into my school one day for show and tell. My classmate asked my mom why she didn’t look like me. That comment wasn’t even close to what I’d encounter in the years to come.

I’ve always dealt with racial comments/slurs. In middle and high school, kids would point out how my eyes were different than theirs. In sports, the other team would label me as “chink.” At first I took these comments personally, but as the years went on I began to make fun of myself. I felt comfortable doing so because it made other’s laugh. It’s pathetic I had to feel that way, but the more I did it the more I began to feel accepted and “white.”

Sophomore year, my English teacher felt comfortable enough around me to tell another student he, “hated Asians, especially Wendy.” This all happened when we were watching a film on different poets, and he fast forwarded an Asian poet. My classmate asked why he was skipping this particular poet. To my surprise, and the class, that was what my teacher responded with. I laughed it off as the class stared at me, but I really felt angry, sad, embarrassed, and defenseless.

I went through a phase of blaming my parents for all of my problems. Pshhh … What teen doesn’t? But mine keyed in on being adopted. I would scold my parents for adopting me. I believed that if I was still with my birth mom, I’d have no troubles or worries in my life. No matter how much I seemed to hate my parents, I couldn’t break off. I had to go through a lot, but little did I realize it wasn’t my parents…IT WAS ME!

I needed to be comfortable and proud that I was adopted. I needed to embrace that I am an Asian-American adoptee and no matter how much I hated it, it was going to stay that way. I also had to accept that I would deal with abandonment issues and that that was my attachment to my parents, and others who came into my life.

Today, I can honestly say I love being an Asian American. I mean, I am somewhat of an attention-whore, so why not have something to brag about? I don’t hate my birth mom, and would rather not find her. She gave me up so I could have a better life. My family today is my family today, and that’s all that I need. My mom is my only mom, my dad my only dad, and my brother my only brother. Unconditional love trumps all.

So am I thankful for being adopted? Yes. Why am I ambivalent on my being adopted? Because I wish I could just let people easily leave my life. I feel I have a harder time with people “leaving” because I was technically abandoned at birth. But fuck it, I’ll get over it ;-).

Happy Thanksgiving my dudes!

Unknown Path

Frigid walks go along with endless talks.
He decided to stop in the middle of the path…
Only to look at her natural beauty, illuminating from the moon.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered in her ear. She cringed as a chill ran down her spine.
“The moon simply adds to your beauty, don’t you see?”

Lifted Thoughts & Untold Dreams

It’s the middle of November
Feels like a warm summer night
‘Cause this sour you see,
It’s right by my side
For we never divide, into two.
Instead we stride and we stride
And we hope for better days
Since we let them slip away
And then we pay, and we pray.
Lifted thoughts and untold dreams,
Sounds like a movie for the big screens
But these pieces are scattered
Trying to reconnect and redirect all in retrospect
Don’t worry ’bout a thing baby
Happiness is on it’s way.

I’m an adopted Asian American learning to accept myself.

We all learn to accept ourselves for who we are at some point in life, but when will my time come?

I was adopted at four months old from Seoul, South Korea. My parents are Caucasian and both are professors at different colleges. I’ve had issues with being adopted in the past, and sometimes it still comes up in my life, but I’ve accepted that part. What I haven’t accepted is being an Asian American.

I watched an interview yesterday on CNN about an African American man from Canada that said he ‘hates being a black male.’ It made me think about myself and how sometimes I hate being an Asian American. My friends and family tell me I’m exotic and beautiful, but of course I don’t believe or trust them. It’s hard to accept who I am when my brother, who is also adopted, is okay with who he is.

After a rough four years of high school, I decided to take a few years off from school. I’ve gone back to a community college part-time, but I’d rather work. My father is a professor of Sociology at Rhode Island College, and my mother is a professor of English and Children’s Literature at Wheaton College. With that being said, it’s a lot of pressure on myself to go back to school and get my degree.

Aren’t Asians supposed to be smart and go on to be doctors and scientists? That’s how I view it. My perception is so fucked over that sometimes I wonder what’s real and what’s fake. I also look for that person that can make me feel beautiful inside and out. That’s never going to happen. Yeah I’m young, at twenty two years old I still don’t know what life has planned for me.

Sometimes I have a feeling I’m going to die young. I’m born to live fast and then die young. My parents don’t believe me but I also hardly believe them.

Why can’t I be a Caucasian woman with beautiful blonde hair. Or maybe a biracial woman with beautiful facial features and amazing unique hair. We all want what we can’t have right? Right.