30 day challenge haitus: Scary Dream Sequence

This morning, I woke up with my chest heaving, and my eyes tearing from a dream I had. I enter into these strange phases where I'll have these terribly violent dreams, and somehow remember them. (Seriously when I have the normal, exciting or happy ones, they're always forgotten...no fair!)

Please do read with caution, it's very dark, and very sad. But this reminds me why I love writing, and makes me feel like I'm writing a novel, or a dark fiction. No worries people, I'm not usually this dark. :)

It started out like any ordinary day. My father and I stood on the flat black rooftop of our house by the beach. We talked about big plans we had to change it into a mansion luxury home. We spoke of all the rooms we’d have, the colors, the things we would rebuild, reconstruct, and reinvent. As we talked, neither of us sat. We had such big dreams for this place. With its blacktop roof, it’s dark empty interior, and its bare walls. We hadn’t been there for very long. It was newly renovated, and strangely lonely inside, but these were all conjecture. In my mind, I didn’t see the interior for very long—maybe only a few seconds at most.

Back to the rooftop: As we stood pacing back and forth, and watching the milling people along the beach below us, we spoke of many things. None of them I can recall now, but they were deep, meaningful, and beautiful things, I assume about the people in our lives, the hopes and dreams we had, the successes we were hoping to achieve. 

Yes, this was an ordinary day.

But this ordinary day was about to take a sick twist for the worst. The roof we were walking on suddenly transformed into a platform much lower in height to the ground, and onto our beach house came a strange, and rather dirty looking ruffian. He seemed to have a deep rumble every time he spoke, and his hair was a torrid mess. There were flies nestled here and there, and you could never fully see his face, for half of it was covered with his long, dirty bangs. He wore dirty brown jeans, and strangely enough, a long sandy colored trench coat. It was certainly a frightening sight to behold. He mumbled a few things, asking if he could buy our house. My father calmly told him that he could not, and tried to send him on his way. Patient as he was, my father did not seem to show any signs of discomfort at the sight of this man who had so rudely intruded on our conversation. The dirty man persisted, walking in and out of range of our outstretched arms, trying to pull him towards our front porch steps. (Yes our roof had now become a concrete porch, with steps leading right onto the beach).

I on the other hand, began to feel both fear, and a bit of disgust. As I tried to ward him away from the house, he suddenly and quickly jumped into a random frenzy, finally revealing his eyes as his bangs went flying back to reveal and even dirtier forehead. His eyes were bloodshot, and he looked not only insane but also deadly. Within a span of a few seconds, he leaped down from what had now turned BACK into our roof, onto our second floor. Now that we had entered the interior, we were delightfully surprised to find that it had been fully furnished, and there were hundreds of people in there. I recognized faces from my church in Syracuse mainly, and also my best friend Esther.

Into this busy room, our assailant flew, swinging his arms around, running from guest to guest like a madman. All of a sudden, out flew a small switchblade. As I ran to stop him, he swung the switchblade round and round, sending hoards of guests flying in the opposite direction. He took the position of a crouch, and leapt onto a piano, like a frog. From there, he began to leap onto our guests, toppling them like a house of sticks.

My face turned red, and my anger took hold of me when he leaped onto the chest of a small boy I knew in college by the name of Dan Kim. I remember trying to yell out, “NO, NOT DAN KIM”, but the words would not come. They stayed stuck in my throat, slowly choking me. As I watched helplessly far away, the dirty man lifted his arm back, and plunged it deep into Dan Kim’s chest. I screamed. Or at least in my head I did.  He jumped onto a few others and quickly and deftly plunged the knife into more and more innocent bodies. The body count was piling up.

My eyes turned red and I couldn’t see straight for a moment. Somewhere in that room, my dad watched, as I suddenly turned from frantic, to screamingly neurotic, to bitterfly and awfully angry. As he continued to pick off his victims, I picked up a long pipe, and made to chase after him. He became acutely aware of me all of a sudden, and made a sprint for the door. I ran out of the house after him, screaming, screaming, and screaming. “WHY DID YOU HAVE TO KILL DAN KIM?” All I remember feeling in the moment, was my anger, and the overwhelming heave of my chest welling up deep sobs for my dearly departed friend. It felt like a brick house was weighing heavily on my chest, and I couldn’t breathe. I ran and ran after the convict, all the while praying in my head for vengeance, and for God to help me run faster, so I could catch up with the bastard who had stolen years off of the lives of my friends. 

I remember yelling after him, “YOU BASTARD!” over and over. Strangely enough, I never curse in real life, but I was pissed, upset, and overwhelmed by my fury. All I could think of was how I was going to beat the culprit to a bloody pulp when I got to him.

Somehow God gave strength to my legs and I suddenly began to run faster and faster. The scenery around me changed suddenly from the beach to an empty white tiled temple that resembled closely, the Athenian temples in Greece. There were white pillars arranged in a giant square formation, and the entire court was strangely empty except for a small corner of the room, where I saw other fellow vigilantes already beating the man senseless with other pipes, and crowbars they had picked up on the way.

As I neared the body, I saw that the man, suddenly and oddly, transformed into a woman. First, her body changed shape, slowly at first. Then her hair grew long, and beautifully blonde. For a split second, she had the face and hair of a girl I went to middle school with—Becky Heise. As I neared, I saw a look of fear, and desperation in her eyes. She looked up at me with the face of a martyr, the face of repentance, as her body thudded with the sound of the pipes flying at her. I winced as I heard her ribcage crack, and watched her face quickly bruise and split.

As I began to life my pipe to join the others, a small voice stopped me—“You do not have the right to decide her just punishment. She does not deserve to die—not at your hand”.  My hand stopped mid-air for a second, but then I brought the pipe down swinging. I watched as she flinched, but accepted my punishment. But I did not hit her. Instead, I stopped just short of her neck, and crouched down at eye level with her. The others had stopped to watch the extraordinary change of events. As I grabbed a fistful of her hair, partially to hold her up, and partially in my anger, I spoke through my teeth, seething with and overabundance of the pain, and the sorrow that I felt. “You do not deserve to live for the lives you have taken. You had no RIGHT to take the lives that you did, and you do not even deserve this mercy that I am giving you.” I thrust her head back as I released her hair.

As I sat down exhausted after all the running, the emotions, and the pain and hurt, I finally noticed off to my side, Esther had come to sit by me, and someone else I cannot place. Their faces remained unknown and unseen to me. Finally, I saw my dad walk over, and place his hand gently on Esther and my head, patting them slowly. Strangely enough, he wore his white lab coat, and he stood with a stoic face, much like his usual face at work.

The girl had quickly transformed yet again—this time, her body took on an even frailer, smaller size, and her hair turned a dark, jet black. She looked like a girl from my parents’ church that I recognized. I suddenly turned my face away, afraid to look at the girl I was almost ready to kill, just as she had killed my friends.

As I felt my body heaving and shuddering, I suddenly felt conscious of my tears, and my heavy breathing, bringing me back into waking. 

A Book I love

Disclaimer: SCI-FI nerdiness alert

I. LOVE. Sci-Fi. Reading. I cannot begin to explain how much of a sci-fi nerd I am. I try to lie to myself and pick up history books (I tell myself it's so I can do more research into costumes and lifestyles of different time periods....but who am I kidding?), and classics, but they just don't really hold a candle to futuristic action-packed, I've got magical powers of science at my fingertips books.

This is more a series that I love, and to be honest, I haven't even finished the third book in the series, but it is so movie-worthy. (I'm still holding out for the day they'll finally decide to pick it up for a big summer blockbuster!)

I received a recommendation to read the book Sabriel by a good friend from hs. A young girl who is destined for greatness and has the ability to control and seal the dead in their place, Sabriel is descended from a line of magic necromancers, known as "the Abhorsen". These magical beings (they are NOT wizards okay?) carry a set of bells around their torso, varying in size from smallest to largest down at their hip. Each bell has the power to send the dead (dangerous or harmless) back through the gates of death. The larger the bell, the more powerful the beast it is sending back.

Sounds crazy right? You follow her through her course of becoming the new Abhorsen after her father has been trapped beyond the gates of death. She embarks on the journey to save him, and meets friends, creatures, and even a lover on the way.

The second book in this series is "Lirael". (To be honest, I can't remember exactly what the book's about....but it's AWESOME NONETHELESS!) Lirael (this is a loose version of what I remember) is a descended niece of Sabriel. She has the power of a clairvoyant (or at least she's suppposed to). Originally she is one of the prefects in a home for younger clairvoyants. Somehow she is one of the only girls who has not received the gift. As you follow HER journey in the book, you discover with her, the power to overcome and come into the gifts she has been destined for.

The third book, as I've said, I have not read yet, but it's titled "Abhorsen".

Even after the first two, it's a must read series! Filled with some great imagery, and a totally magical world bridging the ancient and the futuristic, this series is sure to be something you can't put down! (shameless advertising here!)

Something I feel strongly about

Something I feel strongly about: While it may not seem like it, I feel quite strongly about a lot of things in the world. Most of it is my voice of bitterness telling me that people are not as reliable as you wish they were, or that every job will have it's fair share of drama, or how the arts, and Christianity (two of the most important things in my life) are both severely and harshly left to the wayside when it comes to the support of the majority. I could discuss the issues I have with disrespectful people, or the fact that people need more organization in their lives sometimes.

Something I feel strongly about-that's a tall order to narrow down to one thing. However, I think one thing I've been bothered by for a long time, is the imbalance of the arts world vs. the business/science world. I've often felt that expression is an artistic outburst that everyone has within them, whether they are a chemist, a journalist, or a painter. Sometimes it frustrates me to no end when people belittle my field, or think that because I'm a costume/fashion designer, I automatically "sew clothes" and everything in between.

I. DO. NOT. SIMPLY. TAILOR.. AND. HEM. PEOPLE Yes, once in a while I will do you a favor, and sure! hemming is not too difficult--when it comes to pants--but it drives me up the wall sometimes when people tell me that i just draw for a living, and ask if I can fix their 10 shirts which got a few holes in them.

DAMN IT PEOPLE HAVE SOME RESPECT! Don't get me wrong, I love making my creations and drawing and illustrating--but be a little sensitive about what I do. It's my job. It's a REAL job just like any other job. I have to work extra hard to earn money with my "job", and sewing or tailoring a coat does NOT take one hour. it DOES take several days sometimes. And NO, I am not trying to waste your money and gyp you of a decent looking coat! I have precious time too! And sometimes I will put off your project because I have a real paid project that requires actual attention and a deadline to boot!

So with that said, I will expect no more silly questions about fixing your latest pair of pants!

5 ways to win my heart

The following entry starts a 30-day series of blogs that follows 30 days of prompts that get you writing more, and thinking more about the everydays of life. One of my best friends found it online, and it's now started a chain reaction, so here goes, DAY 1.


There aren't necessarily 5 things I look for in a guy. But these are definitely qualities that I admire and look for (not in any particular order): 

1. Spiritually Mature: Fairly self-explanatory, but when I mean a spiritually mature guy, I don't just want someone who goes to church, and gets involved in church. I want someone who challenges me everyday to live out my life for Christ-who can carry on a decent conversation about the depth of the gospel, and argue with me every once in a while about what's RIGHT because it's RIGHT. Someone who isn't afraid to do something, regardless of what everyone else (including me) says, because he's doing what's RIGHT in the eyes of God first, not because of me, or because of what I'll say, or do. Maybe it's a tall order, but having grown up with so much in-depth Biblical teaching from my high school Christian experience, I've become really numb to the whole "religiosity" of Christianity. I need someone who truly lives it out and walks every step completely in faith. 

2. Plays an Instrument/Sings: I am SUCH a sucker for guys who sing really well, and/or play an instrument really well. Especially when they belt it from their soul, and you can just tell that there's some serious PASSION behind that music. Makes my heart melt every time. Worship songs are even better, but really catchy pop tunes are a great hit too. 

3. Dances: The OTHER surface talent I will completely swoon for. A guy with awesome moves who's able to lead me on the dance floor and take charge--ummm YES PLEASE! Especially since I"m scared to show my coordination skills in public. 

4. Is a Gentleman: I'm still a traditional girl at heart-even if I try to be a toughie on the outside. When a guy holds a door open for you, or compliments you, or helps you into your seat, that is just peachy. I do have to note, WORDS ARE IMPORTANT GUYS! Any guy that seriously pays me a genuine compliment, will automatically win my heart-even if I don't show it. (I will never show it btw). 

5. Adventurous: I LOVE, LOVE, LOVE to travel. I cannot stress enough how much I want to see the world, and every corner of what it has to offer. Even if it's just a simple roadtrip, or a hiking trip somewhere in a mysterious forest (seriously though guys, i really DO hate hiking...but I will do it just to go out and explore and TRAVEL!) If you are adventurous and like to travel as much as I do, that's an automatic win!

Eulogy for a dear friend

Tobi Lim Sonstroem was a friend of mine from high school. Always a spirited and bitterly sarcastic personality, Tobi never failed to make me laugh every time we were together. I recently found out about two weeks ago, that Tobi committed suicide on Locust Walk in the middle of Temple Campus. Months before, we had made plans to hang out, and go to the Otakan Anime Convention in MD because he loved anime. I always remembered he was one of the most talented anime illustrators I had ever met. That was one of the things I admired so much about him. We were never what you would call close friends, but I always felt we were very compatible in terms of our interests and personalities, and every time we met up, it was like leaving off where we had finished the last time. So I wanted to write a letter to my dear friend Tobi. Even if you don't know him, I hope that you can all keep his family, and his closest friends in prayer as they deal with the aftermath of his death.

Dear Tobi, 

It's hard to believe that you're actually gone. It's been about two weeks now (really that long?) and it feels just as fresh as the first time I heard. When I first heard from Melissa (mutual high school friend who graduated 3/4 years ahead of us), I just sat in shock in my car. I was on the way to my small group for church, and I remember I couldn't even fathom it, and I was just so dazed, confused, shocked, upset, that I remember doing at least 5 U-Turns because I kept going the wrong direction, or driving past the point I needed to go. My GPS kept yelling at me to turn the other way. 

My initial reaction was just so full of shock I didn't have time to experience pain, or sadness. Until I realized you were really gone, I almost thought my heart had gone numb, and that my soul had lost its feeling. When it finally dawned on me, I couldn't stop crying--partially blaming myself, partially just thinking, what in the world could've caused you to doubt and give up the way you did? What kind of dark place had you entered into that wouldn't allow you to come out thinking that there was more to life, and that the only solution was suicide? 

My years of knowing Tobi were filled with sarcasm, and hilarity. He was one of the few people I knew who just stood so courageously in the face of everyone I knew taunting them with live-action evil "muahahahas". It was certainly a sight to behold and he literally was the perfect anime in real life. If I could draw an anime cartoon, Tobi would be the penultimate. He just needed the right giant sword, the awesome belt, and a little sidekick that would ride alongside him on a motorcyle while he used his epic vintage pistol and shot down the enemy. I couldn't imagine Tobi being any different, but I also couldn't imagine what could've caused him to give his life. 

On Friday, February 10th, I attended Tobi's vigil--a candlelight encirclement of close friends, family, and those who had seen what happened, and cared to throw a voice and a thought in his direction. Even though we had met on occasions, and he always seemed so content and happy, I never knew Tobi as these people knew him. Hearing their memories of him, their happy memories with him, was so touching and so encouraging. I walked in with my friend thinking I wouldn't start crying, but by the end, I was quietly sobbing, and tears stained my face as I listened to the letters his roommates wrote to him, and the tears they cried for him. The jolly little Tobi that everyone remembered him to be was almost real in my mind as their stories of his silliness and his carefree spirit came to life. 

Tobi, I wish you could have stayed to hear these people who love you so much. I wish that we could have hung out so many more times, and gone to Otakan, and dressed up as Anime characters just like you wanted. I wish that I could be the designer you always seem to think I am, and start building you that Kamen Rider costume you always asked for. I wish that I could've known you better, or reached out to you more, and stopped being "so damn busy" all the time. You were always asking me to hang out--to do karoake, to just chat and meet up. I know it's not my fault, but somehow life seems a little emptier without you in it. Furthermore, I wish that i could've shared the gospel with you one more time than the last. I wish I had pushed you to go with me to church--I wish I could've encouraged you to keep fighting and keep hoping, and keeping KNOWING that there is a God who heals the broken, who saves the lost, and who carries the hurt, and works miracles in the blind and the lame, and the sick. You are so deeply loved by all those around you, and will continue to remain in the memories of the many lives you touched, even if you didn't see it. I hope that you memory will not be forgotten. 

Tobi, it is with such a heavy heart that I say farewell. I continue to hope that somewhere in that heart of yours you knew and trusted in God our Savior, but simply were not able to move past the darkness that flew in your eyes. I cannot determine that now--that is only God, but I hope that I can continue to be changed by your life and our friendship together to reach the others who are going through what you must have felt and begin to affect their lives, just as you have affected mine. 

Sincerely, with much love, 

Jojo

Just a Little Bit Crazy

Theater...how do I describe thee?


It's like a multi-faceted kaleidoscope of "just a little bit of all types of crazy". I will explain why this is relevant in a bit. But first, I wanted to start off with what I recently heard in a sermon. That is, the very simple reminder to "Count your blessings." The more time you spend counting and reflecting on your blessings, the less time you complain, resulting in less time being bitter. This was the general gist of what I took away.


Back to "all types of crazy": Yesterday I received a very lengthy email from an infuriated co-worker about the unprofessionalism and underhanded manner in which I undermined her show because I lent out costumes that were put aside for "Cabaret" to our most recent production "Dark at the Top of the Stairs". As I reflect on the things she mentioned, I won't lie and say I'm happy about it. In fact, my initial response was one of anger, and insult at the assumptions she had made, and the overemotional way she had gone about accusing the people around her. But as I try to take this simple message of "counting your blessings" into account, I reflected on that "little bit of crazy" that's in all of us.


What I mean is, part of being thankful for the things around you includes trying to understand that the world is sinful, and that you are no more deserving than the next "crazy" person. I spent some time trying to see the world in a light where everyone is "just a little crazy". Sometimes, that's just how you have to view and deal with the people you work with in a theater department--it makes these kinds of situations just a little more bearable. You can't spend so much time mulling over the mistakes and regrets and the guilt of what coulda, shoulda, woulda. In the end, all you can do is try to change what you can, and accept what you can't.


So I guess what I'm trying to get out of this is that...everyone's got a little bit of the crazy streak. Whether it's that slight OCD moment where you get a random spasm, or it's a volcano eruption--everyone has their days. It makes life "just a little bit more interesting" for the rest of us who are still trying to figure out our own crazy. So to all the crazies out there--sometimes you gotta relax, and tone it down a bit...but rock on! Without the craziness, theater wouldn't be what it is today! For the rest of you who think you're NOT crazy--be thankful that you have the crazies in your life so that you can feel sane every once in a while. But remember--you're crazy'll come out sooner or later.

LMNtary Introvert

There are moments when I look back at my life, and I start contemplating--are there things I regret? Are there different choices I could have made? Would things have been different if I had chosen differently, or had done things differently? People say you should always look forward, and never live in regret. Things in your life happen for a reason, and we must continue to push past our mistakes in order to grow towards the future.

I would agree with all of this save one thing. I think we HAVE to look back in order to learn from our mistakes. There's a difference between dwelling on the past, and using our past to guide our futures. I can't say I'm the best at reflecting, but I look at my past, and there are so many things I wish I had done differently. I wish there were things I had known back then, so that I could have squeezed the fullest "everything" out of those moments--the most joy, the most pain, the most perseverance, the most wisdom. That I could have experienced those moments in a way that would have changed not only my life, but changed the lives of those around me more.

When I think about what Christians say about how they want to live their lives, there is always a sense of purpose and a "higher calling" if you will. The one thing I look back and realize I haven't done enough of, is making a more conscious effort to be an active part of the lives around me. Whether it's my co-workers, my closest friends, my family, or my boyfriend, there've been a lot of ways I've shied away from living my life completely and totally in line with the God I believe in, and His POWER that I claim to believe in.

One of the reasons I feel like this has been such a huge difficulty for me, is an issue I've really struggled with for many years. It's the battle of understanding what being an introvert really means, and how that affects the way I live. Maybe I'm reading into the whole difference between introverts and extroverts, but I always get a sense that a majority of the world seems to promote extroverts as the "better half" so to speak. They're more outgoing, they're more friendly, and they're not always so emo about being by themselves (let's be real...haha). I've been trying to find a loophole to this whole theory, because I feel like introverts always get ridiculous questions, like, "why can't you be more outgoing? Why are you always keeping to yourself? Why don't you socialize with other people?" It's almost like an unfair advantage.

I've also been realizing how hard it really is to understand the other half. You think you know how they think, and how to communicate with one another, so that there is an equal balance. But when the personality differences becomes a point of impasse, how do the two sides come to an agreement or an understanding, if neither extroverts or introverts are able to communicate their position to the other side?

Why IS being an introvert such an oddity? Why is is that some people have it so easy when they socialize with other people? They fit right into the community with such ease, and community equally accepts them. But when someone chooses to be by themselves, or chooses to keep out of social interactions, they're seen as the weird or much to quiet kid. The one that doesn't seem as fun to be around. Maybe she's nice, or maybe she's shy, but it's not as fun hanging out with her. Or why doesn't he talk? His silence makes me uncomfortable. Why is he always by himself?" I've never understood that. Is it something God is not okay with? Does God desire us to be more extroverted? Or more willing to reach out to people? Does that automatically mean introverts don't have the right "skills"? It's a confusing point for me.

Sometimes I feel like I have to fight with God on who He's made me to be. I know in my heart that each of us is fearfully and wonderfully made. But when people I care about tell me who I'm supposed to be, or make me feel guilty for being the way I am, or wrong for acting the way I do, I start questioning, who am I supposed to be again? How do I live a confident life in Christ, when all I hear around me is, "Don't ask these questions. Why can't you be more like this? Why don't you do this more often? Maybe if you did THIS instead of THAT, they would accept you more. You need to change this, because that isn't right. Well, maybe you did this when you shouldn't have..." The endless voices of criticism are deafening. And in the loud roar, God's whisper is barely audible. I lose sight of Him, and who He says I am.

So this is my shout out to the world: "I AM AN INTROVERT, AND I AM DAMN PROUD OF IT!!" We are a breed of our own. God has made me this way. Sure, sometimes I really can't stand being around people, or maybe it's just my way of saying I like to be alone with my thoughts. Whatever the explanation, maybe some won't ever understand what that means, but I stand by who I am. I need to remind myself that God is bigger than the voices, bigger than than the temptations, bigger than my fears and my doubts, and my weird quirks, or my lack thereof. God is bigger than my popularity, and what other people may think of me. And God is way bigger than all of my relational issues.

Originally for this entry, I started writing out of a lot of frustration, and disappointment--in people, in myself, in God--but God continues to prove His faithfulness. Even in my anger, I cannot turn away from him, and His ever-faithful words remind me, "Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be terrified; Do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go" (Joshua 1:9). He remains near me, even when I have forsaken Him. Let each of us be reminded of how faithful He is to us. We have no need or right to be angry, disappointed, upset, hurt, or doubtful of who we are, and what path we are following. Jesus has already paid the penalty, and he took all those sins upon him so that we might not be burdened by them.