Saturday, January 26, 2013

This Is My Novel

At the moment I am on the phone with my grandmother. She is a strong Baptist, in her mid-sixties, and not a fan of my love for Korean culture. She has asked to read my novel, 'The Summer Colors of You'.
Now, I know she won't like it.
And it's not because it's a romance.

Here is a list I am making right now while speaking with her as things occur to me.

Korean names
Korean places
JinKi's drinking problem
ChunHee's drinking problem
JinKi/Mina 1st kiss scene
Kim Jongwan's badmouthing
ChunHee's badmouthing
JinKi's language when speaking w/Mrs. Kim
Chapter 11's Mina/JinKi scene
Kibum's confession
Mina's mixed heritage
Mina's stepmother's death (alcohol poisoning)
Kibum's Hallyu (Korean Wave) stardom


I feel sorry for her because I don't think she will like my novel very much, but I can't just tell her I won't let her read it because she won't like it. Oh, well.


Wednesday, January 23, 2013



 I glance down at him. He is sleeping on the floor comfortably, wrapped in borrowed blankets, safe from the cold. He holds my attention, for it is almost like gazing into a mirror; a younger, healthier, less serious self. A person who only thinks of living for tomorrow. Of spreading wings wide and flying, escaping to make a better life.
 I turn my eyes again to the window. It is chilling, not because of the cold, but because of the people down below. Two hours since sunset, it has not quieted, nor will it ever quiet in that vast expanse that waits for me. I cannot leave. I cannot revisit that place.
 I remember him just hours ago, entreating eyes meeting mine, misty and lonesome. "I don't want to go home without you," my brother had whined, "I don't want to leave you," he protested, "I'll be alone". I scolded him, like I should, but my heart was breaking inside. If it weren't for the fact that I must be strong for him, my pent-up emotions would've spilled over, and the pain would have throbbed with every beat of my heart.
 It stayed there, that pain. For a long time, it has come to haunt me in the night, playing me with self-doubt as it does now. I scan the horizon; the city-scape that for some unknown reason I still don't call 'home'.
 He called it 'home', and I mistakenly still do. I can't understand what about it still prohibits me from referring to it as 'that place', but I have called it home since day one of my experience in hell. It's conflicted and depressing, but it's the truth. That place will still mistakenly slip out as 'home'.
 But why is it home? What could I have possibly gained there that I am not gaining here at this moment, to make it a bright marker in my mind instead of an insignificant smear on a foreign map? Perhaps because I was so young, I remember the aching in my chest, the late nights, and the heartbreaking realities more vividly? Maybe that is what I miss; at only twenty I have become an old person, with lost chances and words following behind me.
 I blink a few times, biting my freezing lips to give them feeling. I could close the window, but I don't want to. The sounds of the city fill my ears and keep out the disorganized memories. The sounds of that place.
 The sounds of that 'home'.
 I scan my room in the darkness; the shelves are stacked with different presents; the trinkets I have received as this 'me'. In this frail, frozen moment, I see them all as transient. They are worthless things, lacking the feelings and familiarity which I crave. Quietly, I cross the room and dig through a drawer until I reach the bottom. Things are scattered there; things I considered special enough to keep. I don't understand why I still have them. I finger my driver's license, useless for the time being. My full face stares at me, smiling till my eyes are hidden behind puffy lids. Pictures slide out from where they are tucked in the back cover of my passport. The little memories sting and soothe in the same complex moment. They are marked on the back in funny letters, each as confusing as the days and names they catalog. It's strange how quickly I have begun to forget them. Not out of anger or bitterness, but simply because I just have.
 Our experiences dictate our perspectives. Many would say I am being unfair, that I haven't understood properly, or that I am holding a grudge. I know all of this and I acknowledge that perhaps, 'that home' is not truly as bad as I remember it.
 I put everything away, standing and going to close the window. It shuts of the steady current of cold air, and I climb down from the sill and crawl into the covers next to him.
 In moments, my body begins tingling, a sensation of extreme heat suddenly washing over me. I take in a breath, light from asthma and temperature shock.
 As for now, I do not wish to give 'home' a second chance. Like a bird who has recently escaped its casement, I have flown as far away as I possibly can. This 'home' is not more comforting than that 'home', but this, this warmth beside my brother, this is the place my heart calls 'homeland'.

-Argentia Krystofel

Friday, January 4, 2013

Christmas (and such things)...

 Well, this was Christmas. I recieved an extremely cute Rilakkuma Bento Box from Mom and Dad. ^^ I really love this gift because it is both beautiful and useful for my upcoming college semester. The chopsticks are so tiny and cutesy. They also bought me the little vegetable cutters and animal cutters to make cute lunches with.
 My little brother bought me an eye shadow palette that I've wanted for the past few months. The colors are so summery. I tried the green day after Christmas and then the pink yesterday and I really like it. My two youngest siblings created the little choker necklace for me. I love the colors. ^^

 New Year's Eve was spent with a terrible cold, which is why this post is so late. I'm on day 7 of the chest cold and I feel better. Stopped coughing constantly and so, thankfully, I will probably get to school and survive my first week, yay!^^
 I wrote a poem on New Year's Eve. I think that poem sort-of summerized the feelings I had at the moment, and the events surrounding the different people I mentioned are probably this years highlights and a few low points that in hindsight were probably good for me. I guess there's not much more to ask for in a year. 2013 might not be as good, or it might be better. I have no idea, but as far as I'm concerned, if I trust God with this year, it will be a blessing in the long way. Just like those low points last year.


Closed in the cruel cold morning
The petals are shut tight in the early hours
The sun hasn't appeared yet
To warm you out of your darkness

When you were just a seed in the ground
Waiting to be strong enough to plunge through the earth
And stretch upwards for the blue sky
You slept, dreamt, and gathered hope and expectations

I know your face must be beautiful
Painted with colors by the hand of God
You have grown tall, though crooked
And your leaves reach for the sun

You're an ambitious little flower
And I watch you now with sadness
You've closed yourself
Hidden away in some irrational fear

Did you forget Who made you?
That you cannot rely on yourself
As the sun wakes you every morning
The Son woke you from death

And every time it looked like you might wilt away
Or you wished the sun to never rise
Yourself to freeze in the black night
He took your hand and led you out of dispair

I touch a frosty leaf, and my fingertip tingles
I can see the first rays of the sun
Peaking over the rooftops and filling the world with light
Taking a deep morning breath, I smile


Tuesday, January 1, 2013

In 2012, I remember...'you'.

It became warm in March
Pushing through a crowd of people
My happiness brimmed on edge for this
One last moment to catch your face

Rainy afternoon
As I selfishly watched you
My heart began to cry,
And I turned my eyes away

I waited in the shade of trees for an afternoon
Observing through your eyes
Every normal occurence became something vivid
I wanted you to understand these moments

An expanse of people
I'm on my own here
Glimpse of my own future, chasing my identity
No two faces are identical

Your smile is a mere ghost now
The summer dance
If this was the last moment I recieved
I'll embrace it with strength

Every second I spent standing still
Shivering a little, brushing my skirt
Fingers trembling over my cell phone
The electicity betrayed your presence behind me

I keep thinking that the moment won't get any longer
But somehow we keep stumbling
Like a magnet has been put between
And I wonder if this is the last time I'll see your face?

A voice through the coldest night
Charismatic and careful, that's what I remember
The notes, the highs, lows, whispers
Bold, starry confidence and a feeling I have never felt before

Each moment connects to a memory
Full of feeling, sight, sound, taste, and pure pleasure
I don't want to forget the time I spent with of you
Whose names I may not know

Saddening and beautiful and encouraging all at the same time
When I open my eyes tomorrow, I will look forward
To each new moment ahead
To each new 'you'.