Final* Feelings re 'The Sympathizer' (the HBO miniseries, based off the book THE SYMPATHIZER by Viet Thanh Nguyen [2015]) or On Being [Unwittingly] Shaped By Whiteness/Who are you if not your identity? or Overcoming Whiteness | An All-American Aspiration

The Captain

as metaphor

for a nation torn

(by whiteness)

"I think

therefore

I am"**

The Mind-Path

of the

Independent Thinker

the Danger

The Transracial

bereft

of identity

The Mother(land)

penetrated

by force

The Mind

once freed

cannot travel backwards

Man

the Morpheus

to the Captain's Neo

How can you not see?

What is right in front of thee?

It's not fair to say in front

when the location is within

The Insides

cannot be seen

only felt

The Mind

The How

The Now

Nothing

not Nothing-ness

for to know

Nothing

is to know

Everything

The Hubris

within the Minds

of dictators

&presidents

Democracy

or

Democratize?

Normalcy

or

Normalize?

The Remembrance

to forever remember

that Nothing

matters

*until i read the book, of course.

**descartes

Token Trifecta

Not to brag but, generally speaking, I find a lot of orphaned cash on the ground/floor. I'm not above taking that which has obviously been lost and no owner logically found, etc. Especially if that cash amount is relatively small, a few bucks here, a twenty there. I've stumbled upon so much lost cash, in fact, that I've lost track of how much cash I've found. This year, alone, I've already found $32.00 USD, which brings me to the beginning of this Trifecta of Tokens; the bodybuddy/lifemate found a ₩500 KRW whilst doing laundry a few weeks ago. 

Okay, for starters, the Korean 오백원 is my favorite piece of usable currency. This is no secret to anyone who knows me, which means that nobody really knows this factoid (the bodybuddy/lifemate excepted). My love for the 오백원 stems from its utility (between the years 2013 - 2018, when we lived there full-time). There are a lot of things that one 오백원 can buy, and there are even more things that a modest handful of 오백원 can buy you. And then, I learned that Koreans interpret people who pay in cash as "rich." We only paid in cash, but I never found out how Koreans feel about people who pay with change, lol. I felt like I was interpreted as poor, but one cannot have change unless one pays in cash, unless, obviously, one is homeless (i.e. "unhoused") and the change is pity money. This was why I would oftentimes find myself with a bowl of 오백원, and so, we started to include the cash value of all of the 오백원 we collected as disposable, which meant that I could spend them on whatever, whenever. And for many years, I lived, happily, exclusively by treat-spending the 오백원 we received as change as cash-only consumers. It was awesome. I didn't feel poor, so I never gave the image of paying with change any more thought.

And so, to this day, the Korean 오백원 represents something so pragmatic: that one coin could be the "right" value so as to make the purchasing of things at that price point a very simple transaction, AND that there are things (namely snack foods) that can be purchased at this 오백원 price. My love for it is undying. I love the 오백원.

And then, the bodybuddy/lifemate just happens to find one 오백원 on the dryer in the communal laundry room of our condo complex. 

imagine our luck
while (technically) living in the USA
we find a Korean 오백원
my favorite piece of global currency

While on our walk home from our jobplace, as we were crossing one of the many streets that must be crossed in order for us to reach our desired destination, I found a thing on the ground. I knew it wasn't money, but I didn't know if it was some small plaque-like thing purposely set into the sidewalk (the intersection in question has been newly redone). At first, I walked by as I took notice, but then I stopped, turned and picked it up. 

a literal token for something somewhere

Back in August of last year, I bought myself a black jade bangle as a reminder to "turtle" at my new job. As a high-achiever, jobs tend to burn me out because I want to do everything I do, well. This new job that I've been doing for nearly a year now, has taught me a lot of things, and one of those things is that some jobs are never "done."

The bangle broke within the first month of this year. Honestly, I wasn't even upset about it. I had felt that I had outgrown it, and so, I was looking for the next thing.

But then, this is when my patience was tested. There's a "local" Tibetan shop around here that I'd been wanting to visit to either purchase something new or get ideas about a new something-or-other to remind me of the existential things of which I need constant reminding lest I fall into a spiral of despair about the general ethos of failure I feel about my life and its "successes" and lack thereof, etc. 

By the end of January, right when the bangle broke, the "local" shop of Tibetan goods undertook a move. The projected date for reopening was early March, I think, and then it was pushed back to early April. During this time I considered my old amethyst bead-bracelet, but the sizing knot is frayed, and I really don't want that bracelet to snap and send those beads flying everywhere, etc. 

By the time the Tibetan shop finally reopened, I had lost all inspiration and motivation. I gave up. I asked the universe to speak to me. I let it go. 

And then, while on our run tonight, there it was, this amethyst bead-ring, just sitting there, on the sidewalk, right in my running path. I stopped and picked it up. 

I understand that someone lost this ring. And if you are a person who lost a ring like this, recently or not so long ago, please let me know the general vicinity of where you might have lost your ring that looks just like this one. If it was lost near where I found it, I will gladly send it to you. I whole-heartedly see the thing as a thing being borrowed.

Thus, in the meantime, I will wear it, as a long or short-term gift from a stranger. Thanks, Stranger. 

  

FOUND!
an amethyst bead-ring
until claimed, it will be borrowed

What is a List but a prophecy of one's future?

선 (Sun)

He looks at you. Your birth-grandfather does. He speaks at you. And in Korean, you have no idea what he's saying, but he's being very serious about it, and you can hear your Korean name being said over and over again. The translator, a young, wide-eyed, half-terrified college student, looks at you, "Your grandfather," birth grandfather, you correct in your mind, "says that he specifically named you with one name, because he wanted you to stand out, be different." A near-crime when considering the Korean cultural same-ness aspired to by the entire culture, as a whole, especially when considering the time period in which you were conceived, orphaned, and transracially adopted. 

"Your Korean name is Sun?" a Korean coworker at the English academy where you substitute teach and part-time teach at during Summer/Winter Intensives asks after finding out that you have a Korean name. "Hmmm," the coworker wonders aloud, "Like this," she writes 선 on a piece of paper. "Yes," you confirm despite never asking for a dissection of your Korean name. "Ah, so like the root Chinese is the word 'nice,' I think," she giggles, almost embarrassed, not confident, or maybe too confident and is lying to you. You can't tell. Koreans, you find, are hard to read, still. 

For obvious reasons, the name Sun, in English was never a viable option to you, since, as in English, 'Sun' is a tremendous idea. In English, Sun is grandiose. In Korean, as far as you know, Sun is nice. 

So which is it, you decide you must decide. Or maybe, there is no decision to be made at all. You've circled the Sun as Sun for nearly one full lap (excluding the nearly-four years you lived as 선 in Korean, in Korea). As you ponder this, you begin to realize the enormity of your decision. This name-change is not something that was done willy-nilly, even though, the implementation of the idea seemed spontaneous. 

You haven't legally changed your name, because there's nothing to change. Your full legal name is Tiffany Kim Sun Camas. You dropped your white first name (cause you hate it) and your Korean last name (cause you feel no loyalties), leaving your given birth name and the last name legacy of the family who saved and raised you. You could do the paperwork to make the names by which you've decided to be called the only names associated with you, but a lot of people know you as "Tiffany," and that's not a problem for you. A year into deciding to use the name that your birth grandfather gave to you and you feel the weight of the name.

And you're not sure you can live up to it.

You even feel guilty for using the name, even though it is your own.

And you feel insecure at the thought of what other people might think about you using it.

Your birth grandfather either saw &or hoped for greatest within you. A singular-syllable Korean first name. You are something special by his logic. He decided to make you special. He decided that of all of the things in this world, he wanted to make you stand out. Go noticed. Be different. This is the man from whom your physical body stems, your blood, your genes. Someone, upon your birth, hoped for greatest upon you, determined that he could make you special, through your name alone. 

It's a lot to live up to. To become a mononymous person. 

And then, you were great. Being beyond your adopted parents' expectations. You thrived. All of this adoption trauma didn't really seem to affect you at all. You were a winner. You were great. 

But that was Tiffany. She's not Sun. And Sun is not Tiffany. They are two very different people, even though, they are obviously the same singular person. 

Nevertheless, here they are, Tiffany and Sun, now, Sun with Tiffany fading further and further from Sun's personhood. Nobody is quite sure who Sun is, yet, but Sun's different. Sun is more Korean than Tiffany could ever hope to be. Sun has a heavier weight to bear than Tiffany ever bore. Sun is emotionally more vulnerable than "Stone-Cold" Tiffany. 

But they both just want to be free. Of everything, really. The bodybuddy/lifemate excepted.   

On Soup Lube

First Feelings re 'The Sympathizer' (the HBO miniseries, based off the book THE SYMPATHIZER by Viet Thanh Nguyen [2015])

Bon grapples with the Major, and in Park Chan-Wook style, the camera opens wide to a static shot that frames the entire stage of action. The Captain skirmishes around the car port wall as he and Bon beat a fighting Major. Headlights swipe over the scene, and just as the men are about to be revealed in the lights, an off-camera dumpster hides them in shadow. 

^..^

At first, based solely off of "RDJ Plays Multiple Roles In New HBO Miniseries 'The Sympathizer'"-type headlines, I thought it was so strange that RDJ playing multiple roles was newsworthy; and also, like, why wouldn't you just hire more actors? 

I thought nothing more of/about the show.

&then the bodybuddy/lifemate says to me one day, "You wanna try 'The Sympathizer'?," to which I quickly respond with an air of as if, "No," to which he responds, "It's that new Park Chan-Wook show," to which I respond, "What the fuck!," to which he responds, "What?," to which I respond, "Why wouldn't you lead with that? All I've heard about that show is how Robert Fucking Junior is playing 'multiple characters.'"

So, we started watching it, right then and there.

And after patiently watching episode one unfurl, I definitely understand that the production probably wanted to pay as few white actors as they could logically "get away with," etc. Genius. Also, RDJ sorta represents a certain type of white person, as a whole, and also, he fills in as the joke that all white people look the same to Asians, lol. 

^..^

I couldn't decide whether or not the Captain is gorgeous or hideous. I've decided that he's fucking gorgeous. *swoon*

^..^

The "Asian perspective" makes me feel so happy. I laugh so much in every episode. The humor is perfection, and I just love the scathing commentary being made on and about white people. It's so so good. *sighs* It's so so satisfying. I obviously wish I had read the book first, but I think it'll still be a great read, cause I can pore over the writing for myself. *drool* 

a Debut

twas the bodybuddy/lifemate's revelation
that i ought to have an image
associated with my writer's rate sheet
so that the interwebs can more easily
pick up this type of information
and make it more "findable," etc.
that made me realize that he is/was correct
*sigh*
months later
we finally sat down and did it
and now it's done

On Jealousy

Her toes, wet, a significant splash of salty sea spits itself over her shins, a High Tide. The splash presses her into the future; she sees herself. Aglow. Awash. She's everything she's ever wanted to be. She's there. 

But it's not her. It's some other person who resembles her greatly.

Heat. Flushed. She fills with jealous rage at what is not, at what she is not. The overlap. The person she is not but wants to be sees her, looks over and smiles, "Oh to be in the same place at-not the same time." The person she is not but wants to be sighs a beautiful sigh of contentment. 

Her face, wet, the significant splash of salty sea slinks itself off her scalp, present. The splash recedes, a Low Tide. As she scrambles slowly down the shore to reach the significant splash of salty sea, she slides a hand into the water as the splash splashes her. The past. She sees herself, again, aglow, awash. She is everything she wishes she still was.

But it's not her. It's some other person who resembles her greatly.

Cool. Calmed. She fills with jealous sentiment at what no longer is, at what she was. The undertow. The person she was but no longer is looks at her and smiles, "Oh, to have been, to have been." The person she was but no longer is sighs an ugly sigh of smugness. 

She washes ashore. 

The squirrel, as it simmers, it speaks, "Took you long enough," and then he hits his joint hard. 

She rolls over and motions for the squirrel to come closer. Annoyed, the squirrel sits back and smirks, "As if," as he takes another puff. She slithers over to the squirrel's stone and props herself up. The squirrel, annoyed, holds the joint out to her, and she pulls long and hard. "I need a Frankie," she states as she sighs the smoke from her lungs. "There aren't any more, and if there were, I sure as fuck wouldn't let you smoke the whole thing by yourself," the squirrel eyerolls. 

"Whatever," she spits with another big inhale and slow, smooth exhale. 

The squirrel speaks, "Apparently;" she interrupts, annoyed, "What?" "We're early," the squirrel explains as a few "Fucks," exit her mouth in rapid succession. "Fuck." 

They each take another pull.

"How do you know this?" she asks. "That goddamn dragonfly basically confirmed it without me even asking. That asshole," squirrel responds. "Well, whatever," she scoffs. "Whatever?" squirrel challenges. "Yea. What. Ev. Er," she smacks along with her fingers gesturing a "W" and an "E." "Wow," squirrel yawns, "we really are early; you're still a fucking teenager." "Fuck you," she blows the squirrel kisses. Squirrel catches the kisses, because he must, but he does not want to accept them. "You have to," she explains. "Whatever," squirrel mimics. 

On Unearned Power (of the white variety that black people have co-opted as their own *clap.clap.clap* [not a criticism, an adoration *iroll*]), Among Other Racist Shit, etc.

unearned power is exactly that

UNearned

&unearned power can never reign

because the wielder was not

forged in the ferocious fire of

EARNED POWER

&EARNED POWER develops over decades of proving one's self and one's reputation

that the reputation stands

that they are who they say they are

and that they do what they say they will do

&to think that we ought to bestow UNearned power upon someone

based off of the color of their skin

(cause that's how the whites have done it/do it)

and call it "diversity"

"equality"

&"inclusion"

is fucking capital-ARR Racist

of the whitest variety

eye'll give 'em something

tho

those whites and those blacks

they sure see the world in exactly that

*shivers*

^..^

Here's a dead giveaway that you're average (or below) ::

You imagine that High Achievers are "perfectionists," thus, you "walk on eggshells" around them because you think that they can't handle criticism (like the way that you can't handle criticism), and so, you believe that High Achievers are somehow so riddled with self-doubt that they are able to achieve so much...how?

An older [race redacted {cause eye've decided to no longer participate in the heavily Racist language utilized by black women on the internet who make and believe that everything, everything, boils down to race, when really, what everything, everything, actually boils down to is economic class, etc.}] woman used to say things like, "Oh, don't even try to tell her she's done anything wrong, or she will blow up at you," referring to me while we were sitting in our bosses' office discussing her terrible jobplace attitude and overall insubordination. And she's, quite frankly, the only person who has ever expressed this sort of view of my behavior, also, just fyi. The [race redacted] woman who came to retrain me, because the first [race redacted] woman who trained me left out a key piece of information that eye needed in order to do my job well even commented on the openness of my mind with regards to being retrained. 

Eye, obviously, thought that this assessment of needing to "walk on eggshells" around me was hilarious, because eyema High Achiever, and it was painfully obvious that the older [race redacted] woman was very shook by my arrival into her jobplace, etc. She viewed herself as doing the job well. I proved otherwise.

The races of the older [race redacted] woman and the [race redacted] woman who came to retrain me are, obviously, not the same. LOL!

The thing is, though, that the older [race redacted] woman revealed her own very-average intellect.

To think that a High Achiever is repulsed by criticism, critical feedback, people who are both capable and willing to point out flaws in their logic, is idiotic. You're a moron if this is how you think High Achievers achieve.

High Achievers are High Achievers because of the criticism and critical feedback and revelations in their flawed logic. 

The fact that low-achievers believe this way about High Achievers is, quite frankly, what makes you a low-achiever. As a low-achiever, criticism, or even the whiff of it, destroys you. You are wrecked by the idea that you are not perfect, that there are flaws that could be mended to make you a better person, etc., etc., &c.

BAHAHAHAHA!

Like, duh.

Ugh, it just must be like so fucking frustrating to be average. That's why you all stick together so tightly. I totally get it. Good news! You've got each other, y'all. Do it. Stick together like your life depends on it! (Cause it does, BAHAHAHAHA!)

^..^

 

Most people could not recognize a [race redacted] free-thinker if we punched them in the face

So, like, onward! 

Spend none of your precious [race redacted] time convincing anyone [race redacted] of anything

especially not the [race redacted] idiots!

^..^

And then it occurred to me, "Why do I value the opinion/approval of [race redacted] women? What [the fuck] have they ever done for my [race redacted] ass or for [race redacted] people? I don't fucking owe them shit. Goddamn." 

The clouds part, and I am free.

^..^

The two groups that represent

the Totality of Color

and its Total Void

have this in common

tote foesh

a Non-Asian mindset

On Lists &List-Making

"Whose list is this?" you wonder in whisper. &Where the fuck am I? your mind whispers. The list sits loose between your fingers; you read it again.

Maybe it's not me, you console yourself; It's a common name, you decide.

"But is it?" you ask aloud, &then you start pacing.

"It is, but it isn't," you work out, "Cause, like, is this my list or am I an item on this list?" You stop cause something's in your shoe. You wriggle the thing free.

"If it's my list, then someone slipped it in my pocket?" you ask nobody in particular as you are alone, in a cold, dark cave, lined in ice, lit by a small wood fire. But you don't remember ever acquiring this particular list, so, "If I'm a line item on this list, what the fuck?" you shout, incensed at the thought, your voice echoing, echoing, echoing in the hollow cave.

"And where the fuck even am I?" you realize. Maybe I'm dreaming? Goddamn. You reach your hand out to the fire, No, fire's hot. 

"But..." you realize, "I am not cold, and I feel like I should be cold?" And why don't I remember anything? "No, I do remember, except that I'm not sure I should say what I remember aloud or even think it in my mind," you admit as you look over your shoulder at me. "What?" I ask, innocent. "I can hear you," you insist. "Hear what?" I challenge. You roll your eyes, "You're doing it, right now!" "Doing what?!" "Narrating!" 

^..^

The sun shines bright on a beautiful spring day on the horizon of the older woman's living quarters upon The Orbital, and as the squirrel, araft upon a thing of its own design and making, rides the creek—meandering, deeply, for the entirety of this day in a shallow valley through a forest—the creek opens out into a swaying field, and off in the distance the squirrel sees the middlemost peak where the three peaks meet, and at the base of the middlemost peak, the squirrel can see the green green hillside of the Listmaker's Ranch. 

The squirrel will not make it all the way to the Ranch by nightfall, and so, it sets up camp on the edge of the creek where it butts up nicely against a swaying field.

^..^

the first drop fell

and then it poured

for an entire week it rained

and then it rained more

^..^

"One leaf died last week," the dragonfly informs, "And another will die in the next week or two, and so, I know that you are not from when I am from." The squirrel looks embarrassed, "I'ma squirrel. I'm obviously not from whenever this is that we are now." Confident, like all dragonflies, the dragonfly rolls its eyes, "Obviously." "So, should I pay you your $5 now for the analysis, or...?" squirrel goads. Above all of this nonsense, the dragonfly flies away.

^..^

The squirrel prepares itself a joint and simmers on a stone as the sun sets slowly behind the middlemost peak where the three peaks meet, and as the creek splashes softly by, the squirrel jots down a short mental list of the various things it would very muchly enjoy eating, that should be readily available along its journey to the Ranch. The squirrel takes another big toke and enjoys its life as it watches the sky turn from sunset hues to vast darkness sprinkled with specks of shimmery dust.