Changes

There do need to be some changes in my life. I mean doing things I actually love. Simply put, doing less of the meaningless things and more of what I find meaning in. 


Right after diving into the Mediterranean Sea!

I used to think ‘changes’ meant transforming my environment. Getting rid of exterior things like people that didn’t really serve much purpose to me(ouch), looking for a better job, transforming the way I look. But I came to realize that those things, although they may help, can only be refreshing for a certain period of time. What’s really mind-changing, life-changing, is people and love and passion. 

I always loved stories. Especially stories of people. I loved to be able to place myself in someone else’s shoes for even a little while, and it would give me an exciting sense of liberation that nothing else in the world could offer. I was more interested in the decisions people made throughout their lives and what events influenced them to make those decisions, rather than the things that they owned as a result of those decisions. Stories are a continuous process, not a result. 

However I am sometimes blinded by expectations. In my life, people have always expected a lot from me. I also always expected a lot from myself. I expected a lot of success, a lot of money, a lot of experience, and a lot of love. I could feel my own greed outgrowing my skin, as I struggled between school, jobs, trips, friends, the social scene, family issues, lovers, and more jobs. I needed the crazy nights as much as I needed the part time jobs, and I couldn’t let go of school but I did still want to do my own projects outside of the restricting boundaries of a school curriculum. Although it took time to admit it was a sort of abusion, I now definitely see that it was an unhealthy process of self-harm.

Me dancing with a completely random dude at a boat party.

However I am sometimes blinded by expectations. In my life, people have always expected a lot from me. I also always expected a lot from myself. I expected a lot of success, a lot of money, a lot of experience, and a lot of love. I could feel my own greed outgrowing my skin, as I struggled between school, jobs, trips, friends, the social scene, family issues, lovers, and more jobs. I needed the crazy nights as much as I needed the part time jobs, and I couldn’t let go of school but I did still want to do my own projects outside of the restricting boundaries of a school curriculum. Although it took time to admit it was a sort of abusion, I now definitely see that it was an unhealthy process of self-harm.

Ibiza taught me about happiness. For most of my recent years, I was on a quest to be as superior as I could. Better grades, better looks, a better paycheck. But Ibiza truly liberated me. I remember one of the waiters in a restaurant in Coco Beach referring to us as ‘friend’, laughing with us and trying his best to communicate to us using a language that he wasn’t even obligated to use. Cashiers paying us extra compliments even though they got nothing out of it. People at clubs, on the beach, taking the time to simply make conversation just for the sake of it. ‘Where do they get the energy?’ I thought. As a student with many jobs in Seoul, I never had the spare energy to look around or even care about my surroundings. It was hard enough trying to take care of myself, but now I think, ‘What for?’ If I’m miserable at the end of the day, when will I ever be successful enough to make myself happy?

Coco Beach, Ibiza. The food was great but the waiters were pure gold.

Humor, humility, and sincerity are all things that I overlooked because I was too proud to admit to myself that I was not the superwoman I once dreamed of being. I was afraid to let go of that extra job, and it killed me inside to fail another class because I was forcing myself to multitask day and night. Eventually everything became stressful, even the things I love. 

Bora Bora, Ibiza.

Now I carry the spirit of Ibiza in my heart. I know that the fun-loving, energetic girl is inside me somewhere. I need to make sure her voice isn’t muffled by the noise of daily life. This means doing more of what I love; less of what I don’t actually give a — about from the bottom of my heart. It means I need to slow down, and not beat myself up whenever I realize that even I can’t do five things at once. I need to love myself more, and know how to make fun of myself but also be my own best fan at the same time.

What it feels like to fail to get into university

Written by Anonymous Person

I have become a useless person.

 

Over a fortnight, I have become a useless person. The once promising spark in my eyes and my cheeks flushing with excitement are gone. I have been stripped of the pride that lived in the crimson walls of my living room that hold all my past awards, each delicately placed in their rightful spots by my hopeful parents, ghost achievements that now just make me cringe at the thought of what could and should have been.

 

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Last night, a moment before I went to sleep, I realized that I had become a useless person.

 

In fact, I am more than useless. I am like a parasite, spreading through the tissue of my parents’ backbones, sucking out the harvest of their dedication and trust.

It is already 1AM when I check my phone to see the time. My parents-

My ears perk up as I focus on the soft moans of my mother and the heavy sighs from my father in the middle of the night. Their pain is palpable; I can tell that I am causing it.

 

“Serves You Right.”

 

Her voice pierces through me like the sharpest dagger. Because, I know that it does. I can feel my walls of self-righteousness and years of anxious rationalization crumbling down to the floor we stand on, the same 5 square meters of floor that our family has been tiptoeing on for the past two years of my expensive education. They needed this, we needed this, more than I did.

 

I think meticulously. How can I make myself useful again? How am I going to earn back my self esteem? My mind is clinging on to the edge of my pride and desperation. When you knock yourself off your tightrope with one single blow, which way should you fall?

 

I am serving time for my sins; I repent, I free-fall for a while, and I try not to look up or down, because up is too high for me now and down is a future that feels deeper and scarier than before.

 

Laying on my bed,

“Jen, what would you do–I mean, think, if–if I failed to get into any of the colleges I applied to?”

“I’d think, ‘Oh. She got unlucky.'”

 ‘If you believe what you say, words become reality.’ – Ingrid Betancourt 

A.K.A. why I haven’t been around here for a while, guys

I sneaked backstage at a fashion show!

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Ever felt the urge to break into the backstage of a fashion show and see what on earth goes on behind that runway? Well, worry no more-I’ve done it for you. And I didn’t get caught.

Behind the scenes; behind the spotlight

As some of you already know, for the past few months, I’ve been working for Korea Style Week, which is the more accessible, B2B(buyer-to-buyer) version of Seoul Fashion Week. This season’s Style Week took place in COEX(in Gangnam, Seoul) a few days ago, and I was invited(obviously, I worked for them). I’ve been to Korea Style Week a few times before, once two years ago having to sneak out during class to see the Korean designer Ko Tae yong (see post by young Konni about it here). I’ve evolved a lot since then, since I no longer have to sneak around to go to fashion events lest people should mock (everyone close to me now is very supportive of my fashion career). BUT on Sunday, I had the chance to feel that tingling feeling of secretly tiptoeing around to get a more intimate glimpse into fashion. I sneaked backstage during the Korea Style Week runway show!

I figured if I got caught I could pull out the ‘I worked for the Korea Style Week blog!’ card, although I think even so I wasn’t supposed to actually go backstage during the fashion shows.

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(this was the entrance.)

Okay, deep breath, I tell myself. This is going to be a fun adventure! I’ll just keep exploring until I get kicked out. After all, no one in the fashion world succeeds by following the rules, if there even are any, right? The moment I entered, I just saw a bunch of makeup artists lounging around with their phones, looking pretty bored. I walked past them, nodding and smiling as if to say ‘yeah, I’m just one of you guys, keep working, don’t mind me!’ (They stared for a while, probably because judging from my shortness and chubbiness they made out that I wasn’t one of the models, but I didn’t look chic enough to be one of the designers, so who was I? But they turned back to their phones.)

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(backstage. succeeded in entering without looking too weird.)

The first thing I noticed backstage was the models. Oh what beautiful, unrealistic creatures models are.

No matter how lovely, unique, or bursting with personality a model is, there’s one collective aura that they all share in common, and that’s the aura of intimidation. Even though it’s not the first time I’ve talked to a real live one(yes, the nuance IS that they’re a different species) I can’t help but give away my nervousness in the subtle tremor of my voice or my awkward smile as I ask for them to pose for a photo. Physical traits do certainly influence human interaction, I think, as I bend my knees, tilting my head to eye those long limbs through an old Canon Rebel.

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(models running around in heels, backstage. pretty artistic shot, no?)

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(It was scary to even ask them to pose; they were all at least 20cms taller than me in those heels)

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(a model making sure she’s ready to get on stage. I wonder how it would feel to look in the mirror when you’re a model. I wonder if they look at themselves and take their bodies apart, criticizing themselves for their physical flaws like most of us do.)

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Overall it was pretty hectic; after all, the main objective here is to GET THE MODELS ON STAGE, ON TIME, LOOKING FLAWLESS. No one really payed much attention to me because they were all busy doing their own thing, playing their part to keep the show running. It’s not as glamorous a process as I thought it would be.

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(the runway seems a lot more accessible and familiar from this perspective. Just a few stairs and you’re on the magical fashion pedestal.)

When the models are all lined up and the show starts to heat up, it gets quieter backstage because everyone’s so focused on monitoring the show. The director was constantly running to and fro, waving a bunch of papers with the show schedule and details around. She had a pretty intense look on her face, and she was busy talking to each person about precisely what they were supposed to do at exactly what time.

But of course, none of this frenzy is reflected on the actual runway. All we usually get to see is the models calmly doing the catwalk, looking like they’ve got their stuff together.

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(The outfits were colorful and totally weird, but I like weird.)

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(and then there are the people that have to sit and take care of all the digital stuff, lighting, sound, photography etc.)

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After getting a few shots of the models and the people that do all the digital, techno-work (bless those people! no one ever seems to notice them but they work so hard to put important parts of the fashion show together), I wandered around to observe everything else.

A box filled with ‘밥버거'(rice burgers; a pretty popular snack/meal here in Korea. They’re literally burgers with rice instead of bread.) at the entrance raised my eyebrows; I thought models didn’t eat fatty foods, especially during show season. But then a scene from The September Issue where a pin-thin model cheekily looks at the camera during a shoot and eats pie(pie! The ultimate carb-filled, gluten-loaded, evil food! I’m being sarcastic.) comes to mind, reminding me that we’re all human and should all be let off the hook to eat whatever we want sometimes. (And I enjoyed that thought as I munched on my Burger King burger after the show. I have an unhealthy relationship with their long chicken burger.)

I was trying to get a shot of the rice burgers to show you guys when I was interrupted by something much more intriguing-A BACKSTAGE MODEL FIGHT! Well, okay, it wasn’t a fight, it was just a conflict. But I was still excited. I witnessed a model surrounded by girls, shouting to another model across the corridor about something related to the sequence that they were supposed to do on the runway. The atmosphere turned from hectic and lively to serious-mode, and I heard some of the staff trying to figure out what to do with the runway sequence. “We can’t have the lights turn off without the model on stage!”, I remember the stage director saying. I’d imagined model fights to be much more physical or loud, but from my experience(of sitting around on the big black electric sound boxes(amplifiers?) for an hour or so-yeah, I know, such a foundation to judge) conflicts backstage were more…civilized.

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Amid the messy stacks of clothes and hangers and personal belongings of staff members, there was another large group of humans, other than models, that intimidated me. The designers. These were the people that I was actually dying to talk to, rather than the models. I love talking to people about their creative process and inspiration for their craft; believe me, talking to someone about their art really reveals a lot about a person’s life values and perspectives. However, as busy as they were, they looked so immersed in the show, making sure their creations were properly represented to the public eye, that I just couldn’t get myself to pop their ‘bubble’ of concentration. What I did get to to, though, was ask a designer for a photo and exchange blog addresses! Hopefully I’ll get to properly have a separate conversation with her soon.

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(designers dress fabulously, obviously.)

As thrilling and exciting being backstage a fashion show is, sneaking around gets exhausting after a while. I went out to enjoy the many exhibitions by brands.

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A brand called LUVX seemed to be the main show here. They had a giant, weird booth in the middle of the whole exhibition hall and are actually pretty well-known among younger Koreans, considering the fact that I’ve seen their designs before, and I’m usually the last person to know about new hot Korean brands that idols are seen wearing.

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Walking around on my favorite dirty old pair of Skechers, I saw some designs (and people) that I really liked.

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(She caught my eye because she was tan, unlike most Korean fashion-conscious people these days (everyone here dotes on the classic pale Asian face), and because she had mint-blue highlights on the hair beneath her ears.

“So you’re here all day?”

“Yeah, you can take shifts but I don’t have a partner here so I’ve taken care of this booth each day, all day.”

“Isn’t it hard?”

“It’s doable. But don’t take pictures too close up; I haven’t got any makeup on.”)

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(I have no idea what ‘IRONY PORN’ means and, honestly, I really don’t want to find out)

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(model off duty!)

Overall, last Sunday was a glorious day filled with fun, thrill, and awe…which left me with sore feet and utter exhaustion (I’m usually a total insomniac but I fell straight asleep after coming home from Korea Style week), but that’s okay because it was a meaningful experience, both in terms of my fashion career and my life as a whole.

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And speaking of my fashion career, I’ve started working on my eBay partnership this week!

Wouldn’t be possible without you readers. I love you!

Dear Future Me

Dear future me,

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You’re the person I am forced to live each day for, the name I’m choked up to my throat with when I fail to be diligent, the face that I pray will hold a prettier, more confident smile, the winner’s smile; the type that can ‘light up a whole room’ instead of be judged by boys that won’t even remember my name. You’re the hound that lives under my bed and inside my covers when I sleep, keeping me up until 4am, just prodding at my chest, my twitching spine, on my eyelids shut so firmly to just convince myself for a millisecond that maybe I’m mistaken- maybe, just maybe, you will come kindly. But I open my eyes again, first slowly but now immediately because I have more to lose than before, and in that moment, as I shudder and tug my covers closer to my twisted stomach and racing heart, I know with every fiber of my being that you will not come to me. You do not love me yet. I am told that I must live for you and chase you until I reach you. Then you’ll love me for the things I’ve done.

It’s a crazy thing, living for someone. Living for you entails sacrifices that I’m never ready to make and the type of selflessness and patience that I know I don’t have. We’ve both heard it one too many times, not to let someone become your everything. It’s dangerous. Every sign you give me, whether it’s a shift of your eyeballs inside their squeaky-clean sockets as I imagine you looking me in the face or the sound of your laughter reminding me that I have a purpose, resonates inside the neurons of my brain and threatens to block everything else out of my vision. But future me, that’s not how I am, so it hurts! It hurts to say no to painting all night with black coffee and Rachel Yamagata on repeat! It hurts to sacrifice the immediate adventures beckoning for me in every corner and the non-adventures telling me to sleep a little longer, ‘what more is there to life, anyways?’. It hurts that we don’t even know each other and maybe never will, though I still am obligated to chase after you, laughing in my hopefulness all the while like a fool, but that’s the only way I know to live. And for that I will always hate you.

But, then again, how could I ever truly hate you? You force me to hold back hot tears when I hear my mother’s ill voice on the phone, the sound of her voice telling . You force me to brush that boy out of my head to focus on my work to make sure I don’t lose you. All those mornings back in when I used to wake up feeling like I wanted to die because of the obsessive-compulsive disorder that made me do every action over, and over, and over again bring me back to you because whenever my mind and body tried to betray me, I knew you would always be there in whatever form.

One day you’ll stop for a while, turn around, and see me standing there right behind you with weary grey eyes with asymmetric wrinkles carved on the sides and a crooked smile showing the black void in my mouth where my yellow teeth used to be. And then you’ll finally take the timid step toward my body and greet me and congratulate me with a kiss, sucking the remaining few wisps of life out of me. And then we will be in total harmony and unity and I will know that I have caught up with you after a lifetime of mad, wonderful obsession.

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I’m a coward. There, I said it. (My passive-aggressive tribute to 2014)

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(Me in Jeju Island for the first time. This year.)

I’m a coward. Honestly, truly, I am terrified of life. It gives me the chills to think that in a year I’ll lawfully be an adult. It scares me that I may or may not get married someday. I am frightened of becoming attached to things or people. It scares me that I know I am scared and yet I am not doing anything about it.

What’s stupid is that I’d always thought I was the strongest person in the world. I just knew I would succeed. I knew I was clever, driven, and assertive, and I was confident that I had the ability to ‘make a dent in the world’, as Steve Jobs stated. The word ‘coward’ never really came to mind when I was referring to myself, even while I was thinking my deepest, darkest thoughts.

Over the span of a year, it’s shocking, almost bloody brilliant even, how my perception of myself has changed. It’s kind of like the feeling you get when you look back at an old photo of you back in the day and you get that rush of nostalgia whooshing up your throat, threatening to seep out through your eyes as tears? Well, that’s how I feel about the past year, 2014(of course, there is no need to state ‘2014’ specifically again, but I feel like simply calling it the ‘past year’ isn’t enough; like we need to establish and state some sort of concrete, serious name for this chunk of time that has come and utterly rooted up my previous self-image). After all, it’s the year I’ve realized how much of a freaking coward I can be.

I realize that I didn’t act all dismissing and condescending about love because I’ve never felt it before. Of course I have. Everyone has experienced love in whatever form, at whatever time in their lives, but I always gave this sort of I’m-superior-because-I-don’t-care-for-petty-emotions-like-that sideways smirk(which has kind of stuck to my face as a default expression now) and said, in the chicest, most nonchalant way possible, ‘I don’t believe in love’ because I was scared of it. Because I know, deep inside, that I can so casually and obliviously slip up and become attached to someone who may not love me as much as I love them. I was avoiding the issue altogether, like a coward. I know that once I get quite close to a person, falling into them is as easy as getting someone to agree that Beyonce is definitely, without doubt, queen of pop(aka easy-peasy).

These days I’m especially terrified of the future. Well, my future, to be exact. I (or at least I feel like I have) have experienced so many miserable failures(what happened to getting a boyfriend? what happened to getting better at Spanish? what happened to getting better grades? seriously though, what is up with these grades? WHAT. HAPPENED. KONNI.) in 2014 that I could write a whole, hardcover, at least two hundred page book on how to fall and smack your ass hard on the ground called life. I know this is getting repetitive and possibly a little obsessive-addictive creepy but I can’t help but keep asking my inner, shriveled self- WHAT HAPPENED??? I used to be the girl with all the fierce attitude of the whole room, sucking out the patience in people until they finally got tired(physically and mentally) of me and told me to shut up and go chill or something, the girl who would obviously be voted ‘Most likely to succeed (and break her neck trying because she just cannot stop being so obnoxiously enthusiastic)’; now I feel like I’m just a shadow of that girl. Right now I don’t feel ready to take on the world at all. Now I’ve become obnoxiously anxious of my future, although of course I don’t really show it, I just think it in my head. I’ve got a year left until I get sucked into society as a (*ooh*) ‘grown-up’ but let’s face it: I AM NOT GROWN, UP, DOWN, RIGHT, OR LEFT. I feel like I’m back to the start of the monopoly board because bloody 2014 came and gave me that red card thingy that has instructions on it that tell you to go back to ‘START’.

And the problem here is, when I’m scared, I somehow get petrified, as if someone came and shot me with a stun-gun. I collapse under fear. I cease to think rationally. Like right now. I’m barely thinking about what’s coming out of my brain and onto this laptop screen, but here I am, writing my thoughts out (although it may actually be a good thing since this post will probably turn out to be one of my most raw, honest ones). One thing I do know now, though, is that I really need to pick myself up and make sure that all this was worth it. Since I can’t change what has already happened in the gloomy, swamp-like depths of 2014, I inevitably owe it to myself to at least make sure that it was all worth it somehow; that it was all for ‘something bigger’.

So basically, since 2014 has upper-cut me in the face so many times, I just have one wish for the new year. That I improve myself and get to a happier place.

2015, don’t expect me to play along like last time. It’s MY turn now.

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(P.S: Also, when in doubt, eat.)

Goodbye, 2014.

Things I realized from being brutally honest with myself

Writing has always entertained me, in one way or another. A fun, relaxing, magical thing. My parents always encourage me to write things out, whether it be a personal diary entry full of my feelings, or a professional article on my stance on a current issue. Because of this (maybe ‘nurtured’)affinity toward writing, I think that when I write, I see a true reflection of myself in the most honest way possible.

It’s when I’m sitting alone in front of my laptop with a cup of coffee, in an old cafe(which is what I’m doing right at this very moment) that I can pluck up the courage to connect with myself. When I say ‘connect with myself’ I don’t mean some superstitious voodoo business; I mean actually acknowledge myself for what I’ve become.

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It’s really not as easy as it sounds, you know, acknowledging yourself for what you are. Of course, once in a while we all whine about how we’re so doomed because we procrastinate endlessly, or we rant on about how we eat too much and sleep too much(or too little, in my case. Sleep, I mean.) But have we actually journeyed further than that? I doubt it. We never really get to step beyond the comfort zones of our smartphones and casual social media binging.

We’re at the point where it seems taboo to question the most fundamental things. Try asking a random basic ‘philosophical’ question to a friend. It will probably make them(most people I’ve tried it on have, anyways) almost instinctively try to lighten the awkwardness of how fundamental and ‘deep’ your question was by joking around or seeming clearly uncomfortable with how ‘pretentious’ you sound by asking such a thoughtful question instead of commenting on the latest hot topic or something. Considering this situation, the only way we seem to be realistically evaluating ourselves is through our selfies. Which I think is really bad, since selfies don’t even begin to scratch the surface of who we are at all. Whenever I take a selfie I feel like I’m deluding myself by filling up my empty spots with the shallow satisfaction of how I look(not that I think I look fabulous…but you get what I mean in general) and establishing my existence by posting them on Facebook, rather than actually taking the time to get to know my inner self.

Today I had a lot of time to kill on my hands since finals ended last week and I was alone for most of the day, so I decided to stop and take a break from mourning over my horrendous finals scores and sending my friends memes on Facebook and just be alone for a while. To get off social media and stop worrying about what other people are gonna think of me(or whether they’re thinking of me, *cough cough* hot guy on the third row in chemistry class) and just devote a chunk of time solely to myself. It’s harder said than done. It can actually be quite frightening to some people, and I understand that. For some of us, being alone with our thoughts can be harder than facing a room full of a thousand people, especially in today’s world. I admit-hitting the ‘deactivate’ button on Facebook was a big decision, my index finger was trembling as I hit the button that would segregate me from the world and disconnect me from my primary source of self-worth, but I survived it like a warrior. Okay, that was exaggerated. But still, it was hard.

I sat in a cafe, ordered my usual green tea latte, and basically I just…sat for hours, writing out things on my mind, sipping latte and listening to Christmas carols(only 4 days left now!), and thinking about things I usually don’t have the time to think about. I’ve been sitting here in the corner of this cafe for hours now and I’ve come up with some thoughts at least remotely worthy enough to put down on paper, or, on my laptop screen.

Being brutally honest with myself for once, firstly, I realized that I was stopping myself from becoming more successful in life. To be exact, my arrogance was barring me from advancing in so many areas of my life. I had never realized it before because a) I always seemed to have more urgent things to think about and b) I was too afraid to face my flaws in the face BECAUSE OF my arrogance(a vicious cycle..arrgg) in the If I had continued on with my life unaware of this

Secondly, I realized that I am being very weak right now. Finals finally ended last week and school is about to let out in a few days; obviously it would be an understatement to say that I’m a little over the moon and therefore am a little in the partay-all-day-whoop-whoop mood but I’m going to have to go to university next year and I.NEED.TO.GET.UP. I am being lazy. I’ve been in denial about this for a week now but now I must get myself together and STOP ILLEGALLY BINGE-WATCHING ‘MY MAD FAT DIARY’. Seriously. Procrastination isn’t cool anymore-has anyone else ever felt the sickening feeling of being left behind when everyone else seems to be moving forward in life and living out their dreams step by step?

Thirdly, I realized that I’m not that attractive. I’m not saying this to be degrading toward myself or try to earn your sympathy. I just feel like I should acknowledge reality.

Finally, I realized that I should be more honest with not only myself but also with others in my life. A few white lies here and there are acceptable, but mainly I need to have honest, genuine bonds with the people around me that I love. From now on, it’s going to be either a true relationship where I don’t have to act superficial, or no relationship.

Whew, this one was really emotional and long and personal.

The story of how I fell asleep and missed my interview with Pixie Lott

Hey readers,

I feel like, because it’s hard to find an avid fashion blogger my age in Korea, lots of people tend to think I must be an incredibly amazing blogger. The thing is, whether I’m interviewing America’s Next Top Model models, hosting collaboration projects, or talking to magazine editors, I slip up a lot. And I mean A LOT.

For example, the other day I was supposed to be interviewing Pixie Lott, but I FELL ASLEEP AND MISSED IT.

Yep, you read that correctly. I just literally could not attend the online webinar BECAUSE I WAS FRIGGIN SLEEPING. IN MY BED. And this is THE PIXIE LOTT we’re talking ’bout here.

So here’s what happened. Recently I found a blogger community newsletter in my heap of emails. There was a link to attend the online Q&A session with Pixie Lott, hosted by the brand Magnitone. Of course, being a Pixie Lott fan, I applied. As I waited in anxiety and anticipation, I received an email informing me that I’d made it; that I’d been chosen to participate in the exclusive live webinar session with Pixie Lott. At that point I could practically imagine the looks of utter shock and admiration on people’s faces when they found out about it. Tingling with excitement, I posted this on facebook.

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And people were in awe, as I’d expected.

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I was too busy basking in the glory of being the first person among my friends to be able to exclusively interview someone as famous as Pixie Lott, that at first I did not realize that the Q&A session was in three hours. I was probably the last person put on the list.

I honestly freaked out when I read the words ‘Reminder: the exclusive Q&A session with Pixie Lott is in three hours(4AM)!’ in my business inbox. I’d been studying at school until 10PM that day, I was tired, I needed a shower and a nice few hours of sound sleep. A short internal conflict occurred in my head-should I stay up until 4AM and talk to Pixie Lott, or should I just forget it and get some sleep? After a split second, I decided that the former would definitely have to happen, because, who knows, this could be my big break, right? You never know in the blogging world.

So I drank my coffee, washed my face, and sat at my desk to prepare myself for the painful three hours of cruel, wearisome waiting in anticipation and irritation from severe sleep deprivation that were to come. I did everything to keep myself awake. After all, I couldn’t let my readers(you guys) down, and my friends were counting on me to nail this Q&A session and tell them all about it.

AND THEN guess what I did. I got a little drowsy, so I thought, ‘just 5 minutes…yes…I’ll just close my eyes for just, just…5 minutes’, and then I WENT TO MY BED. Now there’s one thing you need to know about my bed-it’s the coziest, softest, most sleep-inducing patch of space on planet Earth. It’s truly a fine bed. And as I lay down, I kept telling myself, ‘Everything will be fine… I’m sure I’ll get up before 4…’ BUT NO.

NO, NO, NO. JUST. NO. I DID NOT get up before 4. In fact I did not get up at all until the clock struck 7:10 AM. I opened my eyes, got straight up, stared at the clock, rubbed my eyes, then stared some more. The clock definitely said 7:10. I panicked for a while, even thinking, ‘well..well…maybe the webinar isn’t over! Maybe I’ll still get to talk to Pixie…’ But I regained my logical thinking skills, muttered some bad language about how I was such an idiot(WHICH I WAS), and went back to bed, because, you know, maybe it was just a big bad dream(which it wasn’t).

And that’s my story of how I almost, just almost, interviewed Pixie Lott. My friends were totally bummed when I told them, of course. My mother just laughed at me. I was mad at myself for a while but then, oh well.

This post was supposed to be about my almost-happened interview with Pixie Lott, but since it didn’t happen, here’s my reflection on the whole situation.

Thinking back now, firstly, I’m beginning to realize it’s not that big of a deal. #YOLO. Just kidding. That hashtag is overused. But seriously though, take that in for a moment-You Only Live Once. If I only live once, I wanna make mistakes, especially while I’m still young. I’m only human. There’s no point dwelling on the past and getting angry all over again. It’s a waste of precious time. Secondly, while I do need to forgive myself and move on, I also need to learn from my mistakes. Me missing the interview chance was totally my fault. I cannot blame anyone else for it since it was just the result of me being an idiot. Blogging and tackling school work all at once is turning out to be harder than I thought, and I do struggle. However, since I made the conscious choice to continue on with my blogging career, I need to start being more responsible for it. I need to improve my time management, primarily.

I also need to focus on the essence of my blogging. I always told myself that I didn’t want to be the type of fashion blogger that just posts photos of Chanel and Givenchy, accepting unhealthy fashion ideals and passing selling them on to the public as if those standards are the ultimate rules of fashion, conforming to trends without critical thinking. However, these days I often find myself thirsty for opportunities with famous, popular people that might give me my ‘big break’. It’s ridiculous, I know. I need to focus on my writing; my posts, which express my true colours and insights, and stop floating above my conscience, swimming on the edge of glamour and undeserved fame. This is my confession and promise to you guys that from now on I’ll remind myself each day of why I’m staying up this late(or NOT staying up, in the case of how my Pixie Lott interview went down, haha) and take myself to the beginning whenever I feel like I’m becoming too obsessed with the shallow glittery stuff. Because I believe I can make a positive change and contribute to the development of self-expression.

I love you guys. Thank you.

The friend that looks amazing in her soccer uniform and sneakers

Hey readers,

The time has finally come for me to show you guys the photos I’ve been taking with the new camera that my friend Jen lent me.

I took loads of photos of my friend Jiyeon. She has a unique look, an interesting sense of style, and an easygoing attitude, so she makes the perfect model to work with. The sunlight was just perfect when we were taking these photos.

So this is what we managed to create after about two hours of light bickering and fooling around with the camera(which was a Canon DSLR, by the way).

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The one above is my personal favorite. It was hard to get the right angle though.

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“Why are they always telling me to sit?”

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I love photos of natural, honest moments, like the one above.

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Thanks : ) Don’t forget to leave a comment!

I don’t want to grow up because…

Hey readers,

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(Two years ago-me being a silly 15 year old in New York! One of the happiest memories of my life. It was the first time I had ever visited the US, and I was with my best friend. I love this photo because I look so naive and incredibly happy.)

Lots of changes are being made in my life these days. At school, aside from the usual schoolwork, I now have to start writing college applications for next year and I must also take several exams, again, for college. And then outside of school I have this whole other world of blogging and fashion business and social media frenzy, where things are starting to become really exciting- keep an eye out for new collaboration projects which are gonna be here soon, guys. (I can’t dish out much info now but you’ll find out in a bit! You’ll be surprised! ; ) And THEN we’re left with my personal life- relationships, family, and all that jazz. Obviously I can’t reveal too much about THAT either, but for now, all I can say is that I feel that I’m becoming much more mature in terms of relationships with people. I think it’s because I’m growing to be more accepting.

With so much around me and inside me transitioning, I’m excited yet anxious, as any growing teenager my age would be. Soon I’m going to be of legal age. (Do you hear that? LEGAL. AGE. My goodness, time flies.) Every day I’m feeling new emotions, I’m experiencing new things, and through all this newness I can feel myself getting older. I’ve always held a fear of growing old. It’s not necessarily a fear of seeing the numbers of my age get bigger. It’s a fundamental fear of ‘change’. I can’t imagine myself mentally, emotionally, or physically being different from how I am now. It’s almost like I can’t believe that someday I’ll have to hand in my youthful skin and dreaming mind for a set of wrinkles and a careful, serious attitude attributed to a lifetime of experience. Of course, not all cases of aging go like this, and I do acknowledge that wrinkles and old age have their own beauty. However, right now I just feel like THIS-the way I am at this moment-is me.

I’m only 17 and a half and already I’m noticing that I’ve changed so much-from a mischievous yet smart little girl in London to a quiet, reserved pre-teen after suddenly moving to Korea(I knew little Korean back then), and finally to who I am now, a confused yet pretty self-actualized and excited teenager with so many problems and so little time. And looking back, I miss my old self sometimes. I think, ‘Maybe I’d have become a more positive person if I hadn’t so suddenly moved here, maybe I needed more time‘, and ‘What if the little girl inside me is gone forever?‘ These thoughts usually creep up on me when I’m feeling sentimental in a sad way. And then these thoughts move on to scare me about how much I’ll change in the future. ‘Look how much you’ve changed in just 17 years. Imagine how much more you’ll change as you become an adult and get thrown into the reality of society, with money and real relationships and all the other hazards of the adult world that you’re being protected from right now!‘ says the voice in the back of my head.

I don’t want to grow up because I love myself the way I am now, all the flaws too. I do want to improve, and don’t get me wrong-I am truly exhilarated just thinking of the future and all my dreams and ambitions-but I don’t want myself to radically change. It may sound cowardly and oh-so-typical-teenager-like, but it’s something I’ve been thinking about for a long time now. I. don’t. want. to. grow. up. 

But I guess the best I can do at present is to just work harder toward my goals and hope for the best; hope that I won’t become too materialized, hope that I’ll stay passionate, hope that I’ll grow stronger, hope that all the scars will heal and shape a better ‘me’ for the future.

Thanks for taking the time to read this, guys. : )

And a special thanks to my Korean readers, who are showing so much support on Facebook right now!

Picnic in the woods

Hey readers,

Although I’m not a big fan of being in the sun (UV RAYS! UGH!), I must admit that the right amount of sunlight and a green, nature-filled background can create amazing photos. Here are some photos I took with my sister on a picnic.

Keepin’ it simple with a white oversized shirt and black shorts.

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Have a lovely day!