Found my own home

At http://www.jaynawrites.com.

This has been a rather short journey so I don’t have much regrets. I’ll see you there as I begin a new one.

Thanks.

The story behind Jayna

When I was young, full of dreams and oblivious to real-life problems, I wanted to change my name from Angela to Angelina.  This was before Angelina Jolie became a household name so that wasn’t the reason..  Thinking back, it was because the name Angelina was pretty, long, and unique to my inchoate ears.  Coming from a culture where first names are only two-syllables long and last names even shorter at one (although I later learned that there were some common exceptions to this norm), I wanted my name to be as long and different as possible.  After all, I was only one of millions of ‘Lee’s’ in the world while my classmates boasted longer, more original last names like Mitchell, Barnes, and Robinson.  At the age of 8 or 9, I decided that I must change my first name to set myself apart from the rest, since last names can’t be changed unless I ask my Korean ancestors who were already long gone and buried on a hill somewhere in the country side (or so I thought).

Being the loud-mouthed kid that I was, I immediately ran to tell my parents about my proposed name change.  They simply chuckled and with a quick nod, told me I could do as I wish.  Not knowing the difference between a legal name and nickname, I was ecstatic to adopt a new name that now marked me as ‘different’ from the rest and more true to my personality.  Despite my adventurous, curious and courageous nature, I was always a ‘girly’ girl who loved Barbies and the color pink, and adding that ‘lina’ at the end was more than enough to make me feel more beautiful and feminine than my previous (and prescribed) self.

Now the only traces of my newly adopted name remain on the inside cover of my childhood books, in which I carefully flipped through individually to mark my transition from Angela to Angelina.  With my dainty, hopeful hand, I crossed out the original 6-letter name and replaced it with the new and improved 8-letter name, while not forgetting to mark each i with an heart instead of the boring ole’ dot that everyone else used.

Then nearly 20 years later, I found myself thinking of a pen name that is not only fitting to my personality, but true to my roots.  After playing with numerous combinations of Angela, Angie, Jeah (My korean name which roughly translates to ‘beautiful jade’) Angela J., Jeah Angela, Angela Jeah, Lee Ang, Ang J Lee, Lee Jeah, etc. I came across the name Jayna, which immediately brought back waves of emotions I had once felt the day I decided to name myself Angelina.

As an adult, I’m now glad I wasn’t adamant enough to legally change my name to Angelina, although I still think it’s a beautiful name.  Anyway, the name Jayna continues to stir me in a deeply emotional and profound way as it combines the root of my given name (‘Je’ or ‘Jay’ meaning Jade in Korean) and ‘Na’ which to me, is emblematic of my ‘female’ sides.  Notice I don’t like to use the word ‘feminine’, as it has over the years, become packed with negative connotations of what a woman is and should be, reminding one of adjectives like subservient, quiet, submissive, helpless, etc.  My ‘femaleness’ is something I can’t shake off -or wish to shake off- because it is what describes my history, my lineage, my identity and my dreams.

I am a woman and I wouldn’t choose to be anything else, but a woman.

Freud has once said that all females go through a period of ‘penis envy’ in which they secretly wish to have a penis like their fathers and brothers.  I’m sorry Dr. Freud, but I never ever wanted a penis or ever thought of it as a source of empowerment. In fact, I always thought it was kind of odd-looking and difficult to hide between one’s legs.  It might come in handy when one is trying to pee in a public restroom, but that’s okay because I have mastered the art of using the toilet without actually sitting on the seat.  In fact, I discovered not too long ago that this is a beneficial pose called ‘chair’ in yoga, one that strengthens my thighs.

So there’s no penis envy here and as crazy as this may sound to some men out there, I’m proud to be a woman.  Yes, proud. I’m proud to be female and I’m proud of both my female and feminine sides.  I don’t see womanhood as something to be ashamed of and manhood as something to desire for the rest of my life.  In fact, being a woman brings so much complexity in one’s life that most women don’t have the time to wish to be a man.  And why would she?  Being a woman means being able to bring a new life into the world and experience the indescribable feeling of holding that 10-second old life in your hands for the first time.  I don’t care how much stronger men are; how much more money they make than me for the same job–Just for being able to experience that connection with a life that I helped to create and deliver, I’d choose to be born as a woman in a heartbeat.

So with all this said, I’m excited to be able to start writing again using a name that is so fitting, so comfortable and so right for me.  And the fact that it means ‘God’s Grace’ or ‘the Lord is Gracious,’ makes it difficult to doubt the validity of these feelings.  God truly is gracious and I can only hope and pray that I’m reading the right signs this time.

Lysol to Rhetoric

Being a mother made me realize that I am now responsible for the well-being of other lives, which unsurprisingly, leaves me anxious during moments when I find it taxing to be responsible for my own well-being.  Other lives not only include my two young children, but also my husband who depends on me to put away his freshly laundered clothes, keep his side of the sink clean and remind him every once in a while to use the toilet with the seat up.  These occasional reminders rarely seem to work, as I often ‘catch’ him using the toilet with the seat firmly attached to its base.  Yet I can’t blame him, because he too, makes many sacrifices for me, I’m sure.

Even though he still can’t remember my natural cycle and realizes only after a wild, hormonal tantrum, that I’m simply PMS’ing, not crazy, I’m fairly certain that he makes sacrifices for me on a daily basis.  The only problem then, is that I’m more prone to thinking about my own sacrifices and struggles than his.

Only if humans were naturally wired to think about others before ourselves; only if God didn’t make it so difficult for us to accept (rather than blame) and share (rather than greedily hold onto), then many of today’s societal problems–marital, economic and political– will not be as rampant in spirit and destructive in nature, especially for the future of our young children.

Well, at least the raspberry iced tea at Seattle’s Best tasted really good with not one, but two extra packs of sugar.  It was a bit sweeter than I would’ve liked, but the discussion about Cicero and Quintillian was refreshing.  Not as interesting as finding flaws and inconsistencies in Aristotle’s writings, but refreshing nonetheless.

It’s difficult to go from scrubbing the stove with Lysol to lounging around a book store discussing rhetoric and philosophy.  But if I must make this awkward transition daily in order to achieve my lifelong dream, I have no choice but to bow my head and succumb to life.

My mind is quiet.

I desperately need to write. about something. about anything. This silence stirs me louder than words and I’m searching for words to keep me company.

But nothing..nothing comes.

[Silence]

So I just sit here, alone,

waiting for my mind to awaken and embrace this lonely silence.

---

At the end of another windy road

Tomorrow marks the last day of 2008.

Yet I find today to be completely ordinary–almost too ordinary for my comfort.

As I replace each calender in my home with a new one and remind myself to compose another list of new year’s resolutions (which conveniently, gets thrown out within the first two weeks of January), I ask myself how different today is from Last year’s today.  Quite Frankly, I don’t remember much from last year around this time because my life requires me to take care of other people over myself that it leaves very little time for constructive self-reflection .  This of course,  is something I can’t really complain about since it has been done out of my own free will, but like many others, I’m prone to questioning myself and my decisions over and over again for long after. And I’m almost certain that another set of rambling will be dedicated just to this decision when time is right.

Not surprisingly, I’m still not living the life of Mother Theresa or Dalai Lama and can’t promise that I ever will. Not because I don’t want to, but because I’ve taken a path that requires me to be a wife, a mother and a woman, which means dedicating the rest of my life to exploration of spirituality may result in abandonment of daily duties.

In the end, I’m awaiting the last day of 2008 with a lighter heart even though it has been a year filled with constant disappointments and disagreements.  Despite my efforts, I have yet to find a person who truly understands the depth of my soul or can appreciate the lengths of my imaginations without giving up.  I have yet to save more money than last year.  I have yet to taken an exciting trip to a new place.  I have yet to come closer to my lifelong career goal.  Instead, I’ve been forced to sacrifice, give up and retreat, all with bittersweet smiles.

My body still goes through same motions while being confined in same places.  My mouth continues to recite same lines over and over again to achieve what seems to be same fruitless purpose.  My eyes see the same faces and at times refuse to see the same damned things.  My ears even, are delighted by the same sounds and repulsed by other same ones.

What is different this last day of the year, is that my newfound spiritual awakening makes  it possible for my mind to travel to different places even though my external self continues to be bored out of its existence.  My mind feels a thousand times lighter, and yearns to be filled with that many more things.

And even such needless contemplation makes me hopeful for a brighter 2009.

Cheers to me, for the closing and opening of another Literary Blunder.

First note

I never thought this can happen to us. I never imagined that our love can just slip through our fingers like fine sand, only to scatter away as invisible particles that can never be retrieved. Although my rationality and logic always told me that love is forever–that it can endure any pain and suffering as long as the two hold on..it’s as if my heart has always known otherwise. In the deepest, darkest moments of our connection, I had always known that something was wrong, although I was never able to explain what that something was.

Now after years of lies, regrets, and uncertainty, I finally come to a brutal realization that love is not forever; that it only lasts until the sun sets in our hearts.

My disturbed mind is now filled with unleashed emotions, repressed thoughts, and words left unsaid. My heart is now filled with a sense of longing that is completely out of reach, yet so warm and wonderful. I can’t make sense of these changes that attack me at once, although I am somehow sure that it’ll all make sense one day. Everything that seemed so certain became muddled and intangible overnight. I feel lost in midst of emotions that are deemed to be wrong and thoughts that are supposed to be right. I am caught in the middle of logic and desire. I am caught in between his false words and my children’s right to happiness. I always thought that nothing will matter as long as my children are happy, but I’m already able to see my shortcomings that are just….just completely and utterly-selfish.

I am MIA. Missing in Action. Alway lost, always caught, always confused, always unsure. Yet deep down inside, I know that there is more to this endless journey and that the only way to figure it out is by doing what I have been doing ever since I developed a working consciousness.

Writing.