I finally have a television in my condo. My sister and parents joined forces with my birthday and Christmas to produce a nice new idiot rectangle. It's strange and comforting to have this thing flickering at me. Today I got off work early so I came home and fell asleep on the couch with the TV on. And the thing is, I left the TV on on purpose because I wanted to fall asleep to the quiet drone of whatever in the background, like a glowing, advertising lullaby.

Unfortunately, the remote that came with the set is the wrong one, so controlling the TV is a bit difficult. I ordered a new remote online and am eagerly awaiting its arrival, when finally, after days of suffering, I'll be able to skip between channels with abandon, and adjust and readjust settings to my heart's content.

In other news, Anna told me that she started seeing some Chinese guy from school. He's a Northwestern kid and non-Christian. Fantastic. Of course, he's from Connecticut or Vermont or somewhere, so he's not around for winter break, which leads to Anna saying that she'll go to EM's NYE party if I go with her. Gah, college kids.

I said maybe because I think I'm on call the next day and I may prefer to spend the night falling asleep to pictures of fireworks above my fireplace.

The smallest ones were the cutest, of course.


And one of the antlered ones kept prodding me from the pew behind.


At the end of a long night, BYG turned in one of their best performances ever. All it took was a little Korean and a no-frills script. Merry Christmas.

Rhea told me to buy stuff for the sake of my sanity. So I bought stuff. Apparently my sanity was desperately in need of shoes. It's also asking for a guitar and a new phone, but I think now it's just getting greedy.

Myung sent me a Christmas card. I guess it's a Christmas card. It's a card, and the word Christmas is on there, but believe me, it's a very tenuous connection. On the plus side, it's got a picture of two women and some salty language. I think I'm making it sound more inappropriate than it is. Although, coming from a youth pastor, I guess it is fairly inappropriate. Anyway, I'll never end a sentence with a preposition again.

I had my annual review a few weeks ago, and the program director told me that I'm doing ok. And he's going to make sure that no one gets fired this year. So that's a little bit of weight off my shoulders, but I'm still studying at Starbucks on my day off. I figure failing the ABSITE on my first attempt probably isn't the best thing for my sanity. I might have to console it with a gold-plated guitar in that case, and the shipping cost alone would be prohibitive.

There's a Christmas service later tonight. If all goes well, BYG is going to do a little skit that will be short and quickly forgotten in the overwhelming cuteness of the Sunday School kids mumbling/crying/picking their noses through Christmas songs. I think we're meeting early to practice. I should text Myung.

"When is the Christmas service at?"

"Don't end a sentence with a preposition."

"When is the Christmas service at, b----?"

Joyce wrote of the snow falling faintly upon all the living and the dead. It also happens to fall on the curiously in-between, those of us for whom "life" is a sepia-toned memory and "death" will have to wait like everything else.

Work goes up and down. It beats me up, takes my lunch money, gives me a giant wedgie, and then offers me some ice cream. Sometimes all it takes to make me feel better is a brief hallway commiserating session with another intern. Sometimes it takes a little more.

I drove out to a pre-retreat praise night for BYG on Friday. They are going to a multi-church semi-mega retreat this winter, and it was a chance for them to worship with some of the other churches that will be there. I think it was fine, but the music during praise time was ridiculously loud. And I felt ridiculously old.

Myung took Sharon and me out for dinner to celebrate our birthdays last weekend. And afterward, Myung and I met up with Bekah and Jon. I hadn't seen them since the summer, when Bekah went off to Syracuse and Jon was pulled away from BYG. I'd forgotten what good kids they are. Bekah was talking about her freshman year misadventures - funny, exciting, goofy, dumb - exactly what it should be, and Myung and I were beaming like proud parents.

Edmund can't make it to youth group for a few weeks, and this coming weekend is one of those rare ones where I know I'll have Sunday off, so I volunteered to lead praise. It's literally been years, but I figure, you know, as long as I'm loud...

The theme song for the retreat is called Alabaster Jar and I've been trying to learn it for this Sunday by listening to it on YouTube. The song is pretty simple, and it talks about pouring out costly perfume from an alabaster jar. Jesus says it was to prepare him for burial, a perfume for the dead poured on the living.

This alabaster jar
Is all I have of worth
I break it at Your feet, Lord
It's less than you deserve
You're far more beautiful
More precious than the oil
The sum of my desires
And the fullness of my joy

Here I am, take me
As an offering
Here I am, giving
Every heartbeat for Your glory
Take me

Because my life is slightly sad, I decided to be thankful and think about my favorite things.

Favorite netbook: I just bought a Samsung netbook and I love it. It's white, good-looking, and low maintenance. Yes, she is.

Favorite movie seen in the past week in a $2 theater: Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist. I wanted to see it since I first heard about it, but missed it while it was in the real theaters. It was perfectly adequate, and if it didn't move my secretly emo heart as much as I'd secretly hoped, I can't blame it for my growing stale.

Favorite article of winter clothing: the red Old Navy hoodie that my sister bought me last year. My sister's clothing choices can be hit-or-miss, but she did good with this one. It's thick and warm and not particularly stylish and makes me not care that I've worn it every time I've gone outside during the past two winters.

Favorite Thanksgiving dinner besides my family's: I made it back to Joseph and Joanna's annual BYG Thanksgiving dinner yesterday after a few years. It was good to be back - to see the Precious Moments wall, the food, and the inevitable spillage of said food.

Favorite thing to do that I'm going to do right now: sleep.

Myung and Chase (and Che and Christine) go to Arby's.

Myung needed to drive to Elgin to collect the rent at his parents' ghetto mall, so Che, Christine, and I went with him. Myung had bought a GPS system from Woot.com because that's what Myung does, and programmed it w/ George W. Bush's voice. "Turn left, Democrat!" it kept saying. Strangely, when turning right, it just said, "Turn right." It did not lead us to Baghdad.

We went inside and walked around waiting for Myung to collect his blood money. With the economy in disrepair, there weren't many cowboy boots or bootleg CDs being sold. Che did some homework with the aid of Sprint's sketchy data network and now she knows what undulation means.

After leaving the mall, we stopped by at a gas station.

Che: The ampm looks so inviting.

Me: What's so inviting about it?

Christine: You know what yellow light does?

Che: It looks so warm.

Me: It's just as warm in here.

Christine: Yeah, yellow light makes me sleepy.

Me/Che: What?

Being hungry, we asked George for food options. "Hmm, should we get asian food? Or perhaps cuisine from the British Isles?" Naturally, we picked fast food. Neither girl had ever eaten at Arby's before, so we decided to go there. Myung and I were extolling the virtues of the Beef 'n Cheddar, but Christine couldn't wrap her mind around the concept of Curly Fries.

"But potatoes aren't curly."

Hard to argue with that.

Everyone enjoyed the food and we headed back home. After leaving Myung bound for small group, I took Che and Christine, and discussed Myung's love life, how Che loves biology, and the mutable gap between 14 and 30. Because in high school, the difference is 16, whereas in adulthood, the difference is messy.

I haven't been writing much about work. I think it's partly because I'm too tired to write, and partly because I don't want to spend what little free time I have thinking about work. Suffice it to say, it's still busy, still tiring, and it doesn't seem to stop.

My personal life? Instead of completely giving up on love, I'm trying to see it in a simpler light. I figure if I can find someone who likes me, and I like her, that'll be enough. But if I don't find that, life goes on. The thing is, I'm not looking for perfection. In fact, as I get older, I appreciate the imperfections more and more. Because in this life, people aren't perfect, and neither is love.

While at the mall, Myung showed us the remnants of his parents' furniture store. There were these mini-saunas sitting there, and we convinced Che to get in one.


She loved it.

Myung decided that the time had come for him to find himself some love. So he sat through a marathon scrapbooking session, endured an awkward get-together for drinks, emptied his wallet for flowers, and made a mix sd card. He thinks it's not going well because she hasn't given him the all-clear. I think it's going well because she hasn't shot him down.

He tried to find some support from a couple of the youth group kids - always a great idea. Seul asked who she was, and Myung said that she was the prettiest girl at church. Seul's response: no, she's not. Then Myung mentioned that she's not too crazy about youth ministry, and Che started reciting Spice Girls lyrics.

I say let the man have some lurve. What he's got going on isn't exactly love, but it's, er, love, so ergo, lurve. Anyway, give the man a chance to be happy. Or miserable. Or both. Well, now that would be love.

And just for fun, here are pictures of the two saboteurs from John Choi's farewell lunch.

The Cubs are playing the first game of the NLDS against the Dodgers. This is as good a team as the Cubs have had in, oh, 100 years, but as everyone knows, there's no such thing as a sure thing on the North Side of Chicago.

I keep thinking back to 2003 - how everything seemed so right, before Bartman, before the botched double play, before having my heart handed back to me in tatters. Since then, I've watched the Red Sox, the White Sox, and the Cardinals all win the World Series, and grew a little more jaded each time. So it's been hard to love this team, even though they've given me every reason to.

I remember the little moments when I couldn't stop smiling, happier than I could have reasonably expected. And there was one drive home when the wheels literally - really, figuratively, but really, figuratively literally - didn't touch the ground the whole way. That was worth the heartbreak, I think. Sometimes I worry that I may never have that again.

Dodgers 7, Cubs 2.

My back burner is getting crowded. Recently I've moved brushing my teeth back there, where it joined washing the dishes, wearing contacts, shaving, and other miscellaneous hygienic pursuits. So about half the time, I walk around the hospital with plaque-covered teeth, bad breath, glasses, and the asian patchy stubble. It's like I'm back in junior high. Or high school. Or college. Actually, never mind.

I'm on my surgical oncology rotation right now, and I have the good fortune of having two medical students with me. In addition to helping me with the workload, they provide me with no small measure of amusement. One of them, especially, reminds me of one of Judd Apatow's coterie with his goofy, slacker-type approach to things.

Zach: What does RSN stand for?

Sai: Registered... something nurse. Surgical?

Zach: Super?

So now I'm considering adding SMD to my signature. And if I get sued for misrepresentation, I can always say that the S stands for sexy. Ugh, never mind again. Smelly, maybe.

After 3 days, I hated Italy. After 4 weeks, I'm still - if just barely - alive. In 5 years, I still want it to mean something.

So now that my schedule is back to something resembling relative normalcy, I'm again trying to juggle work, study, and church, and wondering if I'll ever have to make room for a personal life.

I helped fill in for BYG small group today and it made me feel useful. I'd been visiting as much as I could since the spring, but I hadn't actually been helping with anything, and last week, as I was driving home, I was asking myself what in the world I was doing. Well, today was the first day of the first month of the first year of Pastor Myung, and the word of the Lord, lacking any donkeys nearby, was briefly handled and passed, ever so clumsily, by yours truly to an eager group of teenage girls. And they were disappointed because we could only cover so much. Oh for a hunger like that!

So I do feel revived a bit, since I had the care beaten out of me during the last rotation. After looking like an idiot every morning before most people had had their bowl of cereal, I'd developed a bit of a callus. Compounded with the lack of sleep and food, I was mostly just numb. But I'm starting to get feeling back in my fingers and toes. And my spirit? Stirred.

Things have been quiet. No calls and no weekends means I've been able to hang out, go to K-fest for overpriced K-food, study fairly leisurely, watch some Olympics, and not miss church. Well, that's coming to an end. I start Transplant (aka the Ninth Circle) on Friday and if I still have a job at the end of those four weeks, I'll consider it a success.

You probably won't hear from me much, if at all, for a while. So, basically, no change from how things normally are. If I don't come back in a month, send a St. Bernard after me, preferably with a large barrel of brandy around its neck.

Recent pictures:

A view from my balcony. You can see the top of the Sears Tower on the left. 311 South Wacker is on the right. Legend has it that the crown of one large cylinder surrounded by four small ones represents the engagement ring given by the architect to his wife. Both buildings were lit for the Fourth of July.


The fourth floor at 4240 W. Irving Park, home of BYG.



Christina showing Young Jin how to play Freebird. It was strange to see them interacting so easily. Christina is a complicated girl - intellectual, awkward, artsy, funny, mature, heart-breaking. She comes to church sporadically, and even then, prefers the company of the teachers to that of the other kids. Young Jin is one of those kids that might have slipped through the BYG cracks a few years ago, but today there are enough kids willing to stand in the gap between twinkie and fob for him to feel at home.


Dai Hee is one of those kids. Bethel as a whole tends to be reticent, and BYG is no exception, but every few years, someone like Dai Hee comes along and his openness makes everyone else smile a little wider, as Christine can atest.


Arturo, Edmund, and Sharon are the new teachers BYG picked up since I left. I'd say that's an upgrade. The kids enjoy Arturo's churros, Edmund's stowees, and Sharon's Mufasa hair.



Anna doesn't like having her picture taken. So, of course, here she is.


John Choi said that he will stay on for another month or so, just to try to help with the transition. I said, sure, what's another month or ten?


And here is one picture that says all you need to know about BYG. Myung, Christine, and I went to the Taste of Chicago, but it was so crowded that Christine had to hold onto Myung's shirt so as to not get lost along the way. All she could see was the back of his shirt and he led her safely home.

There was a lot of traffic as I was driving up I-90/94 yesterday night. I was headed to my oldest cousin's wedding reception, and as I approached the diverging point, I glanced at the clock, which read 7:30. I looked over at the Irving Park exit and wondered whether I should swerve through three lanes and show up at BYG instead. The kids would be oblivious to what I'd done, except for the questions of why I was wearing a suit and tie. "You dressed up for the dating seminar!" they might say.

A few years ago, I was visiting a girl at her downtown apartment and we decided to go for a walk by the lakefront. It was a warm summer night with just enough of a breeze. And as we were strolling down by the water, fireworks began exploding at the pier behind us. It was certainly a moment.

Then my phone rang.

I don't do it often, but occasionally I ignore calls, especially if priorities demand it. If there ever was a time to ignore a call, this would have been it. But I looked at the screen and it told me who was calling and without any hesitation, I put my life on pause.

"Hey. Nothing much. You need a ride tomorrow? Sure, I'll be there around nine o'clock."

And so my actions defined my priorities.

Yesterday, I kept driving. I was late to the reception, but in time for the food, which means I was right on time. It was a cozy reception, mostly church members and family. My cousin is the oldest of my generation and she'd gone through many years of family gatherings, deflecting and absorbing questions and hopes of a marriage in the near future. It was good to see her happy, and the groom seemed an affable man.

Of course, now the oldest unmarried of the cousins is my sister, with me right behind. And I was cornered and somewhat assaulted by a matchmaker, who kept telling me things and grabbing my arm and seemed to have had a little too much sparkling wine. Even Joann, my younger cousin, offered to set me up with her friends. I said I'd keep it in mind.

While all this was going on, I received a picture message from all the way out in California. It was a praying mantis and said, "Look what I found!"

This time my life continued to play and all I could think was, I hope it's praying for me.

The cush VA life:
No more missed meals or sleep, yet
Fingers up the butt.

John's last Friday night:
Dating seminar for kids.
Me? Fish:bicycle.

Cousin getting hitched -
My sister's the oldest left
Hoping for someone.

Bethel is leaving
The city and the building
But not the Spirit.

It's been very busy and, once in a blessed while, not quite. And I enjoy working and learning, even if I feel stupid and clumsy and lost sometimes.

There are a few hallways at Christ hospital where I can look out the windows and, because of the flatness of the land, see all way out to the horizon. During one of my calls, Dustin told me that he used to look out those windows at night and see all the lit streets and think about the stores that opened and closed and will open again before he would finally leave the hospital.

Yesterday, I came home late at night. I tried to eat some McDonald's that I bought on the way, but threw away the Sprite because they gave me a cup of bitter seltzer water, and threw away the rest because I felt sick from trying to eat greasy food after not having a chance to eat all day. I finally set up my Internet connection and was thinking about trying to get some studying done. The next thing I know I was waking up to my alarm clock blaring at the usual ungodly hour.

Surgery residency can be isolating. And living alone can be lonely. So while it may have been just a case of wanting something to read when you're bored, it meant a lot to me to find that you wanted to know how I was doing. I'm hanging in there. I really am.

I love you all.

I'm trying to remember the past two weeks, and it's not difficult because it was such a blur, but because each memory is so vivid that they are vying for my undivided attention, as they should.

There was Che's day in the city before leaving on a summer-long vacation to the west. We sat on the "hill" while she taught us how to grass whistle and we taught her right back. And she was wearing a nice dress and shoes with straps because John Choi took her nearer my God, for lunch and for the past two years.

There was the first day of residency and the first night of residency and the second day of residency and I didn't think it was possible to be so exhausted. And as I was standing in the ED, trying to fight off the overwhelming feeling of drowning, Kendra and Jen told me that it will get better. And it already has.

There was the first part of my move, when I arrived at my old apartment, post-call and fell asleep on the cold, hard floor as my parents and sister were carrying my things and carrying me.

There was the second part of my move, when I arrived at my new condominium, again post-call, and found Myung on the floor with my Dad, putting together my bed frame. My parents loved him, of course, and I was so proud - of my parents for recognizing the quality of friend, and of Myung for sticking close.

Hovering over all of this was the fact that Bethel is splitting. It doesn't affect the EM much, so I suppose it won't change my status (which, at this point, is something akin to a live-in boyfriend, as opposed to marrying a church and settling down). Still, a huge part of coming back was to be involved again, even occasionally, with BYG. And now it seems like the youth group may splinter, and with John Choi leaving, Myung seemed more than a little discouraged.

But I'm writing this in my condo, which I am somehow living in, even though my mortgage fell through. I don't know all the details of the financial wrangling that it took for me to be here. All I know is that I told John Choi to pray for it because God listens to righteous people. He did, and He did.

So now I'm going to ask John to pray for Bethel, for the youth group, and for Myung. Because if God can provide a house for me, surely He can provide shelter for his children.

Orientation week was boring. The only exciting parts were when my mortgage lender lady kept calling and asking for more documentation because half the country was defaulting on their loans. I sent her whatever I could and was mostly annoyed at the inconvenience.

Well, it's turning into a little more than that. When I got home tonight, I opened a letter from the mortgage company saying that they were turning down my application because they were worried about my student loans, even though I explained that they can be deferred during residency. So basically, it seems like I can't buy my condo. Oh, and the lease on my apartment runs out in a week.

When I tell people what I do for a living, they usually ask some variation of, "Is it like Scrubs?" Now I can say yes.

J.D.: Elliot! Come on! This is crazy - you're living out of a van like a hobo... or Jewel.

Elliot: Her poetry changed my life.

Who will save my soul me?!

Today was the first day of residency orientation.

Department Chair: Do well or we'll fire you!

Or something like that. It was mostly painless, just took some pictures, got an ID, picked up a parking pass, and filled out some paperwork.

During one of the introductory presentations, I was sitting there listening to them addressing the new class of residents and I couldn't help thinking, how did I get here? How surreal.

And when I came back to my apartment, it was empty. Tom had moved out a couple of weeks ago, so his room and most of the living room was bare. I could hear an echo just walking around. I've never lived alone, save for a month during college, and it feels a little lonely. I'd forgotten that Tom took his microwave, so I ended up reheating rice in a frying pan for dinner.

It was nice to talk to some people over AIM, but I may need some companionship. Maybe a girlfriend pet. A snake? A fish? Something without arms, you know, because I don't like clingy.

S. Choe just completed her freshman year at Niles North high school. She moved here two years ago from California with her mom. She started going to BYG and quickly become one of Myung's favorites. "Che's the greatest girl in the world," he kept saying, using his own nickname for her.

Myung told me that there are plenty of great things about Che, including her s...l...o...w... way of talking/walking/living and the hilarious fact that she joined the track team. However, her best attribute, he said, is the fact that she, just by being herself, can refresh the gloomiest souls. There are two girls in particular who seem to benefit the most from having her around: Anna and Christine.

Anna just graduated from Niles North and will be attending Northwestern in the fall. Like most 2nd semester seniors, she's long stopped listening (although, to be fair, she's never really listened to me) and maybe stopped caring. It hurts Myung to think that he can't reach her anymore.

Even Anna says that Christine reminds her of a younger version of herself. Christine just graduated from Alexander Graham Bell elementary, which happens to work with deaf children (though Christine isn't), and whose graduation service (the best Myung's seen) was adorned with sign language. After the ceremony, she ran off to talk to her friends and left Myung talking to her mom.

Christine's mom told Myung that she doesn't interact much with anyone at home. But she said that she was glad that Christine seems to have found such a genuine friend at church - Che, of course.

Christine is guilelessly honest, sometimes blunt, and is reflexively sensitive. Anna is older and more mature, so she is less of these things, but the edge is harder. And Che buffers all these things.

Che came to BYG just after I left, so all I knew of her was from what Myung told me. To be honest, when I finally met her, I didn't get it. Or, more accurately, I didn't get her. She didn't seem particularly great, or funny. The only funny thing seemed to be that she felt the same way about me.

Well, this past weekend we laughed at a few jokes, shared an umbrella in the pouring rain, and said, "HiiiiiiiYAH!" In all, it was only a few hours, but it was a full few hours, full of nothing really, except that it was wonderful, genuine nothing. And Che seemed something north of very good.

I think I really missed these kids. I think I really missed being part of BYG. I think these past few weeks have lifted the gloom, and I feel refreshed.

I'm not sure how to take it when my friends suggest girls to me. Well, no, I mean, I appreciate the suggesting part. It's just that, um, these girls aren't exactly what I'm looking for.

A few weeks ago, as Myung was driving some youth group kids home, he brought up a girl.

Myung: How about ------? She's cute.

Alas, the kids in the back knew what she looked like. And they had no problem offering their thoughts.

Bekah: She's kind of short and stubby.

Jon: Yeah.

Seul: She's stubby.

One of the good things about teenagers: they are brutally honest. Now in her defense, let's say that she is a wonderful person who is way too good for me. But somewhat guiltily, I'm okay with that last part.

So I don't know. Maybe my expectations are too high or maybe it's easy to suggest any single person when it's not your pride on the line.

Call me shallow, call me Michael Scott, but there's a pretty big gap between someone who'll capsize an average-sized rowboat and Debra Shoshlefski. I just don't want to keep waiting for next year's chair catalog.

Singlehood is fine by me.

Each day went something like this: wake up, look out private balcony, eat, go ashore, wander/tan/eat/shop/tour, return to ship, eat, watch NBA playoff game, eat, watch stage show, eat, hot tub, eat, sleep.

A few pictures:

San Diego:




Catalina Island:




Ensenada:






Highway 1:


The Bay:








And finally, words to live by:

Because I am leaving for my trip tomorrow, my family decided to celebrate Mother's Day a day early by having dinner at Bob Chinn's Crabhouse. On our way home, my mom got a phone call from Ms. Moon, who asked if my parents wanted to have dinner. My mom explained that we'd just eaten, and Ms. Moon said that she still wanted to stop by.

A few weeks ago, my mom asked me to find an online application for her friend, Ms. Moon. When I printed it out, I saw that it was for elderly subsidized housing.

I heard the doorbell ring and I heard my mom answer it. By the time I got downstairs, I only caught a glimpse of Ms. Moon giving my mom a bag and explaining how there was a frame for my graduation picture although it was from TJ Maxx so there wasn't a box but it was nice crystal and there was a Bible too. She took one quick breath and gave me a hearty "Congratulations!" before she headed back out, ignoring my mom's entreaties to stay for a while. My mom put on some slippers and joined her in her idling car.

I looked in the bag and found a frame, meticulously wrapped in tissue paper, a King James Version of the Bible, and a card.

My mom came back in a few minutes later and looked at me and looked at Ms. Moon's gifts and started to tell me about her friend.

They'd first met soon after my family had immigrated here. They were both working long hours in a cramped sewing factory, finding some comfort in seeing a familiar Korean face in this strange land. Ms. Moon was a high school teacher in Korea, but moved here with hopes of dreams and dreams of hopes. She married, but divorced soon after, without children. She's been living alone since then, and although she has a sister in the area, the sister and her Joy Luck Club husband seem to cause her more stress than anything. She runs a dry cleaners, but business hasn't been good recently, so she is planning on selling it. She currently lives in the back of her store, so she is hoping to find housing that she can afford with her Social Security money.

My mom then said that Ms. Moon is an honest, faithful friend, and that everyone should have someone like that. And she said how difficult and lonely it must be on a day like Mother's Day.

Ms. Moon told my mom that she went to go buy a Bible for me so that I would have something to encourage me when residency wears me down. They told her that there's a hard version and an easy version, and she told them that I should have the hard version because I'm smart. Well, I may not be smart, but it is beautiful to read, like poetry.

But in a way, it pales in comparison to this:

자성이 졸업을 축하 합니다
우린
긴긴 세윌 만큼 이니 이 만큼더 따뜻하게
진실하게 서로 이해하고 서로 보듬어
가면서 살자구나
어려운일이 생겨도 용서해 주며
내일도 오늘만큼이나 좋은날 되기를 바라며
비밀을 함께 나누고
함께 속삭이며
별이 빛나는 밤 하늘을 함께 보면서...

Graduation is tomorrow. Joycelyn Elders is giving the commencement address. I can't think of a more appropriate speaker for UIC. Take that how you will.

I've been considering going back to Bethel Pres. Myung's been pushing for a return, and I've talked to both my current pastor (who was not particularly happy) and my potential future pastor about it. I'm not sure. I haven't really connected with my current church after almost 2 years, but my old church still has some of the same issues that were there when I left.

All of this is starting to feel a little weird. I can see a little bit of each side making a play for a stable soon-to-be working professional. It may only be a small part of their motivation, and it may be an undeniable reality in the business of church, but it's what I like the least.

Well, I'll think about it some more during my Cali-Mexico cruise next week. Maybe when I come back, I'll be flying the yellow flag of cholera.

Everything is now up for grabs. Back in play are all the things that I once pushed away because I had wanted to move on.

I went to BYG tonight for the first time in two years. During that time, Myung would periodically tell me about former students, now in college, no longer going to church or getting caught up in some sort of foolishness. And I couldn't help but wonder whether my years as a youth group teacher were a waste of time. Maybe they were. Who knows? What I do know, however, is that I sat through a Bible study and listened to kids ask thoughtful questions and make clear points. And I spent a long car ride home with Myung, and we didn't talk about food or exercise or work or condos. It was a good night.

On Thursday, I saw an amateur production of Wit. Near the end of the play, one of the characters reads an abbreviated version of the children's book, The Runaway Bunny.

Once there was a little bunny who wanted to run away.
So he said to his mother, "I am running away."
"If you run away," said his mother, "I will run after you. For you are my little bunny."

"If you run after me," said the little bunny, "I will become a fish in a trout stream and I will swim away from you."
"If you become a fish in a trout stream," said his mother, "I will become a fisherman and I will fish for you."

"If you become a fisherman," said the little bunny, "I will be a bird and fly away from you."
"If you become a bird and fly away from me," said his mother, "I will be a tree that you come home to."

"Shucks," said the little bunny, "I might just as well stay where I am and be your little bunny."

And so he did.

"Have a carrot," said the mother bunny.

It was a good carrot.

I'm a bit wary of writing about my condo search, and only part of it has to do with worrying about encouraging more of Myung's "condom?!" jokes. I can't help but feel like it'll just be a retread of my old stuff about finding an apartment or shoes or small-things-as-metaphor-for-BIG-things.

But searching I have been, and I've seen some spacious homes in some scary neighborhoods, and some bedraggled holes in some tony enclaves. A realtor has been showing me around, and we may have found the right place earlier today. It seems to have everything I'm looking for, although the cost is on the high side and I can reach out the window and touch the highway.

As we were driving around, the realtor, a quiet Korean man around my dad's age, and coincidentally, the father of a casual friend of mine from high school/college, started talking about how time passes so fast.

"Where did the time go? What did I do with my life? I wish I could do it over again. Maybe I can do better," he said with a laugh.

I didn't really know what to say. Nor did I know what stirred his soul to look back on the string of chances and choices that we call life. Lord knows I've had the same thoughts, and I'm half his age. But I know I don't want to be looking over my shoulder with regret and turn back around only to find that I've already reached the finish.

First, a dramatization of the comments section:

Myung: Don't judge me, friend!

Iris: I'm not your friend, buddy!

Myung: I'm not your buddy, guy!

Iris: I'm not your guy, friend!

Aaaand scene.

Second, if you ever text me a medical question:

Myung: What am I eating too much of if my butt hole hurts when I am pooping? Protein?

Me: Teh gay

Did everyone collectively decide that no response is the new black? Because I find it a little annoying.

Also, I am in need of a companion to a wedding that I foolishly agreed to go to. If any of the three of you that are reading this can help, well, it probably won't be the ones that are in other time zones. So Myung, help a brother out.

Tomorrow is the last day of medical school rotations for me. Graduation is in a month. It's been something. Yeah.

30 yo M post-op day #21 s/p hopectomy

Pt w/o complaints. Wound clean/dry/intact.

Continue present management.

Forgive me, but it is March Madness.

When I first heard that the University of Illinois Men's Basketball team was ranked fifth in the country before the start of the 2004-2005 season, I thought, that's too high. When they won their first few games without breaking a sweat, I thought, maybe they deserve it. And when they blew out the then-#1-ranked team in the country, I thought, you go to hell, Sean Higgins.

The team was coached by Bruce Weber, who had trouble connecting with his players during his inaugural season the year before. So much so that he held a widely-ridiculed "mock funeral" for the beloved previous coach who had left for greener pastures. Not too long after, something clicked and the team finished the season playing much better.

The following year, he could do no wrong. The Illini finished the regular season with one loss, and was on its way to the Big Ten tournament title, when news broke that Weber's mother died after emergency surgery. He continued to coach the team and they continued to win, taking the Big Ten tournament title. They won their miracle game in the NCAA Regional Final against Arizona, coming back from 15 points down with 4 minutes left. The only thing left to do was to win the championship game - the culmination of a story that had every reason to have a happy ending.

They lost.

And as I watched the North Carolina players and fans celebrating their fourth/four hundredth championship, it dawned on me that this wasn't right. And it was not that it wasn't some hollywood ending, where the underdog prevails against impossible odds, but that, all of a sudden, the world seemed like a more indifferent place.

A dozen years earlier, Chris Webber called a timeout that he didn't have.

Webber was the centerpiece of Michigan's Fab Five. Freshmen, then sophomores, baggy shorts, black socks, black shoes - they were something to behold and I beheld them with all my heart. And he was the one with the most talent, the most potential, but not, unfortunately, the most def.

When he retired last week, he received an inordinate number of articles dedicated to his career. It wasn't because his was something to tell the grandkids about, but precisely because it wasn't. What sportswriter can resist playing amateur psychologist?

Bill Simmons finished his article wondering what could have been. "But that's the thing about real life: You don't have a reset button, and if you make a couple of poor decisions along the way, those decisions can end up shaping the player or person you become."

And those words meant something to me.

After spending the first few days getting over the intial shock, the depression started to set in, as I knew it would. And I decided on two very similar and completely different things. First, I gave up. I gave up on ever leaving, on being happy, on finding someone, on God. Only the thought of $200,000 of debt transferring to my parents kept me from giving up on life. Second, I embraced the absurdity of it all, albeit somewhat sarcastically. I put an aerial picture of Chicago as my laptop wallpaper. I started looking at neighborhoods to settle in. I looked to buy a UIC t-shirt.

None of it is healthy, but for now it gets me through the day, and I feel surprisingly free.

Just know that when I do lose the madness, I plan to hold on to the freedom.

first as tragedy, second as farce

chasekoo: have you seen america's best dance crew?
shyBanana12: HAHAHAHA
shyBanana12: you watch that stuff?
chasekoo: i saw it on youtube

shyBanana12: who are you cheering for
shyBanana12: jabbawockeez?
chasekoo: i'm torn between them and kaba
shyBanana12: sounds like a teenager
chasekoo: i should really grow up
shyBanana12: yea
shyBanana12: and act your AGE

shyBanana12: proms are lame
chasekoo: hahaha
shyBanana12: they juke for like ten hours
shyBanana12: and i don't do that
chasekoo: hahahahahaha
shyBanana12: wow chas
shyBanana12: you're older than myung and know what juking is
shyBanana12: myung didn't know... and sarah han refuses to explain to him
chasekoo: hahahahahahahaha

shyBanana12: bye
chasekoo: bye
shyBanana12: fyi, you've talked to a high schooler for an hour again
chasekoo: thanks for nothing
shyBanana12: anytime

I suppose you get what you pay for.

After a year of off-and-on use, my $20 Payless basketball shoes lost their cushioning overnight. With an achy right heel, I limped my way to Kohl's and laid my offering at the altar of the goddess of victory. She said, "Be reborn."

*****

By a strange twist of fate, one of the M3s on my new team happens to be someone I'd met a long time ago. She's an MD/PhD student, so she started at UIC while I was still in my working-for-The-Man phase. And when I stopped by 4 years ago to discuss the last book I'd read and why I wanted to do what I wanted to do, she was there, asking me.

"So either you helped me get into med school or you were outvoted by the other two people."

"I wasn't mean, was I?"

No, not at all.

*****

Mr. C came in late Thursday night. He was there for a blood transfusion, to raise his hemoglobin levels enough so that he could get his chemotherapy. Mr. C was not a healthy man. His cachectic body was ravaged by the prostate cancer that had spread to his bones and maybe more by the drugs that were meant to help him.

It wasn't a Tuesday and he wasn't Morrie. Mr. C was angry at having to wait all day to be admitted. He had things to do, people to see. He still had his dignity, damnit.

But he was a human being. He laughed when he found out that his brother-in-law was on the same floor, and was planning on playing cards with him after my physical exam was done. I stopped by later that night and saw him asleep on his bed, his deck of cards still on the night stand, the bag of blood slowly flowing into his vein.

*****

I was covering for the other Sub-I on Saturday and went to adjust a feeding tube on Mr. B. No one likes having a tube stuck into their nose, down their throat, and sitting in their stomach, and no one likes putting it there, either. Mr. B got it Friday afternoon and had it readjusted later that night. And still it wasn't in the right place.

"Mr. B, I'm afraid I'm going to have to move the tube in a little more. I know it's uncomfortable, but we really need it in the right place in order to be able to get you some food. Will you be okay if I move it?"

He nodded. Mr. B was a 91-year-old man who'd had a laryngectomy and his frail old body didn't even attempt to use the electronic larynx hanging around his neck. And so we were both silent as I undid the tape and pushed and pulled at the thin tube at his nose. He flinched a few times, but did his best not to resist. I taped it up again and prayed that it was down deep enough.

When I got back to the team conference room, I had a message from Mrs. B, asking me to call her at home. She wanted to know how he was doing, whether he'd be able to eat again normally, and to tell me - to tell someone - that he was a good man, that he was never one to complain, and she so clearly told me how much she loved him without telling me any such thing. She asked me if he clapped because when he's well, he claps instead of nodding. I told her that if all was well, we would start feeding him that day and start him back to health.

The tube still wasn't far enough.

I went back in the afternoon and explained it again to Mr. B. I pulled back a bit and pushed and pushed and pushed until it wouldn't go any farther. And as I was taping it up again, there were tears silently rolling down his cheeks.

*****

Mr. C was arguing right up until his discharge: The nurse had made him wait for his chemo. Where was the pharmacist? Probably eating lunch, while he had to sit and wait. Should have been in and out.

I was walking out of the room when I heard him tell the nurse, "He's a nice guy." I'm sure the nurse wasn't in an agreeable mood at that point, but I was glad that he felt that someone was on his side, that attention was paid.

When I went to talk to him one last time before his sister came to pick him up, he asked me to grab his bag off the table. He pulled out a disposable camera and told me that he wanted a picture of me. I suppose it'll sit somewhere in his home until he passes away and a family member will sweep it away, a long forgotten memory of a weekend when someone listened.

*****

Our team came to Mr. B's room this morning during rounds. I mentioned that he was tolerating feeds through his tube and had an uneventful night. We walked in and the attending asked, "How are you doing, Mr. B?"

With all his might, Mr. B joyfully clapped.

Today was a difficult day at the hospital. I've been having a tough time caring about this medicine sub-internship, which means that my write-ups and presentations and everything else have been pretty terrible. And it was a Sunday.

I've learned to deal with missing church on Sundays. It comes with the territory, and it will only get worse next year. But it's not yet next year.

As we were rounding on our patients, it seemed like all of them had their TVs turned to one of many brightly-dressed preachers, expounding on the kingdom of heaven. I don't know how I would feel if I was one of these veterans, sitting in a hospital with cancer or heart failure, wondering just how deep the treasure was hidden. I couldn't really listen, of course, not when I'm supposed to be paying attention to the sick. They're the ones who need a doctor. And I? I simply need healing.

As I was walking down the hallway, I heard singing. It was a quiet rumble of voices coming from the conference room - a disparate group sitting in desk-chairs, holding sheets of lyrics, and testifying. I looked over as I walked by and I saw amazing and I knew grace.

Overheard at Barnes:

"Her name was Andie and my name is Ally but they were calling her Dee and I was like isn't it A like my name Andie Ally but then I realized An-Dee hahaha."

And I knew exactly what she was talking about. And I felt no shame. The truth will set you free - from fat pants to Apple Bottom Jeans.

I certified my rank order list today. It gets locked on Wednesday. In a month, I'll find my future home. A little bird assured me that, at the very least, I won't find myself on the streets, on the corner of Milwaukee and Sanders. And in five years or so, I may become an amazing little surgeon.

Little?

I promise I won't cry.

Text messages can be meaningful and sincere.

Myung: My kid says if you're thirty and not married, then you're gay.

Me: I guess I am pretty happy.

Myung: In three years, we might have to redefine our relationship.

As you can see.

P.S. This will be my humble piano at your front door. Thank you for everything.

She was the spitting image of you. Yes, you told me about it, and yes, I think she actually looks a bit like you, but that wasn't it. She was strong and irreverent, practical and whimsical, very good at what she does and happy, in the end. And not that your marriage should be anything like hers, but I hope that you will be happy too.

I was thinking about when we finally met and you were disappointed because you were expecting funnier, maybe deeper, definitely more. And it was strange for me, not because we'd never met before, but because you had recently gotten some very good news.

I hope to God that it isn't merely jealously. I'm not so proud to think that I'm completely above it, but it's more than that. It's like I'm losing a friend. I'm losing you and I'm losing you. And the latter is much more tragic to me.

That, I think, is the heart of the issue. She was happy in the end, and I was happy for her, but she wasn't the same. Maybe that's a good thing. Maybe that's how it should be. No, no maybe. That's how it is.

So I said goodbye to you, but I'll always remember the you before we ever met.

Auroris was cute during Anna's freshman year because she was a little girl and it was a dance recital. The subsequent years, however, saw the dances get more Wedee and me feel more skeevy. This fourth and final presentation was a bit of a return to the beginning.

Like birds taking flight


In motion


Myung and John with the dancer after the show


Ladies and gentlemen, Auroris...

Political turmoil and violence in Kenya means that I'm disappointed for the second time this week. Over 600 dead and hundreds of thousands displaced, and my biggest concern is what this means for me. A lot less now, I guess.

It's supposed to be 80 degrees in Nairobi next week. I would have packed polo shirts and mosquito repellent. It's colder here. It's easier to be cold here.

Now this is interesting.

Just when I thought I'd moved past it - in all my enlightened weltanschauung - it comes back and says hello. And as much as I fight it, I must confess, there is something altogether effortless about going back. Stumbling, bumbling, fumbling into it.

I thought it was a diamond. Really, what else would be there? Except that it wasn't accompanied by a pronouncement and congratulations. And that felt funny, and a little numb.

Then it was gone. And that felt like maybe.

It could be back tomorrow. Who knows?

*****

I was at Rich's house on Saturday night watching the football games and his sister was there doing something on the computer, Facebook, maybe, and I thought about my sister and wondered what she was doing on that Saturday night and hoping that she wasn't home and hoping that she was out having fun and I thought

*****

When I was just a little girl
I asked my mother, "What will I be?
Will I be pretty? Will I be rich?"
Here's what she said to me:

*****

As I've gotten older, I find myself less interesting and less interested. Sometimes when I'm talking to people, I feel a little guilty about that, but not enough to try to be more and more.

But there's no need to fake interest. If it's there, it's undeniable. I won't need to worry if it will be back tomorrow and I won't need to ask what lies ahead.

Coming home from my last out-of-town interview at one o'clock in the morning, I walked over to the small corner of the El stop that was heated by lamps. I was thinking about all the interviews, about wanting to be happy, about the cold, and about the future.

And there, with their heads tucked into their necks, were five pigeons gathered under the warmth.

They scooted over to make room for me, just another soul seeking refuge from the elements.

I never wanted a simple story. It seemed so boring, so trite, so ordinary. I wanted adventure, I wanted excitement, and at the end of the day, to kiss the earth and say that I've had a full life indeed.

Almost all the interviews will include, "Tell me about yourself," or "Why surgery?" or some variation along those lines. They're like children at bedtime, wanting to hear a good story.

"Every one of you has a story," they taught us, "And you need to tell that story to your interviewer."

I've been talking about myself a lot for the past few months. And if you know me at all - and I don't mean my blog - you know that it's not exactly something that I'm naturally inclined to do. So while I've been talking, I haven't really been listening to myself. During my last interview, I listened.

And it was actually kind of interesting. A life lived off the beaten path, though it wasn't always easy, was definitely a life less ordinary. And I think I will keep telling my story deep into the night.

Some pictures from New Year's Day:

Three generations of Koo women. As is Korean tradition, everyone is dressed in hanbok and preparing to bow and offer wishes of blessings in the new year.


The matriarch. My grandmother gets more frail every time I see her. I have to sit next to her and remind her who I am. She tells me to study hard.