Making my break
I know at least one of you has heard this, but deal.
In second grade my class designed, carved, painted, etc. our own pumpkins for a Halloween display. I chose a miniature, oval pumpkin, which I painted white, gave friendly eyes, a baseball cap and crinkled construction paper legs, complete with shoes and tieable laces. I placed him atop a shoebox wrapped in tissue paper, stenciled with varying colors and styles of stone. I was so proud of that damn pumpkin...I used to be rather creative, and even to this day I think he looked pretty fucking good. He was supposed to be Humpty Dumpty. I don't think anyone understood. To them, a pumpkin was a pumpkin, not an egg. At the end of the week a few teachers and students judged the entries and awarded prizes. I wasn't hell bent on winning, in fact, I usually don't care to. I prefer having done something which merits the award rather than the award itself. Honestly, what do I need one more blue ribbon for? But, I didn't win...not even honorable mention. I really wish you could have seen that pumpkin...a loner, fragile (as only a pumpkin disguised as an egg can be), among a swarm of cliche, orange Jack-o-lanterns. I'm not going to say I was devastated, I was only seven...I got over it quickly enough. But I still remember that damn pumpkin and it makes me realize how little of me people understand. They just didn't get it, get me, at all. They asked for a unique pumpkin...I gave them a fucking egg...how is that not unique? I did what scientists have as of yet been unable to achieve, at the tender age of seven, with paint and imagination. In retrospect maybe I did want to win, but what I really needed was for someone to say, "Damn, that's creative for a seven year old." They didn't even notice.
Suffice to say, my entire nature might very well have been summed up in that miniscule event in my seventh year of being.
And, as the title of this shoddy entry implies, I have finally decided to make my break. I'm escaping from this prison that is Japan to a politically stable Korea. Or rather, I shall be avoiding riots in Seoul and terrorism in Pyongyang. Possibly even kicking some Kim Jong-il ass, who knows. My travel itinerary is wide open, leaves room for some spontaneity. I'll be back Wednesday, your Tuesday, so leave me some love, or hate mail. Bad attention is still attention.
In second grade my class designed, carved, painted, etc. our own pumpkins for a Halloween display. I chose a miniature, oval pumpkin, which I painted white, gave friendly eyes, a baseball cap and crinkled construction paper legs, complete with shoes and tieable laces. I placed him atop a shoebox wrapped in tissue paper, stenciled with varying colors and styles of stone. I was so proud of that damn pumpkin...I used to be rather creative, and even to this day I think he looked pretty fucking good. He was supposed to be Humpty Dumpty. I don't think anyone understood. To them, a pumpkin was a pumpkin, not an egg. At the end of the week a few teachers and students judged the entries and awarded prizes. I wasn't hell bent on winning, in fact, I usually don't care to. I prefer having done something which merits the award rather than the award itself. Honestly, what do I need one more blue ribbon for? But, I didn't win...not even honorable mention. I really wish you could have seen that pumpkin...a loner, fragile (as only a pumpkin disguised as an egg can be), among a swarm of cliche, orange Jack-o-lanterns. I'm not going to say I was devastated, I was only seven...I got over it quickly enough. But I still remember that damn pumpkin and it makes me realize how little of me people understand. They just didn't get it, get me, at all. They asked for a unique pumpkin...I gave them a fucking egg...how is that not unique? I did what scientists have as of yet been unable to achieve, at the tender age of seven, with paint and imagination. In retrospect maybe I did want to win, but what I really needed was for someone to say, "Damn, that's creative for a seven year old." They didn't even notice.
Suffice to say, my entire nature might very well have been summed up in that miniscule event in my seventh year of being.
And, as the title of this shoddy entry implies, I have finally decided to make my break. I'm escaping from this prison that is Japan to a politically stable Korea. Or rather, I shall be avoiding riots in Seoul and terrorism in Pyongyang. Possibly even kicking some Kim Jong-il ass, who knows. My travel itinerary is wide open, leaves room for some spontaneity. I'll be back Wednesday, your Tuesday, so leave me some love, or hate mail. Bad attention is still attention.
posted by Chishiki Lauren at 2:49 AM
2 Comments:
Yeah, I've heard it before. In fact, I've read it a half-dozen times before now, but it still continues to amuse me, imagining seven-year-old Lauren as a tiny misunderstood artist, all full of pride and indignation. I hope you're having a fantastic time in Korea, and I can't wait to hear about it ...
congrats liz! I didn't know it was legal to hire Cuomosexuals.
Enjoy your trip Lauren, if you can pick up a copy of Lineage while you're in the ROK, I'd appreciate it :)]
PS: If your life is feeling scrambled, don't worry about your mind, its over-easy
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