and you
shall
not
deny me
and all i ever wanted was the world
acutes. cal. mochi. 24. brooklyn, nyc; fuzhou, fujiang; seongbuk-gu, seoul. fast-walker; shit-talker.
[親愛的...] dear inspiration
Wednesday, December 20, 2017 @ 1:53 PM
I think that it is fitting to put my thoughts here, since I have been using this as a sort of update on my life and a way to just waddle through the ways depression had affected me through higher education, and when I went to the ER. I want to start with something more thought-provoking, and perhaps more intentional, but I also want to write some things down quickly here.
So I will give context to future-me, though I am sure that I will remember this post.
It is Wednesday, December 20th, 2017.
You are sitting in a 탐앤탐스 coffee shop in 신촌 after a CulCom language exchange session that included a mini-Christmas party with a white elephant game. It snowed this morning and on your way to 신촌.
On Monday evening, Jonghyun passed away from self-inflicted carbon monoxide poisoning.
I'm not really sure where to go from here, but I used to write letters to deal with people I know who have died prematurely. I'm going to try to do one here.
I'm going to post my previous one from 2011 here and just go from there because I have been thinking of the Young Wizards' Series and the concept of Timeheart, which is the closest I can believe to a heaven.
Dear Terence,
I don't believe in a God. Or multiple Gods or Goddesses. That's probably why I think you're flat on a metal butcher table somewhere, in those refined vaults coroners put dead bodies out of rigor. You're not going anywhere. Isn't it strange that those vaults look like bank vaults where you put your most valuable things in?
Grief slept next to me on Saturday night. I thought about you. Do you remember the times we took the subways home together? On the train, you would grab a pole with four fingers. You had a nervous, tucked way of talking, bowing your head often, as though every word out of your mouth was precious.
My mother told me that you were still alive when you reached the hospital. She said your bones in your lower body were completely shattered, and even if you survived, it was unlikely that you would ever be able to walk or move around properly at all. I believed her because she worked in two different medical centers, so she knows these kind of things. She told me more things, like that you held on long enough for your parents to reach you and you tried to talk, to speak to them, but couldn't. I had hoped that you died quickly because when I saw the picture on the Daily News website, I felt physically sick. My brother peeked over my shoulder, whistled, and then said, "Shit, man, I hope that poor fucker died on impact." You didn't, did you? You clung on to life, your fingers slippery and wet, but you held on.
I often saw you at your first floor locker and we'd say hi. Next to the craziness of seniors and the general first floor antics, you were like a beacon of soft calm. I liked talking to you. We'd say hi, or what's up, or how's it going. Yesterday night, I thought of your blood filling your mouth, sticky like melted chocolate swirling in your throat, choking you from the inside out.
I don't sleep without my dolphin pillow pet anymore. Jeff bought it as an apology because his tongue is sharp between his lips, and he carved me up alive. I cried into his girlfriend's shoulder and left ugly tear stains in her shirt. I loved her, did you know? I don't think you'll be disgusted if I told you that I loved her. You would look me in the eyes and then rest a hand on my shoulder, and then pull away and that'll be that.
I didn't know that you wanted to go into environmental. I only knew that I did, and maybe Melissa too. I hated that I had to find out your dreams through the Daily News website, and not from you directly. I wish we talked more.
I wrote about you in that book on the second floor. They have a picture of you now. It's a lovely picture. I wrote even as Ms. Damesek leaned on the wall and waited. She asked me if we were good friends and I strangled a broken sob. Until she spoke to me, I was okay. You were an acquaintance, maybe even a friend, but you were still alive to me. When I wrote about you, you were alive, and when I didn't, you went away. After I walked through the doors, my eyes stung in the cold. I breathed in and felt grief settle into the vicinity of my left lung, because the right ones are never right and the left ones never leave.
Hello Terence. You're ashes and organ transplants waiting to happen. On Wednesday, there will be a funeral. Jennifer says she's going to go. I'm not. I'm going to have a movie day with friends. I'm going to spend time with them and tell them that I adore them. I'm going to bring canvas and some paint so I can paint a lovely picture. You still exist in between spaces. On Wednesday, I don't want to mourn your death. Terence, I've already done that. I want to celebrate your life.
The first boy who raped me is named Terence too. He was a man from Singapore. He raped me the same year you died.
I think this is the thing with premature deaths--you cry more. You cry harder. You feel the loss and it just clings to you so much more. Two of my grandparents died this past summer and I just went to work the next day and stood on my feet for nine hours, sucking blood out of people's mouths. I cried a bit when I was at the hospital, and then cried some more at the funeral. But I laughed too. I laughed and smiled, and my father had to tell me to stop because it was a funeral. A Chinese one. I'm not supposed to show joy.
I haven't shown much joy lately.
On the night I found out, I got some Kakao messages from Wonder. My phone vibrated on top of my books on the desk in the room I was teaching in. When I glanced down after I finished my spiel and looked at the screen, there were four texts, and then a fifth one lit up the screen.
I waited for the five minute break time to answer, but before I left my room, one of my students had his phone out and mentioned SHINee's Jonghyun to a friend. The other friend asked if it's true and I sped toward the break room because I needed to know what was happening.
I don't remember what I looked up, or if I did at all since I didn't have WiFi, but Wonder's messages kept coming and I had an entire hour of work to go through before I could leave and I definitely did not want to be there.
After work though, a co-worker wanted to eat together so I went with him to a 김밥 천국, where another co-worker was already eating. I wanted to leave. I wanted to go home and look online. I wanted to get news. I wanted to see something else. With T.O.P's suicide attempt, I found out in the morning, after a bit of time had passed and he was already declared to be able to pull through.
With this one, living it in real time, I couldn't wait. I needed to know as much information as possible. But I was in a 김밥 천국 and tearing up. I pretended that I was sick or allergic, but I got a message from Iqra asking to meet at 건국대학교. And I wanted to go.
I don't believe in a God. Or multiple Gods or Goddesses. That's probably why I think you're flat on a metal butcher table somewhere, in those refined vaults coroners put dead bodies out of rigor. You're not going anywhere. Isn't it strange that those vaults look like bank vaults where you put your most valuable things in?
Grief slept next to me on Saturday night. I thought about you. Do you remember the times we took the subways home together? On the train, you would grab a pole with four fingers. You had a nervous, tucked way of talking, bowing your head often, as though every word out of your mouth was precious.
My mother told me that you were still alive when you reached the hospital. She said your bones in your lower body were completely shattered, and even if you survived, it was unlikely that you would ever be able to walk or move around properly at all. I believed her because she worked in two different medical centers, so she knows these kind of things. She told me more things, like that you held on long enough for your parents to reach you and you tried to talk, to speak to them, but couldn't. I had hoped that you died quickly because when I saw the picture on the Daily News website, I felt physically sick. My brother peeked over my shoulder, whistled, and then said, "Shit, man, I hope that poor fucker died on impact." You didn't, did you? You clung on to life, your fingers slippery and wet, but you held on.
I often saw you at your first floor locker and we'd say hi. Next to the craziness of seniors and the general first floor antics, you were like a beacon of soft calm. I liked talking to you. We'd say hi, or what's up, or how's it going. Yesterday night, I thought of your blood filling your mouth, sticky like melted chocolate swirling in your throat, choking you from the inside out.
I don't sleep without my dolphin pillow pet anymore. Jeff bought it as an apology because his tongue is sharp between his lips, and he carved me up alive. I cried into his girlfriend's shoulder and left ugly tear stains in her shirt. I loved her, did you know? I don't think you'll be disgusted if I told you that I loved her. You would look me in the eyes and then rest a hand on my shoulder, and then pull away and that'll be that.
I didn't know that you wanted to go into environmental. I only knew that I did, and maybe Melissa too. I hated that I had to find out your dreams through the Daily News website, and not from you directly. I wish we talked more.
I wrote about you in that book on the second floor. They have a picture of you now. It's a lovely picture. I wrote even as Ms. Damesek leaned on the wall and waited. She asked me if we were good friends and I strangled a broken sob. Until she spoke to me, I was okay. You were an acquaintance, maybe even a friend, but you were still alive to me. When I wrote about you, you were alive, and when I didn't, you went away. After I walked through the doors, my eyes stung in the cold. I breathed in and felt grief settle into the vicinity of my left lung, because the right ones are never right and the left ones never leave.
Hello Terence. You're ashes and organ transplants waiting to happen. On Wednesday, there will be a funeral. Jennifer says she's going to go. I'm not. I'm going to have a movie day with friends. I'm going to spend time with them and tell them that I adore them. I'm going to bring canvas and some paint so I can paint a lovely picture. You still exist in between spaces. On Wednesday, I don't want to mourn your death. Terence, I've already done that. I want to celebrate your life.
The first boy who raped me is named Terence too. He was a man from Singapore. He raped me the same year you died.
I think this is the thing with premature deaths--you cry more. You cry harder. You feel the loss and it just clings to you so much more. Two of my grandparents died this past summer and I just went to work the next day and stood on my feet for nine hours, sucking blood out of people's mouths. I cried a bit when I was at the hospital, and then cried some more at the funeral. But I laughed too. I laughed and smiled, and my father had to tell me to stop because it was a funeral. A Chinese one. I'm not supposed to show joy.
I haven't shown much joy lately.
On the night I found out, I got some Kakao messages from Wonder. My phone vibrated on top of my books on the desk in the room I was teaching in. When I glanced down after I finished my spiel and looked at the screen, there were four texts, and then a fifth one lit up the screen.
?????????I didn't understand. Was it a new music video? Something for an appearance in a show? They depicted him dying? Why was she specifically messaging me about this?
jonghyun
died
he
mochi...
I waited for the five minute break time to answer, but before I left my room, one of my students had his phone out and mentioned SHINee's Jonghyun to a friend. The other friend asked if it's true and I sped toward the break room because I needed to know what was happening.
I don't remember what I looked up, or if I did at all since I didn't have WiFi, but Wonder's messages kept coming and I had an entire hour of work to go through before I could leave and I definitely did not want to be there.
After work though, a co-worker wanted to eat together so I went with him to a 김밥 천국, where another co-worker was already eating. I wanted to leave. I wanted to go home and look online. I wanted to get news. I wanted to see something else. With T.O.P's suicide attempt, I found out in the morning, after a bit of time had passed and he was already declared to be able to pull through.
With this one, living it in real time, I couldn't wait. I needed to know as much information as possible. But I was in a 김밥 천국 and tearing up. I pretended that I was sick or allergic, but I got a message from Iqra asking to meet at 건국대학교. And I wanted to go.
I ran out of dinner with my co-workers, saying that my friend was at the hospital, and grabbed things to go there. I arrived later than her. We walked to the entrance of the emergency room and waited with some other fans. There were quite a few Chinese and Canto fans, as well as quite a few foreign fans. There were a few fanboys. You touched so many people.
We arrived, and then S.M. and the hospital came out with the statements.
And it was over.
But we stood there at the emergency entrance and I didn't know what to do. And I cried. Played Animal Crossing on my phone. Cried again. Continued to cry. Cried on the taxi back. Cried at my apartment.
But we stood there at the emergency entrance and I didn't know what to do. And I cried. Played Animal Crossing on my phone. Cried again. Continued to cry. Cried on the taxi back. Cried at my apartment.
I am surprised that I cried so much. I wasn't expecting to.
I finally started writing a little in a notebook during class. I was teaching, but I also didn't really care. If the head instructors watch the CCTVs, I will get my ass kicked, but I still don't care. I care about this so much more than a job that they won't be firing me from.
I'm hoping that I will be able to polish what I wrote in the notebook, but I also don't have much to do.
I'm going to start the letter now.
Dear Inspiration,
I am so sorry that you felt so trapped, and tired, and so very beaten down that you had to set this up in order to set yourself free. I cannot fathom the amount of loathing and pain you were under, because although I do share an illness with you, I have not lived in your head nor thoughts, and we may think entirely different things under its influence. I have had the pleasure of listening to your voice and your feelings through them. I truly hope you are at peace now. Perhaps you felt that the only way peace could be achieved was through death. I will not contest it. You knew the gravity of your actions and tried your best to mediate them.
Thank you for your thoughtfulness, your kindness, your heart, that despite being burdened with so much, and yet you have so much to give.
Your words of encouragement for people, the passion you imbued in your music, the way you threw yourself into your performances. The gravity of the situation will batter me again and again, but I now will always have the regret of not seeing you again when I had the chance. I wanted to see you next year, with your group, but I gave up the chance to see you earlier because I had been confident in seeing you later. Why had I been so confident, I ask now. Why did I so fully believe this? How did I think that tomorrow would come? How had I been so sure?
I'm not very sure now.
I'm not very sure now.
I am only one fan out of many, and I cannot say that I was your biggest fan, nor was I your longest fan. But I was a fan since end of 2008 so I have followed you for a long time, and so years have passed with you influencing me with your voice, music, and performances. I made friends in high school because of you. We tried to figure out dance routines and formations, bumping into each other and laughing and giving bruises to our knees. I spent countless hours watching you dance, watching you move. Watching you smile and laugh. Watching you cry.
Death claimed you too soon, but it must be proud to have someone like you on their side.
I do not feel abandoned, but I am lost. At a lost. Still. I have cried more than I thought possible, more than I had cried for my own family members, and I supposed that is because I had been prepared, I had been aware and waiting for their bodies to give up, for them to be done. My grandmother died and I didn't want to know why. My grandfather choked to death in his sleep. One of my friends died due to a drunk driver. Another died because she was a drunk driver. So many people die in December. April may be the cruelest month, but December has always been the lightest. I had only wrote about one of them, thinking of his fear and pain, what he would be doing those last few moments that he took a breath.
I had imagined his family surrounding him, imagined their fear and grief, their loss.
But you died alone, I suppose. Or perhaps not. You died with people trying to save you, to get your brain to spark and heart to beat again. I wish that I could give you the sparks in my brain. Come back to us. Were you afraid? Did you close your eyes with any remorse?
I hope not.
I thought about your last moments too. The questions that I would ask you though, I already knew my answers.
Would I feel free?
Yes.
Would I regret?
No.
Would I be happy?
Yes.
So I thought of my answers to these questions, and substituted you in them. Maybe it was a way to make myself feel better and come to terms with your passing, but I was using you to make myself feel better and I felt wrong.
I know a bit of what it's like to suffer like you had.
I had planned many times when I was young. In elementary school. In middle school. In high school. College. Grad school. The endless cycle of learning how to get beaten down and still crawl onward. How to survive. And so I did.
Survive, that is.
With your help.
I had listened to your songs. Your music. Made friends by being a fan. Extended my little group of people I care about.
How does a dreamer fall into despair? How does the world push us so harshly past our limits, just to say that we were never enough? Curious thing, isn't it?
I kept my grief visible yesterday. Cried until my eyes puffed so hard that I could barely see. That I looked like a completely different person. Hardly slept, but woke up repeatedly in fits. My mother called twice to tell me to say hello to my family. I didn't want to do anything. I am so tired of the stigma. She told me to stop being around negative and crazy people, as if I am not one of them. As if surrounding myself with people who do not wish to know me will make me happier. As if my illnesses are not partially her fault as well.
It is hard to put into words. I will probably try to make them more beautiful sometime soon. Or maybe I will leave them like this. Now, I am writing again. Because you have been an inspiration for so long. It is hard. And it will be hard. I took my sorrow with me to bed. Tucked it in. Found it buzzing atop the electric blanket I had turned on. I kept my eyes open. I didn't want to sleep, to continue to pass time and move away from when you were still alive. Breathing. Heart beating.
I want to feel better about this. I think this is one of the few times where I am affected by a deliberate death rather than a natural or accidental one. How many more do we have to suffer through? Peace feels like such a foreign concept, something that I cannot make sense of. There is no peace here. I cannot find it.
I thought about it again, about dying by my own hand, on my terms. I had always wanted some sense of control. I have thought about it and why, and it may be partially due to being at the whims of other people for so long. I wanted a sense of self.
And through death, I believed I would gain it.
I cannot, again, say that this is how you felt. But I do wonder if it was something similar.
I had wanted to die since the single digits. By nine, I had thought of six ways to die, and my favorite was by hanging from a jumprope. I wrote it into my story that won an award. I wanted to do it. I wanted so badly. I would laugh with friends. Study together for our college tests. Do dance covers. And I would always want to die.
By the end of high school, I found more ways, and I explored. My new favorite was also carbon monoxide poisoning. I thought it would be the least painful.
In college, I finally started to reach out for help. It was terrible. The first one I went to was someone in college counseling. Useless. Ineffective. Unhelpful.
The first year of college, I gave more money to the homeless around Manhattan in a week than I would spend on food for myself. My eating disorders didn't begin from body image issues, but more from self-worth ones. Why would I eat this food, when someone else who is much more deserving to live is not? Why should I eat when someone else should be eating? Why should I consume this food when someone else ought to? Someone who is much more deserving of living.
Why couldn't my mother have just aborted me? Why did I have to be here?
My frugality also came from this. Why should I spend my family's money on something like food? Why not save and let them use it instead? Why should I live at all in this world? Why should I be able to spend money and receive goods and services when someone else, who is much more deserving, cannot? Why not let them have it? Only until perhaps junior year was when I really started buying food with friends for myself.
I had to be taken to the ER by the college counseling center eventually and I stayed for a bit. I don't remember much.
When I started having seizures, I was so incredibly happy. Not about having yet another disability, but hoping that it would be a way to die painlessly, because I wouldn't know. I would just die. I would die without needing to plan for it. It would be out of my hands and I would not need to plan.
There is an abnormal little bump in my brain. It's the cause of my seizures apparently. It could also be the cause of my depression. I don't know. I also don't really care. Maybe I really don't want to die.
Back then, I still cared too much. I cared so much about everyone and I wanted them to be happy. I wanted others to get what they wanted, I wanted them to achieve their dreams, and I wanted them to find the joy and happiness that I felt like I was rightfully denied.
Last year, last December, I met someone disgusting and yet I tried to stay friends and be open and friendly. The first time in my life, I did not want to die. The first time in my life, I wanted to do things for myself. I want to say that this is where my depression got better. I thought that I had a group of friends I could depend on, and tell them anything.
Getting slapped in the face by the following events should have been expected. I drifted from that group. I didn't trust them anymore. Why open yourself to someone to have them ignore you? To have them put others ahead of you as they should've done earlier? I spiraled.
I cannot say that I feel incredibly close to anyone. I think of my closest friends and wonder if they would mourn me. I think my family will. My mother and grandparents will. Perhaps my father and brother. My cousin and his girlfriend. My aunt. Will my friends mourn me? Am I close enough to them for them to do so? Am I worth that much, to be worthy of grief?
Online, I have heard that what I have can be described as "high-functioning depression/anxiety," but I am unsure if this term is the correct one because I have not been diagnosed with anything like this by a professional, though I have mentioned it to my therapist. Perhaps the correct term is dysthymia, but I was never diagnosed with it by a professional. But the symptoms do match up.
I can do many things while severely, dangerously depressed, and I believe we are similar in that aspect. We push on through the beating of the drums. We go through our days, smiling when we want to die. We will do our work, wanting to die. We will meet friends, laugh and make jokes, wanting to die. We will shower, wanting to die. We will eat food, wanting to die. We will go to sleep happy, wanting to die. We will be successful people, wanting to die.
I used to be the mood-maker of my friend groups, the one cracking dick jokes, making people laugh, and I would want to die. I would want to die while studying, while hanging out with friends, while being active, while doing any little thing. It was tiring to hide behind the stereotypical mask, but I felt like I did pretty well, all things considered.
I can do many things while severely, dangerously depressed, and I believe we are similar in that aspect. We push on through the beating of the drums. We go through our days, smiling when we want to die. We will do our work, wanting to die. We will meet friends, laugh and make jokes, wanting to die. We will shower, wanting to die. We will eat food, wanting to die. We will go to sleep happy, wanting to die. We will be successful people, wanting to die.
I used to be the mood-maker of my friend groups, the one cracking dick jokes, making people laugh, and I would want to die. I would want to die while studying, while hanging out with friends, while being active, while doing any little thing. It was tiring to hide behind the stereotypical mask, but I felt like I did pretty well, all things considered.
I had made it a goal this year, the year of 2017, to show my true emotions more often. I think it is working. I have a blank face one more often. I do not try to smile and be as bouncy as I used to be. I am trying to communicate better through body language. I am trying to help myself to help others. I am trying to find myself worthy.
I have cried so much for you, because I see myself in you often. I have cried every single day since your passing. I don't understand my grief, and I doubt I will. I know I will pull through, as I always have, and as I continue about my days. I am more emotional about your passing than any passing I have had to endure in my life so far.
I have cried so much for you, because I see myself in you often. I have cried every single day since your passing. I don't understand my grief, and I doubt I will. I know I will pull through, as I always have, and as I continue about my days. I am more emotional about your passing than any passing I have had to endure in my life so far.
And I hope that you do feel free now. I will admit that I did think of doing similar things. If anything, I am a thorough and vindictive person, but I would try to minimize my own damage. We are similar in this aspect as well. I had thought of transferring all the money I have to my parents. Tell them to spend it on my grandparents. Pay for my brother's college. For my aunt to retire earlier. To give some to a niece in Fuzhou I have yet to meet. To give whatever belongings I have to my friends if they want them. Clothing, accessories, stationary, journals, whatever is left in my room. I have thought a lot about it. When to do it. What will happen to my body.
I have not ever completely decided on when, but I want my ashes to grow plants. Maybe a tree. Something to give back to the environment instead of a coffin or just ashes in an expensive jar. I want to have a rebirth of life, and if there are rebirths, I hope that my future self will be able to live much happier than I.
I have not ever completely decided on when, but I want my ashes to grow plants. Maybe a tree. Something to give back to the environment instead of a coffin or just ashes in an expensive jar. I want to have a rebirth of life, and if there are rebirths, I hope that my future self will be able to live much happier than I.
I also went through many therapists as well. I think I had at least five before I stuck with a longer term one who worked specifically with Asian Americans in New York. Though I was grateful for that, I was still upset because it didn't seem like they aligned with my own wants and needs. I took medication though I didn't want to. I had to adhere to their rules or I could not get therapy at all. I have not found one yet where I left with a sense of satisfaction.
I had thought about looking for therapists here in South Korea, but once I got here, I shelved the idea. My normal is an intense, low-key sort of depression. That is my normal. I cannot reach a mental healthy normal, but my normal is how I am living through the days now. I want to do so much more with my time. I want to find fulfillment. I want so much and I don't want it.
I wish you were still here.
I wish your therapist had been more helpful for you.
I keep thinking about Timeheart. I am agnostic, but reading the Young Wizards' Series at a young age influenced me so much because it combined magic with science and reality so well. Because the books were so dark but also so hopeful.
Timeheart.
I don't know what else to call it, but I want to believe in something like that. After our deaths on this Earth, we will go to Timeheart, the most perfect universe for reunification, for the preservation of all that is Good.
I think that this is an attractive thought to me-- that you were a person placed here to slow down the spiraling death of the universe, to battle against the never-ending entropy, and, as the Lone Shark sings, you have taught Death to die. You have saved so many people. You slowed down the entropy of the universe so much through your mere existence. We were unable to save you, but you have saved so many of us.
I am alive, and you are part of the reason why. You and so many other people. Thank you for your existence, for sharing your joys and pain, for making it so very easy to love you. It is unfortunate that we cannot love you back, but I hope you left knowing that you are so incredibly loved by so many.
I hope to see you in a version of Timeheart one day. Until then, may you have fun, existing in the place where all the things that were loved are stored, and may you discover so many more beautiful things there on your journey. You are not gone; you are merely not here anymore.
One day, I hope to thank you again for what you have done on this Earth.
You did so very well.
I love you dearly.
Until we meet again, 김종현.
— SHINee (@SHINee) December 19, 2017
