mom diary backup

2006.02.21 07:06
 Religion, philosophy and all wise archaic aphorisms that hand down to us are true.

Last night, in my dream, she tearfully asks me "Does it require the paper to perform sacrificial rituals for demised

ancestors? Why can't you continue a sanctuary lamp and offer votive in the memory of me?" This exhortation

demonstrates the fact that she resides with me here and now. It seems to me that she is aware of my every act, my

progress, my thoughts, my concerns, my worries in minute and meticulous details. She even knows my inner subtleties,

subaltern subconsciousness copiously.

Spirit and the existence of immortality! Hitherto, I have been nearly choked with this oppressive curiosity. These

days, I manage to whet, quench this insatiable curiosity to a certain degree. I am convinced that she always and

verily stays with me, although I perceive our togetherness only in dreams and she seems unseen and immaterial in

waking moments.

A few days ago, I had a dream of a ring which is engraved with the inscription "M##" is fastened to my tongue.

Earlier, the commanding voice that orders me not to divulge anything regarding my siblings is indeed significant and

unforgettable. When I realized that the voice comes from her, I was overwhelemed with an overpowering feeling of

longing, languishment, grief, and loneliness. I woke up in my wailing, pining after her. I am led by her who loves,

protects and leads me everlastingly.

Life and death are definitely connected by something, some chain or even a thread. Furthermore, posthumerous

connections are much stronger than our lifetime. It is because one's absolute love and eternal yearning, nostalgia,

regrets, longing is what is underlying beneath this connection between the demised one and those who she left

behind.

We lead our lives with the beloved and continue our life journey in the midst of happiness, anger, pain, pleasure,

(sundry human feelings). Then, someday, on the crossroad of life and death's diverging, crisscrossing roads, humans

cast off flesh and drift away. What is the meaning of this parting? It is insurmountable sorrow to stay in love

while we exist in different forms and beings.

Although I feel her proximity and our togetherness, I cannot make her happy. I am uncertain she will leave me

forever to a far-off heavenward realm for good? Or will she stay with me forever? That remains to be answered.  

2006.02.23 11:30
 Whenever one throws a dice that determines one's destiny, one is compelled to feel absolute loneliness.

I had a visionary dream that foretells the depreciation of tangible assets. Upon awakening, for a moment,

apprehension or trepidation flits through my mind. Am I in error? is my skepticism. Then, I crawl into blankets

again and fall alseep again.

I can't recall their faces and identities correctly, but the place is brimful with sumptuous and delicious ambrosia

as if a male teacher and his wife were preparing for feasts or as if they were running restaurants. I am a mere on-

looker who stand by them quietly and rather indifferently. Suddenly, I crush a creeping octopus beneath my feet and

slide down upon it. I recover myself quickly and start on my feet. The octopus' head is exploded, smeared and looks

quite flat and paper-thin, sticking to my pants. As a sequel, I continue to sleep on, proceed to have another dreams

after a while.

I am walking through a winding, narrow market lane. I gaze in a brightly-lit window display. I browse those

clothings and think it may be a drapery store. I walk on and suddenly run into two men of unfamiliar faces. One of

them introduces himself as a boss. That man produces a scrap of paper from his pocket and show it to me. That paper

has a symbol, that looks like number three in a mirror image (right and left sides reverse) and is made of platinum

gold. He flies it  overhead as if it were a colored confetti. He flings it three times and each time, the piece of

paper flies in three different directions. Then, the boss says "This! This is precisely the very reason why I am

always with you. Once, when my business goes down, you gave me threefold prosperous vision." While I witness this

scene, I become awake. (I am later informed that gold signifies a good foreboding of trebling the principle bottom

line profits).
 
 

2006.02.25 06:49
 Second Chance
 
In a dream, I see two black perpendicular edges that meant to protect the verges.
Another day dawns. I shall lead my life in a more vigorous, energetic way as it is Friday. While I am engrossed and

occupied with daily tasks, I find myself thinking about that figurative edges and its significance.

Hitherto, my life has been guided solely by dreams. Like a passing car, even the traffic lights have an appearance

of dreams. Hitherto, my dreams have been relatively auspicious and the results have been fairly in my favor.

Although the vicissitude of my life does not suffer tragic discomfitures, losses and although I could maintain the

status of independence, I can't help myself feeling desolate. (Did I intentionall keep myself lonely for somebody in

my dream? Did I always look forward to seeing, meeting somebody in vain?)

One day I watch TV and hear a prison death row inmate's confession. He says ever since he found God, he neither felt

loneliness nor had any worries.

What does that mean to meet the Lord? What is the nature of his conviction? What sort of power filled his mind then?

I wish I could know. What is that lasting happiness, absolute immutability?

Some bad dreams (hagridden nightmares, incubus) lurk like ill-omen, yet I can't stop them. Neither could I alter the

course of my fate, nor the fact that the beloved passed away forever. I only conceal my feelings in my inmost self

like a snail who hides itself when it is attacked, pestered, importuned and violated. I ceaselessly pray in the

attempt to overcome my fear, my sufferings, but my prayer rarely amounts to more than efforts. This inconsolable

sorrows, inescapable problems, wanderings, insoluble confusions disallow me to concentrate as much as I used to.

Sometimes, this sensation becomes increasingly nervous to extremes, resulting in temporary insomnia (though I know

this feeling is a passing fancy and will pass away). I can't stop these moments categorically.

How can I master self-repression, self-containment, self-control? Now, I cling to the last thread of this pitch-dark

night. Before I fall asleep, I indulge myself in happy thoughts. For instance, I fancy my dream person, my long-

awaited moment. This was possible in my childhood. These days, I pray and (like Demian who meditates often in his

room), imagine a blue circle with my eyes closed. I fall asleep.

Insofar as nobody pesters me, my life has been tranquil. I like one's hard, and honest life. Do "some" people skin

me? Do some ill-wishers attempt to bite myself? Drip by drip water can cleave the rock. One and another small stroke

of an ax can bring a giant oak tree down. Drip drop, the attrition of cares and worries can wear out, gnaw away at

and finally collapse a levee. Then, flood will overflow. I shall be grateful for the fact that my very life, my

breath is still kept intact.

I see these two black perpendicular edges to protect the fringe. Now, even though I am dashed, striked against

something formidable, I will not be torn apart in pieces. As long as I don't surrender myself, (self-incriminating,

self-defeating self-abandonment), I can be protected, guarded against all possible dangers. What remains with me is

my mandate to keep the peace of mind. Additionally, the number two is utilized to decide on the price.

2006.02.25 07:38
I find out that the foremost and primary purpose in consecrating candlelight vigils or sanctuary lamps. The aim

encompasses the gamut of significant meanings. Some are to help the demised to be delivered to heaven, to cleanse

any wrongdoings, if any, in her former existence, to reconciliate any remaining unsolved bad relationships, to

forgive leftover grudges, and to be born again favorably in the circle of metempsychosis (palingenesis;

transmigration of souls).

Painful bygone memories in the past that wrung my heartstrings and residual cinders of hatred is still restored in

my mind's reservoir. How can I too forget and bury those ineffaceable memories in timeless oblivion? Moreover, for

the sake of her, in the hope and attempt to console her, I am inclined to consolidate my share of sorrow and hatred

against those who did injustice to her. Would my forgetfulness itself be one's filial ingratitude, betrayal or

(unjustifiable) indifference?

However, what is evident is the fact that the demised wants something indefinable in the present dreams. That is not

an order to forgive, but a command not to divulge any stories about them. I can't fathom dead souls' situations,

circumstances since I have not been dead. I am afraid if my ignorance would worsen her situation and commit a folly

of presumptions.

It is inconsistent and unjustifiable to pray for her with candlights and simutaneously to commit follies that does

not contribute to her soulful, prayerful well-being. I shall forget those excruciating memories and "forgive those

who trespass against me" (as I am forgiven in Lord's prayer.) I think if I pray for her with begrimed, spiteful

spirit, my prayer would not be delivered to her. I find myself missing her so much, wishing for her immaculate soul,

hoping for her being reborn in a better place. Although it feels too late, I should fulfill my (unregrettable)

gratitude and filial piety- at last.

2006.02.28 12:21
 In a flowerpot, a tiny light-green sprout shoots up from a brown shrub of thick-skinned bark. The greenhouse owner

calls it an orchid. I have never seen such a bizarre looking orchid as this. She says "That is the only one left.

That plant is worth $900."
She further recommends an energy category.

Today is monday. Another vigorous week begins. Despite my time-consuming research, I have not yet made up my mind. I

brace up and collect myself before I finalize my decision. However strange it may sound, my intention may be to

retain, to buy the last strange $900 worth orchid. I check for the last time past four o'clock, but I did not have

enough time.

I rather feel fortunate. Maybe next morning, I will seize a more favorable chance. It may be more economical to

implement an airtight close approach this time, utilizing a narrow track.

It's approximately ten o'clock. I am ready for tomorrow's guests. On my way  back home, I briefly frequent here.

I continuously read news, particularly regarding the imminent, impending possibility of the civil war in Iraq,

besieged with international turmoils. Then, with the suspension of tension and attention, I read Venezuela's

critical decisions of stopping most oil exports to the US.

Suddenly, I remember Energy recommendations. I scour for the most promising one. Meticulously, I analyze details,

insiders' analysis. Internal structures are sound. Yet, it doest not give any favorable impression on me. Forget it.

I thought. Being mindful of that suggestion, I revisit the analysis. Analysts' ratings and public approvals affirm

my opinion. Maybe I shall put more confidence in it. The only drawback I find is the current situation is already

buoyed, over-estimated on a long-term scale. But it may be as a result of strong foundations and still stays in the

process of growing further? It seems a natural phenomenon.

I think of the principle of diversification. Does its safe contain good materials? Are their service and goods in

high demand by public? What about their prospects for future?

It's not a sprout that shoots forth from a shrubby bark, but an orchid of unheard-of rarity. A sprout is the symbol

of the first step in progress. I have presentiments. It may be a good-boding signal to begin the new journey. I

shall not hesitate. Bodly, I will step forward.
 
 

2006.03.01 05:40
 A young neighbor cuts all tree branches in a huge flowerpot. 밠ake yourself easy about this,?he tries to calm me

down. 밒t뭩 trimming trees in shape.?I will enrich its soil with fertilizer and take a good care of it so that it

will grow well.?He fills his workshop to the brim with fertilizers. My neighborly lady also has sufficient

fertilizers for my flowerpot. It is not inadvisable to fertilize it now. But I also wonder if it would be better to

leave it alone rather than fertilize with strong manures.

My neighbor woman prepares so much sumptuous food for feasts in the house. She heaps ambrosia-like food such as

roasted beef, frizzled noddles on her plates. She wants me to eat them, but my mind is occupied with severed tree

branches.

These narratives are inmost stories from my mind when I am not engaged in any physical activities.

As soon as breakfast is ready, I check time. It뭩 already past 11:30. Assuming that everything is going well as I

expected, I call him with no serious reflection. Perhaps it is still in the process or in suspense. Soon, I am

startled and aghast at the surprising news. I realize things are going out of my control. I was thunderstruck,

baffled. I feel petrified, benumbed for a moment. What a miserable downfall!

Soon I recover myself with my will, and a clue as I follow the lead of insights. 밫rimming down the tree into

becoming shapes.?In order to wake up myself completely, I start on my feet.

I stuff my stomach with delicious roasted beef and drink a cup of coffee. Meals are over. I call again. Billowy

waves are lapping against shores and splash wavelets to my lingering feet. It뭩 continuously the ebb and flow.

I somehow sense last night뭩 plans would fizzle out. Especially nearly all plans I make before I sleep turn out to

be true. I evidently sleep through the period. I have favorable presentiments that it is still on the bottom level.

But still it surprises me greatly. Whenever I try to catch it with all might, it always eludes my grasp

tantalizingly. It turns its back upon me, requiring still much more sacrifices. It engulfs my daily morning efforts

and blood, confusing my judgment. I뭢 still an inchoate, inexperienced greenhorn. But I indulge myself in self-

complacency by saying the following. It will be well as the familiar rote or refrain tells me 뱓rimming tree

branches.?nbsp;

Hesitatingly I go to meet my expectant visitor before that person comes. To my surprise, there is a policeman

chattering with him. Because of that, a humorous light-hearted jest and joke begins before our conversation.

Everything runs quite smoothly from the beginning to the end. Happily, I come home.

Approximately 1:30 in the afternoon, I go to church to pray. Around the entrance, two women put their hands on the

hands of a sculptor saint and pray. They cast a quick glance at me and suggest I do the same thing. They say it will

give me peace of mind. I just stand with no reply, then, they pull my hands and put them on the saint뭩 hands. I

close my eyes and pray. They open the church door and leave.

I am left alone. I gaze at the saint뭩 eyes. I felt hair-raising, blood-curdling chill because they feel like real

and alive. I attentively look into the saint뭩 eyes. He looks peaceful and alive. As if I were standing face to face

with an intimate someone, I pray and ask him to grant my prayerful requests. I plea for myself, but at the same time

my prayer is for others?sake, for their blessings.

A moment later, I enter the sanctum. Somebody else already sits in my place. My regular place is at the right side

of the sanctuary. Directly I can face candles that illuminate the whole place. I can tell the length of remaining

candle-wick, lest the light go off and get extinguished. My seat allows me to stay vigilant and careful with

candlelight.

Today I sit in the front middle row. I can see the altar before me. I pray, facing towards the cross that is

dangling suspended in the air high overhead. Those saints, angels that are engraved on windows look inviting,

graceful, greeting, beckoning, beautiful and mysterious. Grandfather-looking God and a young prince Jesus are

accompanied by St. Mary who is ascending heavenwards. Those cherubs, baby and adult angels administer to the Lord

and occupy their rightful, assigned places as in the world. Would it be wonderful if all angels welcome a new soul

who has just entered the heaven?

Even when I finish my long prayer, the lady who occupies my seat is still here. Today, the church is swarming,

bustling with incoming and outgoing workers. They carry long benches. Somehow due to their drilling sound and fixing

chairs, the church is chaotic.

Before I leave the church, I approach the sanctuary and candles, I fall on my knees and bid farewell wistfully. My

mourning is as heart-wrenching and tearful as the beloved뭩 bedimmed eyes.

Now, it뭩 3:40. The information I receive online is always twenty minutes behind. I am confident that my tree will

grow well and auspiciously. Its core stalk is strong and robust. I happily wait to see it branches out handsomely as

its tips are only trimmed a bit.

2006.03.02 10:15
 Perhaps I worry about this severed tree bough. I carefully dig out soil to confirm whether its root is good or bad.

The root is rotten and covered with foggy molds. I scrape mildew off its round root. I should not have stirred it up

in the first place. Then, a virgin nipple-like white root shoots out forth and manifests its presence next to the

rotten root mass. It seems strange to see those sprouts grow well, lushly and robustly while all other major roots

are destroyed. It might be because of a white thick tittie-shaped bud.

Half awake, half asleep, I check by call. It is relatively going well in the morning.

Approaching at 2:30 in the afternoon, new buds grow perceptibly. Late in the afternoon, to my surprise, six buds

sprout forth.

Everytime each bud blooms, I exclaim a cry of joy to a smiley. Bingo! Hurah! It is the first moment of happiness

after all are settled. By the time the last six sprout forth, the smiley stays near me, apparently studying. I am

the only to blame for procrastination.

Meals are over. Cleaning is done. I take a shower and walk to the church for prayer. It is not so cold today,

perhaps because of my shower? Today, I heavily trudge along the road. Especially today, it takes much effort and it

seems increasingly distant. Would it be because of the lack of exercises?  I pull out my hands from my pockets and

stretch my arms in all directions, almost brandishing my arms. My armpit feels sore. So, I only move my arms from

the elbow to the fingers, while keeping my upper arms tightly to the flank. It looks strange. I look like a comedian

Charlie Chaplan. I giggle and stop, lest others laugh at me. People would be shocked if they see me walking like

this.

It takes too much effort to pray fifty times. It feels like eternity. As I visit the church late in the afternoon,

church windows do not display mysterious scintillating color fantsy.  It feels like a dungeon or the Holy sepulcher.

Am I ailing? Do I have fever? I shall go home as soon as my prayer is over. I do my utmost to concentrate on

prayers.

I have one important pending project that I should as soon as possible. I shall research past observation records

minutely and meticulously. I should pay particular attention on the movement of the X horizontal and Y vertical axes

in order to find some formula and pattern inductively. Cordinates and meanings change according to interval periods,

ranges, etc. Today, 275,000 fly their soapy bubbles overhead. Like me, they will dream of their hopes every night!

2006.03.03 07:50
 Approximately five o'clock in the morning, I fall asleep, thinking it is particularly brighter than usual outside.

Half asleep, I blankly gaze outside around one o'clock in the afternoon. The view outside of my window is all grey.

It snows. Snowflakes fall all around. I stand to my feet and look outside. Snow is already heaped. I wonder when it

started snowing.

Since last year, I grow violet in a small flowerpot. Because I get up so late, this sapling does not grow

vigorously. I shall get up early and put it in sunshine to lengthen the time when it can bask in sunlight. I am to

be blamed. When it snows, the little fledging wistfully and silently looks through the window.

I get by. Those 40,000 flower pollens that promise a better future remain like ghostly footprints. Streets are

deserted and melancholy. Today is the day to make a solid foundation, a formal outset. Don't hurry. Don't hasten.

Time will cure all. I shall entrust experts with works and pray for its smooth course. When right times come, sweet

fragrance will be issued from ripened fruits and beckon and greet me.

Today I shall change candles. I shall hasten to go now before the altar boy locks the church.

Outside, snow hails cover in heaps. Snowflakes are so huge as to make me believe I am treading upon the boundless

white fluffy carpets. I see no spot of soil. Snow is not melted. It's clean with no slush, no sludge. When I was a

child, village kids used to taste those snowdrops without worrying about pollutions. I followed their lead...

Those lightening rods on a circular vaulted roof are decorated with white snowdrops on its tips. There is nobody in

the church when I approach to the altar. Without losing any moment, I change candle wicks and relight it. There

remain two flickering candlewicks. I fall on my knees and clasp my hands together and pray fifty times.

On my way home, the view looks like a blessed city where every building roof is covered with heaped snow. An astray

dog shyly approach to my side. Because of snow-covered grounds, the dog must have lost its smelling trail. The dog

looks innocent. I make a chuchuchu sound with my tongue. Upon hearing this sound, the dog flees away instantly. The

dog must realize that I am not its owner. I follow the dog with my eyes until it disappears. I bound for my house.

2006.05.10 02:42
    Those subtle tremblings of eyes gradually calm down, and those circle-like bright eyes still retain the memory

of transfixed, petrified surprises. Those still eyes stare at me and greet me full in the face today.

After all is over, when that person accosts me, my face gleams and brightens up with smiles. He returns my smiles

with concerned and interested looks.

His voice is composed as if an elightened hermit monk who purifies his soul.
After he walks around several times, he checks the time and me. He turns off the light and disappears.
He appears to me as if he were found in leaves of books.

2006.06.16 07:36
 I cannot reach the Moon...

It's even more impossible to go to the Mars...
Perhaps wealthy people may explore and settle there...
For now, the Earth seems the most habitable, suitable place for humans to live...
But why wars continue to break out!
Why can't humans co-exist peacefully and contentedly.
 
I wonder what becomes of my demised mother or other deceased souls.
What happens to them?
 
As the  Bible says!
The end of the world is nearing us.
 
It's not some inevitable dooms that approach us,
but it's our inner selves that are afflicted with diseased obstinacy and stubbornness that results in self-

destructive catastrophes.

 
2006.06.20 14:56
While everybody worries about the imminent possibility of war, American defense industries make their utmost efforts

to compete to get the lions' share of profits.

Confronting global dangers, they sense the possibility of opportunities, and try to turn those dooms into  once-in-

a-lifetime chances of profits.

Through this sparkling genius, I wish the end of the world would never come.

 
2006.06.20 23:51
 In order to ignite (rekindle) the candle, I step on the sanctuary.

When I put in the candlelight money into a box, the door inside is flung open and somebody is coming out. After

paying the money, I move to go further into the inner chamber. To see who that person is, my gaze searchingly looks

forward. I am taken back with surprise. My mind picture of his face is always stiff, tense and firm. But today, he

heartily bursts into laughter and smiles so happily. Moreover, he greets me and says "Good Morning!"

As usual, no word betrays me and I greet him rather awkwardly and sparingly. I sit and write my late parents'

birthdays on the bottom of candles like 1909... and so on.  Did I feel that he rather felt disappointed? Also, he

looks somehow distrustful and wonders with subtle contempt why that woman goes there. I feel a thin-ice deep

imperceptible contempt underlying his facial expression. But I can endure such unjustifiable contempt and even melt

that warmly, although I instantly suffer from disheartening and unidentifiable loneliness. There is insurmountable

language barrier. There is no such difference as our customs, races and social status. Thereupon, my feeling seems

very natural.

Hitherto and sofar, I never even met such a warm, open-hearted and devoted person as he, however innumerable

difficulties we cannot resolve.

 Before I pray, I recall and conjure up his hearty laughter and joyous face. I wish he could preserve such sincerity

and happiness to the end and accomplish his mission of Holy Job. I set the limit of the permissible relationship in

my soul and mark such limits with dark blue lines.

2006.06.22 08:57
 I become curious of a white man of a rather small stature with a shirt and business suit pants on. On my way

outside, I stealthily wait a while and ask a middle-aged white woman who seems to be related to him. Except the fact

that (contrary to his appearance, he is not a lawyer), I know very little. She says he is not his son. She only 

says she would deliver my message to him.

2006.06.23 (2006.06.24 00:00)
As I walk across the street, I catch a glimpse of a familiar sight, Brother. We seldom exchange words, but I once

received the Holy Communion from him face to face. I felt a touch of his gentle treatment. My soul was immersed in

his devoted holiness. Today he has a regular non-priestly clothes. He recognized me as if he saw me somewhere. But,

we just brush past each other without exchanging any words. He crosses the street and heads towards the Dining Hall.

Is he perhaps a graduate student then?  Several days ago, on the university's commencement day, I saw Gerald Brother

went to the dining hall with a priestly flock on.

 Later, I saw Andersen Cooper gave a speech on TV, and I speculated Gerald may have gone there to hear it. I wonder

who were Cooper's audiences. Perhaps Brother might have attended the graduation ceremony as well.

I arrive at the cathedral as my daily custom goes. I pray and ask the Holy St. Mary's statue on the patio outside

for a favor. "Holy Mary, full of Grace! Please clasp my demised mother and my late father to your bosom fast and

helps them rest peacefully and happily in your arms. I pray in pleading eyes.

I then enter the sanctuary. With a rosary, I pray before the Infant Jesus. Watching flickering candles, I conjure up

and invoke the faces of my deceased parents.

Long time ago, I recall my maternal aunt visits my house in my nightly dream and gave Sungeun a student's

identification card. Perhaps my parents were happy to meet me. Those tantalizing thoughts ache me further.

Several days after I dreamed as such, the Senate Judiciary Committee passed the votes on a Bill. A good omen, a

harbinger, a sign of the roads ahead is slowly opening to us and becomes faintly visible. Blessings continue to be

seen even from the Heaven where my parents  look down upon us and take care of us.

I finish praying today. I descend down the stars outside. Opening the door, I run into Gerald Brother again face to

face. The building across the street is the friar where priests live. Since I studied Cathechism for six months in

that building, I know its structures and rooms. How curious I would be if I never entered that building! Only

imagining would whet my curiosity more and more.

There, Gerald Brother opened the door just from that building. As he came out stepping forward the first foot

outside, he hits me face to face. "Good Morning!" he greets me in a peaceful voice.

His face beams with soft smiles. He always treats me warmly. Shortly after I relish in this friendly sentiments, I

reciprocated his greeting and returned smiles "Good Morning!" But I was too late and he did not turn around as if he

did not hear me. But I am assured that he would always listen to me carefully and always greets me kindly. Maybe my

usual-expressionless face is expected in his mind. But he evidently rejoiced to stay in touch with me. I know he is

very pleased inside. On my baptism day, he cooked foods for us. I still remember he waited for me outside and

beckoned me to come to eat dinner.

2006.06.23 09:40
 As soon as I step in, my presentiments tell me that it is over.

I am crushed by this overwhelming, gnawing and suffocating hollowness. I am choked with this pitch darkness that

penetrates into my spirit. I go to the front row and kneel with closed eyes. I pray. "Was my making an idol a cause

that plunges me into despair?" It is also due to my mistaken notion and misunderstanding that my calculator's basic

units are not standardized. I shall not be self-deluded and be belied by false realities. Still, where does my

attention and gaze lean repeatedly! It is my avarice. I shall neither disturb nor disrupt them any more!

  They frequently meet together and share many things deeply!

Why nobody is here today? Is it at least in part because of my questions yesterday? How sentitive they are over

trifles! I shall not intrude myself upon their peace.

2006.06.27 12:37 
I ask Brother Gerald. (He was watering flowers and plants in front of the church, as if he were a maintenance guy.

He keeps his low-profile and humility.)

Upon deciding whether to become a priest, what factors were significant? He mumurs scarcely audibly, "Feel..."

I said I might have wanted to become a nun in my maiden years, but I was somehow afraid of treading an unbeaten

road.

He retorts, "That's the will of God, then! It had been decided." Brother Gerald always articulates my answers very

clearly and decidedly. But then, he adds that this current life is not a mistake. I have lived very well hitherto,

and I will live well henceforth in the future.

As if I were painting a water color, I paint my life  and I shall believe that this is also the intention of God.

  
 
2006.06.27 01:42
 Yesterday, I watched TV on a sofa and I dozed off.

Creeping sense of drowsiness came over my fleshly body.

I right away went to the bed and fell asleep successfully. I almost shot into a bed. Altogether, I probably slept

for four hours.

I got up approximately at one o'clock in the morning and tried to sleep on until seven in the morning, but my

endeavor ended in vain. I slept only little, thus, I felt sleepy. But for the next year days, I have very important

mission to accomplish in broad daylight.

Around six o'clock, I took a shower. I dried my hair rather hastily. My wet hair is a little dripping, but I went to

the morning Mass. I intentionally went to thirty minutes earlier than usual. Before the Mass begins, I pray with a

rosary till everybody comes.

As soon as the Mayor enters, somebody rings a bell from the sanctuary altar. I was choked to know who did. Who will

officiate the Mass today?  I heaved a sigh of relief as soon as Father confer's face emerges.  The Mass begins.

Father Confer is flanked by newly-arrived unfamiliar priests stand. One of them has illness that shakes his fingers,

making me quite nervous.

Father Confer might recognize me instantly, but he looks at us rather indifferently without any zeal. He only

concentrates on preaching. When he preaches, he pays no attention to me. He is only absorbed in giving us sermons

eagerly and looks at far-reaching audiences. His face sometimes grimaces, contorted a few times. He sometimes looks

as if he winks as well because he focuses on his preaches too much.

  My desultory thoughts somehow wander off.

These unfamiliar, hitherto-unheard-of facial expressions somehow loom ahead vagulely first, but later are engraved

deeply in my impression like a photo. The Mass ends.

 I went to the sanctuary lamp and kneels down before Infant Jesus. I pull out my small rosary pocket. My rosary is

given by Jan on my baptism day on Easter.

The more I have this rosary, the more I like this.

Closing eyes, I begin praying for my mother. My prayer is interrupted several times as people in the front row make

loud noises. I try to concentrate and never look at people randomly. I attempt my rosary prayer from the beginning. 

Then, I hear "Thump" before my nose. I open my eyes gently. It is Father Confer. We exchange smiles and laugh

heartily with each other with a beaming and radiant face. His white face looks great with a black shirt and a black

pants on. Before he disappears completely, we smile once again.

 Our smiles are not parting good-bye greeting, it's our belief in the sprouts and the bud of faith and obedience.

2006.06.29 04:45
 Dear Mr. Iracane,

People on the Yahoo Finance END message baord claim that the END stock is increasingly getting hopeless. Please tell

me why the company allows the stock price to plunge hopelessly like that and still never takes decisive actions to

fix the stock trend and momentum. Some asks how the company could obtain $400 million to buy another oil company.

People explicitly say the company's debt is getting bigger and insoluble. Without reassuring investors' worries and

doubts, the company lets the stock price to go to bottom further. In such cases as these slump recess days, other

companies usually buys its own stocks as much as necessary so that the stock price can be normalized and changes its

trend. I hope that END will actively engage in its stock price management.

Thanks in advance.

2006.07.11 08:11 
At last, I make a rather outlandish call to Father Confer. And I confess that I wear a necklace that bears his

minature portrait. I said "If you are displeased with my cherishing this necklance, I will restore it to you." He

agrees.  I make another call for the third time, but he does not answer it. Instead, I hear a phone beeping and an

answering machine's voice. I hung up the phone. Immediately, I head towards the church. Sungeun follows me.  I

arrive at the church. Ringing the bell in front of door, Tommy appears soon. Thereupon, Sungeun advances a few steps

and says "Please tell Father Confer that Grace is here. We are expected." We wait more outside the building. Soon,

Tommy comes out of the door again.  Tommy asks us to come in. He ushers us into an waiting room next to the

entrance. Tommy says Father is in the middle of eating dinner. We wait further. Finally, we find ourselves sitting

with Father Confer. First of all, Father Confer asks how we obtain his photo. Sungeun answers that Moira took photos

of him and others on the baptism day." He nods approvingly.  Then, Sungeun continues to tell stories about Moira's

stepson Eric H, a lawyer of the New York's Bank of America.  I also add that Father Holt did not keep his promise by

not introducing me to Eryns. But despite all, I am sure of one thing. They blurt out point-blank with one word

"culture." "Many people do not appreciate the differences in culture." I return the small photo necklace to him and

walk outside alone. But Sungeun hesitates and lingers around him.  Inside, Father Confer untangle the necklace

string and keeps his photos. But he gives Sungeun St. Mary's miracle medal that he just blessed. Then, Sungeun comes

outside. She says she'd like to keep the St. Mary's medal.  I wanted to reveal my innermost mind. I really want to

inform him. He asks me to pray for him! He does not seem excited in the least. My mind is befuddled and confused. I

suffer from uneasy mind and discomforts. So does Sungeun. She says she feels as if a guardian angel is taken from

us. Instantly, due to her incongruous humor, my pulse drops and I am bereft of vigor. But at the same time, I can't

help but agree with her sentiments. Until four thirty in the morning, we feel down and out. From the first moment, I

disliked the medal given by Moira. Also, tonight, I want to erase and to forget whatever memory of Father Confer. I

experience heart-wrenching agonies. I want to get rid of all these suvenoirs and tokens. I want to place them all in

front of St. Mary's statue at the church." Perhaps, I will be pleased to see Father as tonight passes and next

morning greets me. With scissors, I sever the necklace's strings. The sudden flashbacks of Moira's sneering glacier

facial expression is conjured up. And, Father Confer's murmuring voice is still ringing in my ears, as if he made

fun of me by saying "Do whatever you want as your whims dictate you. It will serve you right if you volunteer to

forfeit your shares of blessing!" So, I make up my mind. Tomorrow, I will buy my own necklaces anew. And I will cast

these inside of the church so that someone else might pick them up. Only after five o'clock, we fall asleep. In

dreams, I have ordeals in battlefields. Bullets and bombs explode and fly everywhere. I have incubus. I am hagridden

and wake up several times. I pray for my rescue. I even confront with deadly moments and dying in tears and pain.

Then, miracuously, somebody saves me. That so-and-so advises me to go the hidden place under the car. Then, people

would not be able to find me, and cannot harm me fatally. It's unbelievable and inconceivable, but it seems to me

that that is the only way for me to help myself. Half-distrustful, I enter that space. Nobody occupies it. There is

a tiny hole. Chill runs through my spine when I find out that somebody peeks through that hole. I shudder and get

petrified. Soon after, the bus starts. After a long time, it arrives somewhere. I talk to somebody and find out that

this place is my elder sister's former residence. That person continues to speak. "Your sister is hit with bombs and

is found dead. That grieves me." While I walk along the winding corner, I realize that "Maybe I can survive!" Then,

I find myself awake already and it is not a dream any longer. I am confident that everything will be alright.

Simultaneously, however, I worry about my elder sister's well-being and health. Perhaps I should call her tonight.
 
 
 
 

2006.07.03 23:00
Wednesdays Father Confer is day off. Thursday, Friday and Saturday, these three days passed already. On Sunday, I

went to the church with Esther, but to our disappointment, the door was locked. After six days, perhaps because I

don't have any close friend at church, all eyes that meet mine in the Mass feel indifferent. In the Holy Communion,

I bow deeply at a perpendicular angle before the priest. I clasp my hands to my bosom fastly and say "Amen." I hear

a strange sound of the priest's pained sighs or murmuring. The voice sounds soft and tender as if a sheperd whispers

to his sheeps. I return to my seat and remember dreams I had last night. In my dream, my necklace that bears Father

Confer's miniature necklace is torn off and falls to the ground. But, my other necklaces that have the blessed

Mother Mary and the Infant Jesus still remain. I stoop down and outstretch my arms in the attempt to pick them up. I

grasp those fallen necklace and return home. When I arrive at home, a man presents me a wrapped gift. I unwrap it

and find a clothing inside. After I had this dream, I pray for several days. I asks God that I need a sheperd before

my religious faith can grow fully and wean from my sheperd. I remake my necklace of Father Confer with St. Mary's. I

imagine Father Confer is the only person who would pray for me. It empties me utterly to think his necklace is torn

off.

Last Saturday, Jen who went to the Fatima Cathedral in Portugal gave me a souvenir medal and attached it to my

rosary that was also given by him. He gave this rosary along with another one on my baptism day in 2006. On

Saturday, he asked whether I received his request card that will pray for my departed mother in the Mass. His church

belongs to Hartford, North Haven. It is almost a year since my mother passed away. On Monday, Father wears a purple

robe. Only one priest wears a red robe, and other priests wear white long robes. On the altar, there is a small

house, facing the front wall. A red silk drapery is covering it. Inside, they keep the Holy Communion. Bell sounds

beautiful today. After the Mass is over, Father Confer opens the door and steps out. He descends the stairs across

the front row bench, as if it were agreed upon his coming previously. Soon, a man brings an infant in his arms for

baptism. The baby's bodysize is almost that of Mexico-produced Yarm at the Shaw's supermarket. The father intends to

bless the baby.

2006.07.06 09:44
Today's mass is almost over. It approaches the time when Father Confer begins his public blessings. Suddenly, he

stoops over me and shouts vigorously towards me. In everybody's presence, he leans forward and crosses from my head

to the bottom of my torso by saying "In the name of Father, Son and..." I thought it is a thick and dark cross. He

blesses me publicly. He always seems to be scrupulous, hesitating, careful and somewhat unwilling. But now, he is

changed. He reveals his strength as if he were about to lift the Earth like Atlas. It shows a middle-aged man's big

appetite enough to swallow, to gobble up a huge cow without chewing.  He reminds me of a Korean priest Kim Nam-Gi

whose mass I once attended with Cindy. That night, the priest startled me by shouting to the top of his lung in his

homily. I guess that strength is common for a middle-aged man. Vigor may be mistaken for insatiable appetite and

insurmountable hunger and greed. Not every instinct is beneficial and well-meant.  I shall be more prudent. I bow

deeply to him and become appreciative today. I receive the Holy Communion and blessing solemnly from him. My body

becomes the temple of the Holy Spirit. "Deliver me from temptation, lest I commit any sin." I shall not be enticed

to others' sin. From the beginning, I shall build and strengthen correct and virtuous faith.

06-07-13
Sungeun makes me angry. I vent out my pent-up anger after I  bottle up as much as I can. Then, I cause something

irrelevantly strange. I call an unrelated person, or a person who has nothing to do with this trouble. I say

something impertinent and indiscreet. Soon, strange things break out. I try to mend troubles. Then, I reconcile with

Sungeun. Things manage to settle peacefully and my anger subsides. But, this recurring patterin of incidents damage

our interpersonal relationships. In the end, we have no good friends as a result of all these. These are phenomena

due to Sungeun's disobedience and unruliness. People on the other side of the phone distrust my angry voice and

upsetting face. Rather, they think Sungeun is a good girl. They cannot guess why I am so angry. Rather, they wonder

why I am so upset. Their puzzled mind is natural. I don't know what to do if this sort of things keep happening.

Would I feel better if I go outside and get a breath of fresh air? I try to pray but still I feel upset. I strive to

find a way to deal with this- in vain.

06-07-14
For two days, my dreams are about a car. My dream two days ago is like the following. That day, I receive a photo

necklace. In my dream, it is night. On my homeward way with Esther, I wait for a bus. We don't know whence we come,

whither we go. It's almost past midnight and there is no bus running at that hour. We wait for a long time, till a

bus finally comes. We get on the bus quickly and gladly. I ascend and walk along the narrow bus alley. Esther looks

very exhausted. As soon as she gets on the bus, she falls to the floor and dozes off on staircases. I try to drag

her off and wake her up. But she is too heavy for my lift. The bus driver asks whither we intend to go. I show him a

scrap of paper on which our destination is written. The driver says, "This is a wrong bus. This bus does not head to

that direction. I will drive you to a bus station so that you can transfer bus. There, get on the #57 bus." I point

to the paper and ask where it is. He says "It's near Hamden." We arrive there and get off the bus. The #57 bus comes

right away. Thus, we reach home by that bus. In my dream, the house is in the basement. It resembles that old man's

house with a kitchen window  in Jackson Heights, in New York. The window is armed with thick iron  lattice, lest

robbers intrude in the house. The air is so cold, creepy, spooky, and disagreeable that I tremble consequently. To

my surprise, I find CXX who looks tired. He grimaces and frowns as if he were angry. I think my relationship with

him is very shivery and unpleasant beyond imagination. He is the last person I wish to see.

Now, I continue to add here to my last night's journal. Last night, Esther called Father Confer. I compell her to do

so against her wishes and remonstration. He invariably does not answer our call. So, Esther leaves such a message as

the following, "Father! My mother is worried. After all happen hitherto, she wonders if you were offended and

thought she is disagreeable. She worries if it's okay for her to go to the church as if nothing happened." 

Miracuously, contrary to previous anxiety and torments, I regain peace of mind right away. I keep quiet and

satisfied after she calls Father Confer. Hereafter we fall asleep instantly and I dream.  In my dream, I get on a

certain bus. I can't recall if it is nightime or daylight. The bus starts as soon as I get it on. But in my dream,

there is no bus driver in the driver seat. I question it naturally. "How can the bus run without a driver?" But

although the bus arrives at the next station, it still goes on without stopping, and continues to run to the fullest

speed. Again, at the next station, it does not stop. As in the "Speed" movie, this seemingly enchanted bus continues

to rush forward as if it were about to crash and got shattered to pieces. I am afraid. At last, the bus catches

fire. Blazes and flames lick around everything. How can this happen? But I never lose any composure. I search

through the bus throughly. I find something queer and unusual. I find a wick, the origin of fire in the bus engine.

Somebody left the bus without putting it out. My letting the engine on is like accelerating the bus. The cumulation

of unstoppable speed leads to burning. After that, my memory of dreams is blurred out and I forget how the following

is connected to the rest of my dream. I enter So-and-So's house and meet a strange woman and her child. As soon as

she sees me, she accosts me and asks, "Don't give money to her because she does not educate my children!" Instantly,

I thought she is mistaken. Then, her husband comes home. And there, there is another strange me. I don't know who he

is. He asks "Will you give her a ride?" He seems to give me a lift also. I concede to his offer and follow him. His

car is spacious and luxurious. Nobody seems to be conscious of the woman's presence. I wake up by rustling sounds. I

ask Esther, "What time is it now? What is the price?" Esther answers "Six." Some thought flash through my mind. If I

woke up now, I could attend Father Confer's Mass on time. I want to go strongly, but my mind conjures up his face

that seems to look down on me subtly. That image causes the goosebumps on my skin. I give up on that thought and

continue to sleep on. What time is it now? 9:25 AM. My question is unanswered. It has not started and after toss and

turn a bit, I determine to wake up. Esther must have gone to a bookstore.

2006.07.16
Around 3:30 pm, I went to the church to pray. Before the Mass, I shall finishing praying for my demised parents.

Around 4:30PM, Esther suddenly appears before me. This unlooked-for visit is quite pleasant as if I were meeting an

angel. With a surprised look, I ask her, "Why do you come here?" "Father Confer calls me. I picked up the phone in

thiking a kimchi delivery man would call us. It grives me that I did not record my conversation with Fr. Confer. I

never expected him to call our house. He says Fr. Reed almost collapses during the Mass, so he ministered to him at

hospital. So, he could not answer the phone when she called him." We changed our seats, from that under the Infant

Jesus's statue to the seat in the front middle row. That faces Fr. Confer's sanctuary platform on which he will

preach his homily. And that seat faces the altar table where priests proceed communions and sacraments. Time lapses

a while, then suddenly somebody turns on lights and the dimly-lit church interior brightens up. Maybe, Fr. Confer

arrives. Soon, the glimpse of his face is shown tantalizingly. And his full figure is in view now. I am happy and

grateful. It is very kind of him to call us. But, he re-enters inside. His presence and existence reminds me of that

flickering light and the alternation between light and darkness. His absence means darkness, while his presence

signifies light and comforts. Soon, the bell rings and the Mass begins. Father Confer seems to catch a glimpse of

me. He looks sideways and casts a sidelong glances towards me as if he were checking something in a moment. Today,

the Mass implies two different things than usual. First, Esther is with me in the Mass. Second, I have a nice one-

piece dress on. Hitherto, I always wore jeans and shirts. The Mass finally begins. I fixedly and attentively look at

Fr. Confer only, while Esther looks at me playerfully time to time and never stops playing over trifles. Sacraments

begin. Before, Father Confer prays and blesses the Holy Communion and a glass of wine before he distributes them to

people. He moves one step forward towards me and gestures a signal to certain peoples, perhaps laities whose job is

to help him. Then, three women ascend the stairs towards the altar. They receive the Holy Communion from him first

and descend with him together. Esther and I, sitting in the front row, are the first who receive the Sacraments from

him. When I am about to bow deeply, he seems to turn around his face. I wait until he faces at him again with my

clapsed hands as in prayers. I bow deeply before him and approach him. Within ears, I hear him whispering almost

inaudibly "Here we go!" I answer "Amen" and receive him. He naturally puts it in my mouth. When everything is over,

and before Fr. Confer's final blessing begins, I fixedly look at him. His glance goes toward those three ladies who

helped him. He then seems to look at him instantly. Instead of that vehement, enthusiastic, inspired crossing, he

barely makes a cross from the head to the torso.
 On our homeward way, I ask Esther. "Did you bow deeply almost to a perpendicular angle as well? She answers

affirmatively, "Yes!" She always gives me so much trouble. And yet, today, she behaves quite well like a model

child.  Nightime is dawning on slowly. Before my eyes, the impression that Father Confer is very fond of that chubby

woman is conjured up. That repells me. It is so haunting as to disturb my sleep. I am overpowered by disappointment

that I can't even invoke his face.

2006.07.18 08:29 
Fr. Confer goes to retreat. All weeklong, he won't be at St. Mary's. As my custom goes, before I eat breakfast, I go

to the church. Before the candle altar, I kneel down on my knees. Just like yesterday, it's sultry, hot. I unmesh my

tangled rosary. I begin my prayer for my late mother. Then, I think of myself. Somebody exists for the sake of me! I

need a guardian angel's protection and care in reality. Even if Fr. Confer is not here today, I feel fine. Rather, I

feel peaceful and tranquil. Hitherto, my soul has been distrated and exhausted. I shall undo all tangled thread

mass. That's correct thought. How shall I live? The first priority is to build solid religious faith. I shall never

forget my dream of the blessed virgin. It's good to honor my late mother with prayers in the church. I have been

praying for her almost for a year since her death. I am not aware of St. Mary's looking down upon me from above. In

my dream, when Fr. Holt asks Fr. Confer, he says he will give me a ride. I rely on his religious faith. I am a sheep

and belongs to my spiritual leader, a shepherd. Henceforth, I have a task to do. I will pay more attention to his

homily Sundays. I will go to the church on Sunday with Esther. And Esther will deliver and communicate his sermons

to me. As I will resemble him, perhaps I, too, will eventually arrive at Heaven.
 
 

06-07-27(
Today I went to St. Mary's Church twice. In the morning, I pray rosaries only for my late parents. When I finish

praying, the noon Mass is about to begin. Being hungry, I escape the church without attending the Mass. I eat at

home. Until the stock market rings its bell, I frequently check the real price on the phone. It seems to me somebody

barely manages to sustain the price, lest it plunge. These days, hot weather and sultry climate make it unbearable

to stay at home. As the Mass suddenly begins in the morning, I did not check if the candle is out or not. As soon as

I eat dinner cursorily, I hasten to go to the church again. I am worried about the sanctuary candle. I arrive at the

church. The five o'clock mass already begins. For a moment, I worry where to seat myself. Standing idly, I look

around. I don't see Jan. I hesitate a bit. In the last row, a young gentleman sits quietly. I hesitantly linger a

bit then situate myself carefully near him, in the next seat in some distance. I feel a little awkward but remain

sitting quietly until the Eucharist. The priest's homily is about Anne (Mary's mother) and Mary's husband Joseph.

Today, a certain priest only focuses on preaching, while the other distributes the Holy Communion. After the

priest's Communion prayer ends, we supposedly and expectantly exchange our greetings. I face the gentleman next to

me and greet. As I see him sideways, I feel somewhat overwhelmed and overpowerd by his solemn attitudes. But as my

eyes reach  him, a flicker of delight and happiness spread in my mind. Perhaps he is warm-hearted and kind. In that

high-strung moment, he also seems to detect pleasure and grace in my eyes. I taste palatable and delectable relish

on my tongue and get infused with joy. I hesist if I should change my seat as I return from receiving the Holy

Communion. I linger to see where to sit. But there is no missed face in that seat. Without any other plausible good

alternatives, I choose to return to the back seat again. The gentleman sits in the front row as if he felt awkward

with my presence. The Mass is over. I go to the front altar to check the candle. I hasten forward. In the front

middle of the center altar, I see the priest is distributing something to people. I first conjecture that he is

giving out some medals. But I am mistaken. It is another, unheard-of type of rituals. I stop my pace and look at

them fixedly and attentively. The priest thrusts a yellow gold plate to people, and those in the front row kiss the

plate. Then, the priest scrubs, wipes that plate with a white clothes. Then, he repeats the action to the next

person. "What is he doing?" What does that ritual signify? I wonder. Perhaps, next time, I will see more closely.

With these thoughts inside, I go to the candle. I ascend the candle stairs. Contrary to my worries, there is much

candle wick left available. Perhaps, I can change it tomorrow. It is left sufficient till tomorrow. I wait a bit in

the way outside. I stand along the staircase. I grope inside of my small bag to see a scrap of paper. On it, I write

the priest's car number and so on. Yesterday and the day before yesterday, I find a new car that I have never seen

before. I hastily go out the church and walk around the corner and towards the parking lot.

I look around and see if somebody else were around. I don't want to be seen and look strange. I make sure nobody is

around. Looking quite casual and natural, I stand next the cars. I pretend to see my paper without intentions. I

confirm the car number. I find a new car with a new number. I am not so sure which car is Confer's or Reed's. Would

this be his? I worried if somebody see me. I hasten to go away. While I am walking around the corner, surprisingly,

I run into that gentleman who sat next to me in the Mass. As if I find my lucky charm or a guardian anger, I smile

happily and broadly. He returns smiles kindly. It makes me happy that he does not snub me nor ignores me. I am

curious what he does for a living. When he stood next to me, he seemed so disproportionally tall and gigantic. But

outside, he looks very handsome. He is well-dressed and has good manners. His figures and appearance look a bit

aged, but he is boyish and soft at the same time. I hesitate and asks "Are you a lawyer?" But he does not understand

me first. It takes my efforts to repeat my question but I summon courage and ask again. Increasingly, he does not

understand me. The atmosphere and mood is changed into very awkward discomfort. Are you an attorney? I change the

word. He says  "Yes" and asks me "how do you know? Then, it's my turn to be speechless. I don't know what to say. He

murmurs "curiously.." and trails away, waiting for my answer. Instead of the correct and appropriate answer, I say

instead "Around here!" He does not understand me again. He circles with his fingers and asks "Where?" Then, he

understands and exclaims "Knight of Columbus!" I repeat him and ask "Where" He points southwards with a tapering

finger and indicates that "Building!" Without asking further, I candidly blurt out "I look out for my son-in-law for

my daughter!" Then, strangely, some disappointing expression suddenly flits through his face. I am petrified and am

at a loss as to what to do and what to day further. My lips inaudibly move as if I missed a running bus too late

with a cloesd door. I say "Esther, political science and a university name!" But he does not seem to know Wellesley.

I say Hillary graduates there. Then, he understands and says sorry. Two weeks ago, he is engaged and he cannot help

me. I answer "That's all right!" As if I am running away from him, I try to control myself as much as I can so that

I would not tremble involuntarily and get weakened. I try to calm down my overwrought nerves. I regain my composure.

I again enter the church. My knees give in. There, unluckily, that group of praying women to whom I once asked "Is

he your son?" before is sitting. I also find a haughty woman in the middle row. I don't have elsewhere to go. I make

up my mind. "After all, my only reason is to pray. The Bible says "Seek, and y