Hi.

I really want to post. But I can't. Do you want to know why? Of course you don't. The thing is, I want to concentrate more on my real life, and blogs and stuff get in my way, y'know? Besides, this isn't even a proper blog. It's more of a /test/ blog. The kind that I scribble random thoughts and crack witless jokes on. If I get famous - er, WHEN I get famous, I'll have a real website. And then I'll laugh. And laugh. And laugh...

...Sorry for the craziness. Good night all. I'm off. :)

Does everyone have trouble waking up?

It's so hard to wake up Eunice. >_> It takes forever to push, shove, cajole, threaten, and "pamp" her into even replying hoarsely, "Leave me aloooone". Then comes a thirty-minute mutual torture in which I try to pull at various limbs and tickle her feet, and she tries to kick my eyeball out. (Note to self: Why do people talk of kicking eyeballs out? Logically speaking, wouldn't a kick in the eye squish the eyeball in deeper?) And please observe that I am doing all this while being half dead with sleep myself.

...I should really buy a whistle.

Hi.

It's eleven thirty and normally I would be sleeping. But I think I'm getting into a nasty habit of getting up and posting useless stuff no one even reads. Either that or everyone turned the clocks...

Yep. It's the first.

Anyway, I just wanted to say that this is my little sister's blog, and it is absolutely. Tear-jerkingly. Hilarious. (To me, at least. There are a couple of inside jokes there you might not find funny.) I absolutely banged my head on my table laughing at it. :D Poor thing! I bet she'll regret writing such a load of adorable nonsense when she's my age. Hahaha! :P

Snowy, sweet, slippery mountains

We went to Bukhansan mountain today, and the cold, barren heights were blanketed so beautifully with pure white snow, it was lovely indeed! First we tramped up the road called Dullegele, 둘레길, and the ice was very slippery and soft and deep, but there were some muddy spots we could slosh through in safety and style. (I hear that brown is very fashionable this winter.) We sat down once, panting for breath, and all the elderly ladies and gentlemen hiking there stared in astonishment at us; I could just hear them thinking, "Why aren't these kids going to school and instead polluting the air with their carbon dioxide and obnoxious laughter?" Then we turned and climbed up some stairs: it was lovely because every step was blanketed in fleecy snow, and it was a delight to sink my foot inside it with a satisfying crunch and hear the ice die. Is that cruel? I hope that doesn't sound too cruel. I like the sound of ice crunching. It sounds like the crunch of a cookie being eaten. It sounds like the crunch of an ice cream cone. It sounds like the crunch of a crispy pancake drizzled in awesomesauce.

Anyway, I kept on snapping pictures while Eunice and Belinda yelled at me to hurry up. The pictures did not come out in their best.

It was still pretty. Even my lame skills cannot spoil the true beauty of God's nature.

 When we were halfway across a lovely path of deep, swollen drifts of white, with swirling puffs of powdery snow falling in golden showers around us, Mother suddenly decided that it was time to go home. Going up was hard: going down was terrifying. The stairs were okay, but when we got to the road, the ice was packed down so tightly it was really scary. Belinda clung to Eunice, and they both set up a heartrending wail. I was bolder (not sure if that's a good thing) and smiling confidently, ready for some fun and action, I began running down the hill, yelling mentally, "Take THAT, ice!" An old man hobbling by laughed and called as I went, "Good going, little girl!" I must have looked really crazy. But the acceleration of speed was more than I had accounted for, and slipping and sliding, I almost broke my leg. Fortunately, I managed to seize a hanging branch and steady myself. Unfortunately, that branch was thorny.


I didn't cry. Really. :)

Anyway, all in all, it was a lovely trip. :P It ended with our drinking hot chocolate and having spaghetti for supper, and all was well.

English

There are thousands of songs dedicated to one's "homeland". Now, dear diary, questionless Korea is my homeland; I am proud to be a Korean, I shall always be a Korean, and I love my dear Korea. Korean is my mother tongue, and Korean blood flows through my veins. It was in Korea I was born, and in Korea I drew my first breath: I am Korean through and through.

Yet I spent seven years of my childhood in America, and, oh! They were the sweetest seven years! English is the language which I truly adore and emulate; Korean and Hangul is most worthy, but 'tis not the one I am most comfortable with. I get sick of hearing Korean in my ears all day; I feel dry, and withered, like a well of once fresh, brimming water which is now but a dry cistern. I long to live in a place where the music of English is always in my ears, where I can go to libraries and read in English, where I can learn English, and...

Little as I seem to feel, feeble as my talent for English is (which is obvious just by reading this blog :/), I do love English - passionately! I love its literature, especially its beautiful novels...and every time I see a year go by in which I have learned nothing new of English, I feel as if I am falling behind all my peers in what I desperately wish to succeed, and that I will never be a writer - that my dreams will never come true - that I will never truly learn real English, real English literature.

I hope these are not wicked thoughts. I am happy, very happy with my present lot; but a sweet strain of music, a certain fragrance, or even a glimpse of a few words makes my heart thrill with sadness for America, and to learn English. Dear God, please, won't you let me go to America soon? - It's been five years since I last breathed its air and listened to its language, spoken by Americans; I have barely been able to remember, retain it by Your grace; but I wish to learn more. Please let me see America again, and learn English more.

A little elder-sisterly fidgeting

It's snowing lightly agin, and I feel sorry for poor Belinda, who has to trudge along the streets to practice violin. I sometimes wish she had picked a better profession than violin, and faintly wonder whether it's really her niche. She's such a unique, dear person, I think her fine nature is being wasted...alas. Well, it's her choice: and if she really loves violin, I suppose it is the path she will tread with joy. I do hope so.
God bless her! God bless us all!

[editing note: Belinda has returned, and she has to quiver each finger on the violin 500 times! o_O]

:)

Happy birthday to You,
Happy birthday to You,
Happy birthday, deeeear Jesus,
Happy birthday to You!

Even if my song is a failure, and my voice makes You puke (I hope this isn't being irreverent. I know You wouldn't do something as disgusting as puking, dear Jesus), my heart is most sincere, dear Lord, in wishing You a happy birthday.

I love you! <3