110613: Side Ponytails...
...are awesome! Guess what new character's totally getting one XD
Morning Star: Slightly behind in this, clocking in at 8990. I might be able to get a little bit more tonight. I am also uploading this to Wattpad now!!! They're doing a NaNo thing and they're a sponsor (singsong) so I figured why not put my sucky story up? It can't be any worse than Dvorak, right? You can find the story here.
SHINee Story: Finished chapter 8 while at Argo today! Woot. Today's chapter was very emotional for me, as it deals with some things I've been going through. In fact, I think I'll post it below the cut if anybody wants to read it (not really any spoilers). Today is my grandfather's birthday (re: THE REST OF THE STORY) which, if you read the excerpt, explains why I was crying when I wrote it.
Super Secret Special Detail: No progress as of yet.
That Family Thing: Page 3 or 4? Can't keep track atm.
I talk to my dad about everything. He's the best listener, so it makes sense. I talked to him for hours about going to school at Columbia; I was nervous that I was just going because Mom taught there and I could go for super cheap, but talking to him made me realize I really did want to go there. I check with my dad before making all of my big decisions.
Dad's study is at the very end of the hallway, past my bedroom. I hardly ever go in there unless I need something from him, which can be anywhere from often (my senior year of high school) to rarely (these days). At the time, it was the third time I'd been in his study in a month.
I opened the door. The study was clean, as it always is these days. Dad's desk faces the window, overlooking Broadway. His jacket was still on the back of the chair when I walked in. "Hey, Dad," I said, shutting the door behind me.
The walls are lined with bookshelves, packed with every book I've seen my father read. Along the shelves are knickknacks, the golf figurine Grandpa got him when he was a little boy, the mug I made him for Valentine's Day when I was in fourth grade. A picture of his childhood home still hangs on the left wall. Some things never change in that room.
"Okay, so I've got a problem. You remember when I told you about that boy I saved from jumping off the bridge? He's back in town and I want to talk to him. In fact, I think it might be really important for me to talk to him. It could be the difference between life and death. The problem is I have to go incognito to do it. Like, I have to be a spy. Nobody's allowed to know it's me, Dad."
I went over to his chair, touched the edge of it, and then I took his jacket from the back. No matter how many times I wear it, even to this day, it still smells like him. Then, I swiveled the chair so it faced the room again and I sat down in it. Dad's desk was clean, save for the pictures of us as a family sitting on it, the calendar from 2010, the American flag folded in the corner.
Some things never change in that room.
"Do you think I should do it, Dad? I mean, it's really scary, but...you always say that scary stuff is meant to be done, right? I just want to know it's not ridiculous. I mean, dressing up as a boy is ridiculous, right? It's not like I'm doing it for show. But I've done weirder things. I've stood on my head and sang opera for class, and that's pretty weird. I also walked through Union Square topless as part of someone's school project...and I ended up on NY1 for it...yeah, I remember you weren't so happy about that."
I folded my hands on the desk. "You always say to think about the real reasons I do stuff, Dad." And I paused, because since I was sitting at his desk, I could see all of Dad's study, including the one thing I can't see from anywhere else in the room. I sit at his desk when I need to talk to him because my city is behind me, and the one thing that ties us the most together hangs on the door, in font of me.
The poster's many, many years old. I found it in his closet one day; it had to have been some sort of souvenir thing from years past. I framed it and put it on the back of the door a long time ago. Dad wasn't cool with it at first, but he cried when I told him why I did it.
It was ours. It will always be ours. I'll never stop fighting for it.
"Why do I want to save Choi Minho so bad? Why is he so important? Is this just me being a fangirl? Or is this something more? Why am I willing to risk jail time and my reputation to speak with him again?" And I sat and I listened myself, listened to the sound of the air conditioning kick on, the horns honking and fire trucks speeding by outside, even the subway trains at 125th Street.
These days, my dad's rather quiet, but his city speaks for him. And even though he didn't say a word, I still had my answer.
Morning Star: Slightly behind in this, clocking in at 8990. I might be able to get a little bit more tonight. I am also uploading this to Wattpad now!!! They're doing a NaNo thing and they're a sponsor (singsong) so I figured why not put my sucky story up? It can't be any worse than Dvorak, right? You can find the story here.
SHINee Story: Finished chapter 8 while at Argo today! Woot. Today's chapter was very emotional for me, as it deals with some things I've been going through. In fact, I think I'll post it below the cut if anybody wants to read it (not really any spoilers). Today is my grandfather's birthday (re: THE REST OF THE STORY) which, if you read the excerpt, explains why I was crying when I wrote it.
Super Secret Special Detail: No progress as of yet.
That Family Thing: Page 3 or 4? Can't keep track atm.
I talk to my dad about everything. He's the best listener, so it makes sense. I talked to him for hours about going to school at Columbia; I was nervous that I was just going because Mom taught there and I could go for super cheap, but talking to him made me realize I really did want to go there. I check with my dad before making all of my big decisions.
Dad's study is at the very end of the hallway, past my bedroom. I hardly ever go in there unless I need something from him, which can be anywhere from often (my senior year of high school) to rarely (these days). At the time, it was the third time I'd been in his study in a month.
I opened the door. The study was clean, as it always is these days. Dad's desk faces the window, overlooking Broadway. His jacket was still on the back of the chair when I walked in. "Hey, Dad," I said, shutting the door behind me.
The walls are lined with bookshelves, packed with every book I've seen my father read. Along the shelves are knickknacks, the golf figurine Grandpa got him when he was a little boy, the mug I made him for Valentine's Day when I was in fourth grade. A picture of his childhood home still hangs on the left wall. Some things never change in that room.
"Okay, so I've got a problem. You remember when I told you about that boy I saved from jumping off the bridge? He's back in town and I want to talk to him. In fact, I think it might be really important for me to talk to him. It could be the difference between life and death. The problem is I have to go incognito to do it. Like, I have to be a spy. Nobody's allowed to know it's me, Dad."
I went over to his chair, touched the edge of it, and then I took his jacket from the back. No matter how many times I wear it, even to this day, it still smells like him. Then, I swiveled the chair so it faced the room again and I sat down in it. Dad's desk was clean, save for the pictures of us as a family sitting on it, the calendar from 2010, the American flag folded in the corner.
Some things never change in that room.
"Do you think I should do it, Dad? I mean, it's really scary, but...you always say that scary stuff is meant to be done, right? I just want to know it's not ridiculous. I mean, dressing up as a boy is ridiculous, right? It's not like I'm doing it for show. But I've done weirder things. I've stood on my head and sang opera for class, and that's pretty weird. I also walked through Union Square topless as part of someone's school project...and I ended up on NY1 for it...yeah, I remember you weren't so happy about that."
I folded my hands on the desk. "You always say to think about the real reasons I do stuff, Dad." And I paused, because since I was sitting at his desk, I could see all of Dad's study, including the one thing I can't see from anywhere else in the room. I sit at his desk when I need to talk to him because my city is behind me, and the one thing that ties us the most together hangs on the door, in font of me.
The poster's many, many years old. I found it in his closet one day; it had to have been some sort of souvenir thing from years past. I framed it and put it on the back of the door a long time ago. Dad wasn't cool with it at first, but he cried when I told him why I did it.
It was ours. It will always be ours. I'll never stop fighting for it.
"Why do I want to save Choi Minho so bad? Why is he so important? Is this just me being a fangirl? Or is this something more? Why am I willing to risk jail time and my reputation to speak with him again?" And I sat and I listened myself, listened to the sound of the air conditioning kick on, the horns honking and fire trucks speeding by outside, even the subway trains at 125th Street.
These days, my dad's rather quiet, but his city speaks for him. And even though he didn't say a word, I still had my answer.