K-Pop vs. K-Bot

Purple Lemonade and Chunky Chicken Ears

I have a problem. It is rather common. I am a rather common person. I wake up every morning for school, despite my sincere and heartfelt wishes to stay in bed and keep dreaming about my fav K-Pop group in the entire world. You know who they are...need I spell out their name?

So I wake up, wear my school uniform, make my way to school, pretend to study (instead I catch up on the latest K-Pop news), go back home, pretend to do my homework (instead I do some research on my fav K-Pop group), and then I pretend to sleep (instead I dream up ways to meet up with my idols accidentally and have them accidentally fall in love with me as in my dreams I'm the ideal girlfriend for all of them and we live happily ever after).

Don't get confused. K-Pop is not the problem I was talking about. K-Pop is amazing. It's the solution to the world's problems. It's peace and love and acceptance. It's the family you choose and the music that makes your soul cry, smile, laugh, and sigh all at the same time. I love it. It's my life-saver. Literally.

The problem is that I never finish what I start. It's really very strange. I would start a dancing class, give it my all for a few months, and then suddenly quit...for no apparent reason (not even I know why I quit!). I tried singing, art, wood-cutting, bird-talking, programming, cooking, chess, tea-making, fashion design, tennis, glass-blowing, and the latest was palm-reading.

I have failed to stick to these hobbies even though I liked them. My mom is saying my lack of ambition must have come from my dad's side of the family, as hers is filled with super successful doctors, lawyers, programmers, and various business owners. Here's how our conversations usually look like:

"Why don't you try joining the debate club? Your grandmother was the best in her school, the very best in her district, and she went on to become the best lawyer this town has ever seen, now a judge, a judge!" My mom, never sitting still, always moving, finding things to organize, straighten, rightening. Her fingers flutter quickly on the cupboards as she checks to ensure the line of rice is right next to the line of buckwheat and that "all her food soldiers are tidy and clean"...which means in the exact position she had put them in. Any deviation would result in taking everything out and reorganizing to ensure "everything is as it should be".

"I don't wanna." I am the least organized person in the entire world. I don't care where things are. I so don't care that I often forget where I placed my things. It's not a "misplacement issue", as mom likes to call it. It's an act of rebellion...that I do unintentionally because I'm a natural-born rebel.

"I think you should reconsider. In fact, I insist on it. Look what happened with the things you wanted to do. You never persist, never persist, and that's not a healthy thing." She frowned at a crooked bag of black beans. The more she tried to straighten the bag, the more crooked it became.

"I would rather eat sh...redded blue cheese with mold that looks like it predates the ice age than join the debate team." That was the honest truth of it. There was a valid reason as to why I refused, but I couldn't tell my mom. She wouldn't understand.

"We really ought to do something about this...unnecessary behavior of yours before it becomes a habit, or God-forbid a trait." She pointed a perfectly-manicured finger at the bag of black beans, and wagged and wagged and wagged, as if the poor thing would straighten up just because she said so. Some things were just naturally saggy. "Oh, what would we do if you get stuck in this cycle? However will you live your life? You'll be unemployed, living on the streets, having nothing and no one..."

Since like-attracts-like and natural talent recognizes natural talent, it makes a lot of sense that the only person in the whole world who appreciates my talent is my bestie, who happens to live at the apartment next door. So, whenever mom would start on with this conversation, I would text Ella, and she'd come right over and interrupt.

As always, she glided into the kitchen in full cheerleader apparel, bright smile on her face, and pom-poms in her palms. "Hello, Adopted Mother, I am home," she sing-songed and aimed her straight white teeth at my mom.

It worked like a charm. My mom instantly relaxed, her shoulder drooping slightly and her brows smoothed. "Hello, Heart Daughter, you are right in time to help me...oh what is this?"

"So sorry to interrupt," Ella dangled a box in front of my mom's face, obstructing her view. "My biological mom said to give you this box, you'll know what to do," she leaned in to whisper and then backed away, having delivered the package.

"Oh, look at this..." Mom was fascinated by the package content, her eyes bouncing between the poor black beans and the new box of goodies. It was a battle that lasted but a few moments. My mom gave the black beans one last frown, poked it back into line, closed the cupboard, and gave her full attention to the package.

Ella grabbed my hand and we quickly made our escape, up the stairs, past my mom's room, past my brother's room, past my sister's room. "You know, my mom says you must stay the way you are and never change, she loves you as you are."

I snorted. "She loves the opportunity to test her weird inventions on mom."

"Half true. She loves you AND she loves testing weird stuff on your mom. 'The toughest audience is the best for quality assurance'." She paused in the hallway next to my pet's room. "Is that thing sleeping?"

"Probably, that's all it does. What was it this time?"

"Hmm?" She was leaning at the door, trying to listen to signs of life. Never a good sign from that room. But that was Ella. She liked to live dangerously.

I prefer the safety and comfort of my room. "Don't say I didn't warn you..."

"Oh, it was Purple Lemonade and Chunky Chicken Ears".

I paused. That kind of ice cream flavor deserved a pause...at the very least. "I can't believe mom is going to taste that..."

"Yep. No one in my family is willing." And that was saying a lot, coming from a family of chefs. They ate possibly all there is to eat. Maybe that could explain the strange inventions. "Good thing there's your mom, our favorite test...oh...oh no."

"Great. You woke him up." Strange noises came out of the room. Gurgling, snorting, whinnying...name any strange noise, and it came out of that door.

Ella squeaked and dashed down the hallway, disappearing into my room. I glanced back, winced at the sound of fists pounding on the door, the pleas to be let out. I was just as afraid of Ella, even more so, but I couldn't ignore it, so I crouched down, slid the newest CD of my fav K-Pop band (it had cost a fortune and I had only one. I didn't want to give it away...it broke my heart...but those pleas were too much to ignore. So I kissed the CD goodbye and gave it away.)

"I told you not to do that." I jumped, startled by the sound of my mom's voice, right behind me, too close. "I am signing you up for the debate club, no discussion." And she left.

I started at my mom's figure as she walked down the stairs, her shoulders tense and resolute, and I knew I would not get away this time.

Ella owed me big. For the loss of the CD. And the loss of my sanity. The debate team in our school was like Vegas, except that what happened there didn't stay there. Everyone knew. Except my mom, apparently, who was the only in the dark.