Crazytown

COOKING KOREAN FOOD WITHOUT A NET

Making Korean food by myself. No recipes. Just memories.
By Kathleen Choe (actor/singer/writer)

Chapter 1: Bulgalbi

When I was a junior in college, I moved into an apartment with an amazing kitchen that inspired me to cook. A craving for kimchi chigae came

Mmm. This stuff.

and my roommates enthusiastically agreed to have some (since there was no way I could eat the whole pot by myself). Having watched my parents make it, I felt confident I knew how to do it on my own.

Cut to me on the phone wailing to my Dad that despite me having simmered the chigae for an hour and the pork belly in it falling apart, my kimchi wasn’t getting soft.

“Did you fry the kimchi in sesame oil first?” my father asked patiently.  “You have to do that first. If you didn’t, put some in the chigae now. Then it’ll get soft. Put it in now and simmer for five...no, ten minutes. Also, your roommates don’t mind the smell?”

“They love it,” I replied frantically, grabbing the sesame oil and putting it in the stew. Ten minutes later as promised the kimchi softened, and the spicy stew goodness was spooned into bowls and fed to me and my hungry roommates.

Ah. Perfection.

Years later I’m now on my umpteenth apartment with no roommates, making dinner for my friend Terri for a girl’s night catch up. Nothing very fancy or what people usually order in a restaurant—no chapjae or bibimbap (which for the record, is a pain in the ass to make) to be seen here--just a stock of old home favorites.

OK, so I lied. I’m also making bulgalbi. But it’s a “family coming over” dinner, so that’s allowed. There has to be some kind of meat on the table, otherwise it’s just an everyday family dinner.

Bulgalbl.

The Korean market near where I live charges Manhattan prices for beef, so like a good New Yorker shopping for the best deal I head over a few blocks to the Chinese market after picking up what I need from the Korean one. The man behind the butcher counter looks at me expectantly.

“Two pounds of short ribs.”

He grabs two large racks of beef.

“Two pounds! Not two racks.”

He asks me a question in Cantonese. I blink at him blankly. His partner behind the counter comes over and takes one of the racks out of his hands, laughing.

“Square cut?” the second butcher says to me.

I shake my head, but I smile. He's guessed I'm Korean. “Sliced ¼”, please.”

I take it home and wash the beef, put it in a large metal bowl, then start following my parents' instructions in my head.

No recipe. Just memories.

Soy sauce…check. Black pepper…check. Sesame oil…check. Scallions…check.

Garlic…here the voices diverge.

Mom: Just add a little.

Dad: Ugh! NO! No garlic.

I love garlic, so I chop up four cloves and throw them in. I can hear my father’s grumbles over this addition and my mother’s cackles at having won.

Sugar.

Dad: Sprinkle it over the meat, like this. Like snow! An inch of snow.

I stare at the sugar. The health-conscious part of my brain rebels. Oh, hell no. That’s wayyyyy too much.

I add a quarter-inch, then start massaging it all together with my hands. I taste it. It doesn’t taste like theirs. OK, a little more soy sauce. A llllliiiiiiiitlllle more sugar.  I taste it again. Getting closer, but I can’t bring myself to add more.

I realize also that this is the first time I’m making this without an older family member hanging over my shoulder making adjustments.

I text my sister.

Me: I’m making kalbi and realizing just how much ganjang (soy sauce) and sugar Dad uses. Jesus. This is why so many Korean people have high blood pressure.

Sissy: An inch of snow!

I laugh, and add a little more sugar and soy sauce, and massage it in the beef. I consider adding a kiwi—my mother’s trick to making it nice and tender—but decide against it. Also, if I leave it in the marinade too long the beef will turn to mush, and it’ll be twelve hours before any of this goes into the oven.

I wrap the bowl with plastic wrap and place it in the fridge. The next day I take it out, heat up the oven and place the meat inside. 15 minutes in, and my apartment starts smelling delicious. I open the oven and flip the meat, and aroma of the beef mixed with the steaming rice coming from the rice cooker makes me smile.

Memories.

One of my family holiday dinners.
This is why I have no idea how to cook for two people.

Terri arrives and I pull out the bulgalbi, placing it on a plate and cutting it into pieces with scissors, leaving the bones in. We make room for it by rearranging dishes on the table.

Yup.
No idea how to cook for two.

Terri eyes the plate of bones-in bulgalbi. “How do we eat them?”, she asks.

“We’re all family here,” I say. I pick up a piece of bulgalbi with my fingers and bite.

My heart sinks. It doesn’t taste like theirs. There’s something missing. The flavors are the same, but overall it’s not as pungent. More soy sauce? More sugar?

An inch of snow.

I’m embarrassed.

Terri’s takes a bite too, and a huge grin comes over her face. “Soooo good!”

Mangia!

She reaches for another piece. Bit by bit we polish off this dinner, and my friends who drop by later for the dessert portion of the evening finish off the rest of the bulgalbi.

My Dad is happy when he makes a meal and all the plates at the end of the meal are empty. The plate of bulgalbi that I made is empty, inch of snow notwithstanding. So there’s that.

I notice the next day too that I’m not as bloated as I usually am after eating a big Korean dinner. So there’s that, too.

Maybe there’s something to be said for modifying family recipes and making them more health conscious. My family has a history of high blood pressure. I’m firmly determined to break that.

An inch of snow.

Wonder what my parents would say if I used Stevia instead…

 

Next week: The Kimchi Pancake Adventure.

KATHLEEN CHOE is a NYC based actor, singer, and writer. www.www.kathleen-choe.com
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WHEN THE BAD BOYFRIEND DOES GOOD

AKA I fell in love with theatre again this weekend.
By Kathleen Choe (actor/singer/writer)

Amy Poehler said to treat your career “like a bad boyfriend” and that “…it is healthy to remember you can always leave and go sleep with someone else.”

I feel the theatre has been a “bad boyfriend” as of late. I love it and I always will, but it’s been on the outs with me: the lack of diversity in the stories being told, lack of diversity in casting, the unwillingness to pay actors a living wage, the defensiveness of members of the community when any of this gets called out. When I tried to talk to it, it refused to listen and shut down all the arguments, smiling and repeating over and over, “But it’s getting better.”

So Iike a bad boyfriend I pushed it to the side, loving it but needing space. Until last Friday when it asked me away for a long weekend.

Last Friday, I went up to the Geva Theatre Center to work on a devised piece based on the idea of the American Dream—what it is, what it has become, if it still exists. For four days, I got to be in a room with nine other very talented people:

Got to be in a room that looked like this.
Missing: our awesome Stage Manager, Becca Poccia.

...to hash out and exchange thoughts over this idea to create something completely new. At the end of the process we put up what we had devised in front of an audience to hear and exchange ideas with them.

To add icing on top of this very delicious cake, I even got paid to do it.

And what d’ya know? I fell in love with the theatre again.  I remembered what excited me about theatre in the first place. Collaboration. Conversation. To be sure those two are not always comfortable when put together, but when they combine something beautiful almost always emerges: possibility.

How to devise a play in four days = Good people + coffee + laughter 

Theater is not just feel-good bedtime stories for rich people, it’s not just where you go for the experience of being part of a standing ovation in the audience at the end. Watching a fellow human being in front of you and seeing their story unfold has a power that can open perceptions, and as a wise man once said, with great power comes great responsibility.

To entertain is only an iota of what the theatre can do, and yet these days it seems that’s mostly what the theatre is being used for.

To engage an audience with a diverse cast and different stories is possible, yet the struggle to see diverse casts or hear different stories goes on.

To pay artists for to what they love—create—is possible, and yet the resistance against doing so persists.

So, bad boyfriend. You reminded why you’ve made me happy in the past, of your potential, of what you’re capable of when you pause, and stop, and listen. That you have the ability and capacity to treat me and my fellow artists well.

Thank you for that.

Let’s see what else you’ve got.

 

KATHLEEN CHOE is a NYC based actor, singer, and writer. www.www.kathleen-choe.com
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WHAT I KNOW

...and what I don't.
by Kathleen Choe (actor/singer/writer)

I know that it’s been hard to write this blog lately. I know that these days I’ve been putting it off until the last minute, wondering if anything I have to say is of any value in days like these. That my thoughts have been in a constant jumble.

I know that I’m heading up to Rochester, NY today to work on a devised theatre piece based on the concept of the American Dream. I know that I’m going to be working with some very talented people. I know that I’m going to see a very dear friend of mine when I’m up there. I know that 10 inches of snow yesterday got dumped in NYC and that “there is no real snow upstate” (direct quote from said friend who lives upstate). The irony of that makes me chuckle.

I know that making theater makes me happy. That acting and creating always does.

Existential Detective.
Don't ask (super-fun, though).

I know that these days, the state of the world weighs heavy on my mind. That hearing opinions and actions based in ignorance and fear, or people sharing “news” or information without first checking what the sources are makes me want to scream. I know the last is because it's consistent with their view of the world, but these days it’s too dangerous to share information without checking out where it came from first. As a journalist friend of mine said, “I'm always bitching for people to 'get to the second thought' of questioning an idea. If we don't take the extra minute to research or think something through, we're all dead.”

For God’s sake, stop and get to the second thought. For God’s sake, STOP and THINK.

I know that these days my patience is thin for people making the same mistakes over and over…and that includes myself.

I know learning is not always linear.

I know that “I Am Not Your Negro” is one of the best movies I’ve seen in a very, very long time. That what James Baldwin said 30 years ago still applies today. I know that I wish everyone could see it, that I hope it’ll make light bulbs go off in heads all over the world, inspiring them to take action.

 

I wish and hope that it will.

I know that when they played the theme to Star Wars on WQXR on Wednesday in honor of John Williams’ 85^th Birthday I almost cried at work. Because that theme song and that movie always reminds me of everything I loved in my childhood, and right now I’d do anything to feel that pure, simple, love for something, rather than these days when joy seems to be so fleeting. Yesterday while trudging through the snow I had to stop for a minute and laugh. Why? Because snow was falling in my eyes and sticking in my hair, and all that kept running through my head was, “Echo 3 to Echo 7. Han old buddy, do you read me?”

NYC or Hoth?

I know that I’m a nerd. I wear that label proudly and apologize for nothing.

I know that these words of James Baldwin sum up what I know better than I can right now: “I can't be a pessimist because I'm alive. To be a pessimist means that you have agreed that human life is an academic matter, so I'm forced to be an optimist. I'm forced to believe that we can survive whatever we must survive.”

I know that if we want to see a better world, we fight, live our lives, and go on.

 

KATHLEEN CHOE is a NYC based actor, singer, and writer. www.www.kathleen-choe.com
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GO TO THE MATTRESSES. LEAVE THE GUN. TAKE THE CANNOLI.

AKA Resist.
by Kathleen Choe (actor/singer/writer)

It’s now a week after the March on Washington, and with all the events that happened right after I’m trying to think of something inspirational to say based on my experience.

An amazing, inspiring day.

 

Something based on or a quote Bréne Brown, Gandhi, Confucius, anyone who has taught wisdom and compassion and strength and articulated it in a beautiful, compassionate way.

Instead, my mind keeps swinging towards the The Godfather.  

Don Vito Corleone.

What's the matter with you? Is this what you've become, a Hollywood finocchio who cries like a woman? "Oh, what do I do? What do I do?" What is that nonsense? Ridiculous!

You look terrible. I want you to eat, I want you to rest well. And a month from now this Hollywood big shot's gonna give you what you want.

Leave the gun. Take the cannoli.

If not, it's all-out war, we go to the mattresses.

So, what does it mean that my mind is swinging to a movie mired in violence as opposed to the compassionate leaders who have inspired and continue to inspire me in the past? I don’t really know. God knows I don’t want any of this fight against what’s happening to erupt in violence. There’s been too much of it propagated by The Orange Loon and his minions already.

Maybe I’m weary of seeing people wringing their hands over what’s going on, and would rather see people post about what they’re going to do. I’d rather see and hear about what people are doing to resist, instead of just hearing that we’re screwed and the world is going to end.

I get it. Some of us don’t know what to do--myself included--but I’m trying. I pick up and call my senators and congressmen in lieu of just signing email petitions. I’m going to a Showing Up for Racial Justice meeting in my neighborhood, though going somewhere where I know no one is not something I particularly relish.

Go to the mattresses.

Debating and canvassing is not something I’m good at…I’m trying to find ways to help in the ways that I am.

Leave the gun.

And while I’m doing that—showing up, speaking up, speaking out--I’m remembering to step back on occasion. To keep drinking wine and eating good food and spending time with the people I love, because that’s important too.

Why I March. Why I Fight.

Take the cannoli. 

Maybe I’m hoping for someone to emerge who is Don Corleone-esque to lead and inspire (sans the violence). Cunning, charismatic, and very, very clever. But until she or he emerges, there’s just us. So what can we do?

Resist.

Resist.

KATHLEEN CHOE is a NYC based actor, singer, and writer. www.www.kathleen-choe.com
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STOP TELLING ME TO BE CAREFUL

Most people are. That’s part of the reason we're in this mess.
by Kathleen Choe (actor/singer/writer)

 

After work today my friend and I are picking up our rental car, grabbing dinner, and making our way down to DC for the Women’s March on Washington.

January 21st, 2017

It’s been interesting hearing other people’s reactions when I’ve said I’m heading down there. There’s people who say, “Awesome! Raise your voice. Give them hell.” There are my parents--my mother, who was quiet, and my father who I don’t think knows I’m going which is fine…my mother doesn’t want to worry him and I don’t want a lecture. There’s my sister, who’s worried because even though she knows I’ve been to protests before, it’s The Dawn of the Orange Loon.

 

Many thanks to Create & Plate for providing me
and another marchers with free snack bags.

 

There’s another handful of people who are telling me over and over to “be careful”. It’s this last one that triggers irritation in me.

“Be careful.”  The implication being that I’m going to be careless.

The implication that if something happens to me when I raise my voice, it's my fault.

I get that I’m lucky to have people care about me and don't want to see me hurt, but this isn’t my first protest. I’ve been to many and I’m always careful. I don’t hang around people who mouth off to law enforcement who are merely doing their jobs. I don’t go because I want to post selfies to prove that I was there and a part of history. I don’t go with intention of inciting violence.

I go because I have to show up. I go because my lone voice alone might be small, but in a sea of people standing together it’s roar that can’t be ignored. The decibel level of that roar can only be as loud as the number of people participating.

Most of the people—again, who I’m lucky to have care about me--who are telling me over and over to “be careful”, sending me every article about groups who are planning to infiltrate the march to incite violence--in short, the people who are screaming the loudest about how dangerous the march might be--have never been to one.

I get that everyone has their comfort zone that they don’t want to breach, but being comfortable with fear of confrontation is part of what got us here in the first place. The acceptance that it’s OK to be silent when someone does something wrong has spawned a generation of people who refuse to speak up because “they hate confrontation”.

I’ve got news for you—most people do. Myself included.

Confronting someone doesn’t mean getting up and screaming in someone’s face. Confronting someone can be as simple as showing up and calmly calling them on their shit.

That’s why I’m marching. Don’t think it’ll make a difference? Don’t know what good it’ll do? The alternative is to be silent and careful and do nothing.

So please, take it as a given that I'm going to be careful. Take it as a given I've done this before. Take it as a given that I will be peaceful and show up and rally, show respect to the law enforcement and organizers as I make my voice heard.

Take it as a given that I'm not looking for trouble, but if trouble finds me that it will not my fault. I will deal with it then.

Take it as a given it's important to me that I be there. That it’s important that everyone who is coming to be there, whether in DC or in any of the other cities which are holding sister marches across the country.

Take all those givens. Then tell me, "Go. Raise your voice. Give them hell.”

Just don't tell me to be careful.

KATHLEEN CHOE is a NYC based actor, singer, and writer. www.www.kathleen-choe.com
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2016: LET HIM DIE

As the poet once wrote.
by Kathleen Choe (actor/singer/writer)

I’ve got nothing.

Nothing except this stanza of the Tennyson poem  In Memoriam in my mind:

Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,    
The flying cloud, the frosty light:    
The year is dying in the night;
Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.

I think of this poem every year as the old year ends, but it’s usually the second stanza that sticks in my mind:

Ring out the old, ring in the new,
Ring, happy bells, across the snow
The year is going, let him go;
Ring out the false, ring in the true.

Let him go. Those words are a lot more peaceful than let him die, but that's all I can think of.

2016. DIE. Leave. Never come back.

There have been good things that have happened this year. I have a home, a home I love that I come back to every day that’s mine. I’ve settled into a neighborhood I love in a city I love. My family is healthy.

But there’s also loss that has happened as well. Loss of patience. Loss of childhood heroes. Loss of optimism.

The first and last I'm trying doing my best to hold onto. The second one I have no control over. Death--however sad--is a part of life. To lose childhood icons means to lose a living reminder of who I used to be, a marker of who I've become since.

I have no pictures to post, nothing to make this blog super-catchy or interesting or SEO worthy or viral or whatever else there is, just thought; and the one thought I have right now is that my hope going into a new year could always be characterized as steady and strong, and right now it’s a fragile thread.

Fragile thread vs. steady and strong. What does that mean, going into 2017? Will a fragile thread grow strong?

I wish I knew.

2017, I welcome you, but I do it with a warm, cautious smile. I do it with one hand behind me, holding a sharp instrument or a blunt object.

I pray that I will not have to use either.

But I’m ready to use both.

KATHLEEN CHOE is a NYC based actor, singer, and writer. www.www.kathleen-choe.com
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THE GASPS FOR HOPE IN 2016

Looking for glimpses of light as 2016 ends.
by Kathleen Choe (actor/singer/writer)

Honestly I’m just waiting for 2016 to end, though I’ve got trepidations about what’s to come in 2017. I won’t talk about why; anyone watching the news or who hasn’t been living under a rock can guess. I’m exhausted talking about the state of the world and the country, and right now I can only see what’s in front of me…namely, heading out of town to visit family for the holidays.

I’m realizing more than ever about how important it is to hold onto hope. Finding it as 2016 comes to a close has been hard, but not impossible. A company I love, Rising Circle Theater Collective, had an event for women artists of color to come together and share their stories. In a burst of courage I readily said “yes” when my friend Nancy asked me to read one of my Crazytown blog posts out loud (and nearly chickened out when the hour of the event approached).

I showed up!
The proof is in the photo booth.

The night was full of laughter and determination...and hope. For the people who didn’t bring work to share, Nancy had put questions into a hat for them to pull out and answer. One of the questions was this:

photo credit: Chelsea Harrison

Actor, writer, and educator Chelsea Harrison pulled that thought-provoker out of the hat, then proceeded to give an amazing and eloquent explanation. 

Women--in particular women of color--always show up when there’s something that needs to be done. Always. This election was the last gasp of the white patriarchy. “We know we have work to do, we know it will be hard, but we also know that The Future is Female.”

The future.

Hope. I cling to it. I have to. The alternative is to stay still and let the world become a place I don’t want it to be.

I will take it any way I can, and fight for it every way I can, and if what I fight for doesn’t come to pass, I’ll know I didn’t stay silent. And I’ll pick myself up and start again.

Hope. The future.

Here’s to that.

Merry Christmas, all.

KATHLEEN CHOE is a NYC based actor, singer, and writer. www.www.kathleen-choe.com
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CONNECT, G*D@##!T

Follwing the advice of the (annoying) higher self.
By Kathleen Choe (actor/singer/writer)

I'm sitting in my apartment after a day of working from home on my computer, spending my breaks reading awful news headline (cabinet appointments) after awful news headline (Walter Scott, Ohio...). I look at the clock. 3:53pm.

I signed with my agents a few months ago. I love them. It’s almost time for their holiday party. I feel dejected and gross and the last thing I want to do is make small talk with people I don't know.

Connect, goddamit.

I text two of my friends. Ugh. Not in the mood to make small talk with strangers. Just want to stay home and stay in my comfy schlubby clothes watch Netflix.

Show up, they say. It will be fun. You don’t have to stay long. Watch Netflix when you get home.

Oddly, saying (or texting) my social anxiety makes me feel better. I remember that I had emailed another one of my friends to see if she was going—also signed with the same agents—and she said yes, so I know there will be at least one friendly face. And wine.

Connect, goddammit.

I pick out some funky earrings, some makeup, look in the mirror and feel better. Also, skinny jeans still fit after Thanksgiving (woot).

Presentable. Yay.

En route I buy some gloves and a hat at Duane Reade because my agents are collecting clothing items at their holiday party to donate to charity, because they’re cool like that.

I show up. It’s packed. When I walk in my agents greet me warmly and point me in the direction of the bar. I get a glass of red and look around for my friend and realize she hasn’t arrived yet.

I busily fill a plate with hors d’oeuvres and take a gulp of wine. The “gah-awkward-dork-in-the-corner” pit takes root in my stomach. I stuff a shrimp (or two) in my mouth, sip (gulp) some wine, and decide that I’ll stick around for thirty minutes, then exit.

Connect, goddammit.

I scowl. Shut up, I tell the inner voice.

Then I see an old classmate. I smile. I know from Facebook she’s gotten her MFA in Acting and has been working steadily since then, but actual live conversation hasn’t happened for...wow. A few years.

She: How have you been?
Me: Honestly? Still trying to get over this election.
She: (grimaces) Same. (lifts glass) To Nasty Women.

We drink. We laugh. She introduces me to her friend who she’s come with, and they tell me about the show they were in, and life, and I relax.

Wow. I’m enjoying myself.

Connect, goddammit.

Her friend has just sampled some of the booze-laden cake which he encourages me to try, but I never make it to the table to get a piece because my friend shows up with another friend of ours and the booze-laden cake can wait. Yet another mutual friend shows up and we all chat together. I make my way over to the bathroom, and run into someone who works in the office, who introduces me to another person in the office and some other people he’s talking to…fellow actors, writers, artists. We all talk, and laugh, and talk.

Connect, goddammit.

My friends come to say goodbye and I swerve on my feet and realize that I should probably head out too. 30 minutes has turned into 2+ hours, but I’m in a much better frame of mind than when I walked in.

When I’m down, my usual MO is to isolate and disappear. I didn’t this time. I’m glad. As angry as I've been about the state of our country and as worried as I am about the future, on top of everything else that comes with being an artist in this city…this. People. Being around and engaging with your fellow human beings, community. It never fails to remind you of what’s important.

Pretty Cool People.
(And some random finger photobombing)

Connect. OK.

Happy Holiday Season, y’all.

KATHLEEN CHOE is a NYC based actor, singer, and writer. www.www.kathleen-choe.com
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WHEN THE UNIVERSE IS BEING A M@#$%*!^ING JERK

What do you do to stay friends?
By Kathleen Choe (actor/singer/writer)

I once had a conversation with someone who said, “The universe is an inherently flawed place run by idiots.  And they are my bitch.  And they should be your bitch too.”

I disagreed with him. I like to think of the universe as my friend. Like all friends, it’s not perfect and can occasionally be a jerk, or a prolapsed rectum (or in layman’s terms, an asshole). Yes, it is inherently flawed, and yes, there are some idiots in charge, but until someone finds a way into an alternate dimensional plane:

McCoy thought the goatee gave him character,
but other than that, the mirror universe?
Not such a great place to be.
 

Which honestly, might not be so great:

Two words: Upside Down.
 

We’re stuck being here.

And the universe has been a Jerk these past few weeks. A Real Class-A Gigantic Ass-faced Jerk.  And I’m furious at it.

And I have two choices.

1. Make the world my bitch. Demean it, scream at it, smack it down until I hurt it as badly as it’s hurt me. Laugh at it when I get my points in. Hit back twice as hard when it tries to take advantage of me. Live in a constant state of battle-mode and anxiety and anger at how unfair things are and let that exhaust me, until the universe is that way that it should be. 

I know it’s exhausting because I’ve done it. I still do sometimes. That’s fine because I’m human.

or

2. Know that it’s being a jerk right now. Acknowledge that I’m angry with it. Call it out on every occasion when it is being a jerk, not backing down when it gloats, not staying silent when it says or does something nonsensical.

 Keep speaking up, even when it tries to shout over me. Keep showing up.

Take care of myself and surround myself with people who are also trying a way to deal with it being an asshole. Help guide it to being the place that we want it to be. 

Choice two is harder. Choice two will not always win. Choice two can also be exhausting.

But Choice Two allows for two things: hope and happiness.

So, Universe. You’ve decided to be a Jerk right now. That’s unfortunate. But I’m not going anywhere, and there are a lot of other people like me. And you’re going to have to deal with us until you come out of whatever dark hole you seemed to have crawled into.

We’ll be waiting with open arms.

KATHLEEN CHOE is a NYC based actor, singer, and writer. www.www.kathleen-choe.com
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GRATITUDE - ARE YOU EFFING KIDDING ME?

No, I’m not. And I'll tell you why.
by Kathleen Choe (actor/singer/writer)

Practicing gratitude in times like these is tough. In the past, being told to “be grateful”--especially when the world knocked me down--has had way too many negative connotations for me. First off, it was usually uttered by someone speaking from a place of privilege, making me feel dismissed. Second, it was attached to disappointment, not being good enough, and being told that I was a horrible person for not being able to get past whatever it was that had happened.

I’ve come to realize that it isn’t true.  Gratitude doesn’t mean you accept things that you don’t like. Gratitude is just a way to take stock of what is working. What is good.

Gratitude doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to be upset about the stuff that's bothering you or be complacent with whatever situation you might be in.  It does allow you to be happy in spite of all of that.

And so, what I am grateful for this Thanksgiving holiday:

1. That I live in a country where vocal, active dissent is a right. My great-grandfather was thrown into prison for organizing dissent against the Japanese during their occupation of Korea. He died shortly thereafter. What’s happening in our country right now--albeit painful, maddening, and frustrating--is freedom. So I’m grateful for that. I’m grateful for freedom.

Don't like it? Speak up. Speak out.

2. My family. Though it might not always be a source of great understanding (Why don’t you have stable job? Why aren’t you married?), it has always been a source of unconditional great love, laughter, and inspiration.

3. My friends, or rather, the family I chose where there is great understanding, as well as great love, laughter, and inspiration.

        
My family. Most of them. Both of them.

4. My health, and those of the people I Iove. Health scares for myself and my loved ones have been very real for the past few years. For now, all is well.

5. My home. I was born in one of the most amazing cities in the world, and right now live in one of its most diverse boroughs. I have friends in my building and in my neighborhood that I can borrow a cup of sugar from or stop by for a glass of wine. I have a warm, safe place to sleep at night that’s mine. I’m very grateful for that.

6. That I know what I love to do: Act. Create. Though the business side of it can suck my soul at times, there’s no way to fully explain the joy of doing it and going after it with everything I have.

7. That there are masters of creation who keep creating, inspiring me to do the same.

Miyazaki. Creating worlds since 1963 and still going.
Never stop, please.

8. Running water (there's a reason I don't like camping).

9. Electricity (see above).

10. That the abundance of food is a problem for me, instead of a dream.

                      
          Black and White milkshake, courtesy of Joe's Steaks + Soda Shop in Philadelphia, PA.
                           Many extra gym sessions were required in burning this off.
                     A problem that is good to have.

KATHLEEN CHOE is a NYC based actor, singer, and writer. www.www.kathleen-choe.com
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