In which Christina Fishburne goes from zero to hero

For those of you who care (Mom):

Yes. I remain happily obsessed with Korean Drama.

Yes. I realize it’s very formulaic.

No. I don’t care.

Yes. I think the character development is brilliant and contains a depth and intense restrained truth severely lacking in American TV.

Yes. Battlestar Galactica is still amazing.

No. I could not choose between BSG and The Great Doctor/Faith.

Why do I love these stories so much?! Obviously, the men are not difficult for me to look at.  There’s that.  The formula seems to go something like: poor but spunky girl encounters rich and handsome jerk.  Both are initially irritated/enraged by each other. Guy comes to respect scrappy girl and falls for her.  Violence, tragedy, heartbreak, betrayal and/or soul switching (I know, right?!), and emotional confusion ensues. Girl realizes she loves guy. More complications arise which actually only serve in drawing guy and girl closer together. There will be one or two satisfying ass-kickings of a bad guy. Occasionally a character I love will die.  And I will spend 30% of every show in tears.  The men start off as jerks, but valiant jerks, and will grow and change into complex and downright moving human beings.  The women begin as often flighty, overdramatic, weaklings, but surprise me every time with their unyielding capacity for bravery and I follow their emotional journey as if it were my own.  Their problems come across as $$$, but really their problems are everyone’s problems– how to love, who to love, what is important in life, and how willing are they to fight for what’s right.  These questions will always strike a chord with me.

I’ve watched my parents stand for years for what is right, and at personal cost. One of my brothers and my husband have both risked their lives for ideals they believe in. My other brother struck out away from the standard course and now lives in NYC composing music and never missing the opportunity to fill his soul with intellectual questions and answers. My friend in Ukraine is experiencing the cost and worth of freedom itself. Another friend is finally able to devote his time to his writing after years of trying to make it work according to “the rules.” What is important? How willing are you to stand and fight for what’s right?

Well, as long as it involves neither public speaking nor physical discomfort of any kind, I’ll do anything!  “Fighting!”

I hate responsibility.  I abhor being the center of attention.  I get nervous and panicky when opening presents or cards in front of those who’ve given them to me.  I can dole out justice when it’s my kids involved, but other than a stern shaking of my head or a “tsk” to myself, I’m a big believer in “Let someone more qualified handle this.”  And I don’t like pain.  Who does?

So yesterday when I woke up at 6am with my head being crushed ala Sherlock/Kahn, I was less than pleased.  I’ve never had a migraine before, but I can only assume that’s what was going on.  Six in the morning until 3 in the afternoon, I stayed in bed praying for the drugs to work, falling asleep, waking up, praying for the drugs to work, etc. It was awful. But thankfully, I’m well today.

Which is good, because today has been very eventful for me.  In the traffic on the way to pick up Malcolm from school, I was rear-ended–the last in a line of 4 unfortunates.  There was no damage to the minivan, minimal to the Lexus owned by two affluent elderly people who hit me, but the Civic, piloted by an obviously less affluent couple, was crushed between the Lexus and the Corolla behind it.  Now, the female of the crushed vehicle was very upset and using colorful actions and language to express such.  The affluent gentleman very calmly informed me, “She must be high or something.”

Or she’s just wrecked the only means she has to get to and from her job that she has to work long hours in order to make ends meet and won’t be able to afford fixing it completely plus is going to be late to and possibly fired from said job cuz now she has to wait untold hours on the side of the H1 for the police to get here for the report…but whatevs, elderly wealthy man.  I asked if they (affluent couple) had called the police yet.  No, they think they (wrecked couple) were on the phone just now.  I go over to them, she’s calmed down and just crying quietly now, he is sitting down silent.  Can’t get a clear answer for a while, but no they think the other lady has called.  I go to her–all she can tell me is that she doesn’t know how she crashed into them.  Soooo, nobody has called the police yet?  Oh, God am I going to have to do it?  I make one last pass at everyone to see if anyone is going to call.  Nope.  For cryin out loud.  So I called the police.  Check it out! I’M the proactive responsible one! I felt very grown up.

Picked Mal up from school and drove down the side street back down to the highway merging point.  In the rearview mirror I see a big guy grab a girl around the shoulders and chest from behind.  I think, boyfriend? Hm. She looks like she’s struggling.  Um. She just bit his arm. But, surely, she must know him? Joke?  She’s walking away.  He’s following.  Grabs her again.  She’s not screaming, wouldn’t she be screaming if she were in trouble?  This is broad daylight.  Do men attack women in broad daylight with people on the street?  Why isn’t any…one…doing…anything…? But I’m just an ineffectual housewife in a minivan with my kids.  It isn’t safe to involve myself. She’s on the ground in a ball. He’s picking her back up. She’s trying to get away again. Two teenagers just walked by them.  Now I’m mad.  Quick scan: I’m at the alley intersection, no one behind me I can put the car in park, line of dense traffic in front–if he comes at ME I’ll definitely scream and these people will all be witnesses (though clearly, no guarantees that anyone will DO anything), 911 is the last call in my phone so that will make it faster–OK.  Channelling my inner Gil Ra Im…

I get out of the minivan and, in my very best Pissed Off Mom Voice, scream: “HEY!”

Holy crap, he’s turning and walking away from her!  To her I say, “Do you need help?” She shakes her head no. “Are you sure?” Shakes her head again and mouths “thank you.” She speedily walks away.  He is already gone.

I get back in the van, a little shaky my own self, and wave a “thank you” to the person who lets me merge into the line of traffic.  I have to say, I felt pretty good. Jan Di would approve.  And if this were a K Drama, there’d definitely be some sort of correlation between my pre migraine milk-toast-demeanor and my post migraine protector-of-the-innocent self.




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