A Blast From the Past

Taking an intermission from my relationship series to bring you pictures of yours truly, intertwined with some sensual stories. Once again, play the music for the full effect.

December 13th 1983. God decided to bless the world with none other than YOURS TRULY. That was a glorious day, a day when all the angels sang together in one chorus, joyfully and triumphantly rejoicing over the birth of His child. “It’s a boy!” The nurses gleefully proclaimed. But alas, not from a virgin wife. (Some of you guys probably vomited and gagged at this point).

I have decided to take you on the not so exciting journey of my pre-college life. Unfortunately, I have no nudie pictures of myself when I was a little boy, however I think I have a few gems that should illicit some laughter from the general audience. So enjoy the pictures, and the stories, but not too much.

That’s me, two years old on the right. No, not the one with the long hair. The one with the long hair is one of my close family friends, who from that moment on claimed me as her OWN! No seriously. One time, this girl thought it would be a brilliant idea (when she was three years old and I was two) to cut my hair. So she got scissors, and absolutely destroyed my hair. My parents were pissed.

A story from this point of my life:

One time, as I was being taught how to use the potty on my own (which I still have to relearn from time to time), I finally got promoted from the training toilet to the gigantic toilet. After a few essential lessons on how to properly wipe my butthole (which, unfortunately, does not apply when you have BDS), my parents decided to give me some opportunities to use the restroom on my own, without their supervision. Thinking that I would be safe without their constant guidance, they released me into the depths of the wild, and now being unfettered by their watchful eye, I began to take full advantage of my current situation. On one particular journey into the depths of the unknown, I was taking an awful long time in my expedition, so much so, that my mom began to get worried. Frightened, that perhaps I had drowned or something of that nature, my mom began to bang on the bathroom door, waiting for me to respond. Finally, after a short duration of time, out I came with chocolate stains all over my shirt and mouth, smiling, “Mommy! I found chocolate!” I was a brilliant kid.

I don’t know what in the world possessed my parents to dress me in such horrid attire. I think as most of you view this picture, many of you guys are thinking…”Omg, it all makes sense now!” Yes. Maybe it was from the excessive amounts of chocolate that I was consuming, but GOOD LORD. I never understood why I had no friends all throughout elementary…UNTIL I SAW THIS PICTURE. HOW COULD THEY LET ME WEAR THIS!!! Holy Crap! Mother of monkey! Please don’t think less of me…it wasn’t my fault!

A story from this point in my life:

That picture is from Disneyland, one of the first times that I consciously remember my trip there. During my trip to Disneyland, we went with one of my family’s old friends. There was a girl there, who in my young days, I developed a huge crush on. (I had a GIRLFRIEND in 2nd grade SUCKAHS…I think she wore nasty clothes, too). hahaha. So anyways, she was like my childhood “sweetheart” in a sense. Anyways, at the end of the day of my trip, it was getting cold so she put on her sweater, and it was a UCLA sweater. “Mommy, what’s UCLA,” I asked on my way home. “Oh! It’s a GREAT University, much better than that HORRID USC.” Two thoughts came to my mind at that moment. #1 I never want to go to USC. and #2 I want to go to UCLA!!! Ironically, that girl did end up at UCLA, but obviously we’re living two different lives, and don’t really interact much. But because of her, I came to UCLA.

An explanation for my road rage. Look at me! I was an angry driver at three years old! No wonder I drive with extensive amounts of road rage, wantonly cutting people off and yelling out Christian profanities (the not so profane ones) at old grandma and grandpa’s who shouldn’t be driving anymore. I am an angry korean man, driving a tiny korean kart, running over defenseless kids in my mad rage of korean anger! (hahaha).

Now I look like a freaking serial killer…Or Asian Mafia. Or some sort of wannabe gangster. I don’t know what I look like, but I swear, this little boy is CRAZY. Oh wait. That little boy is me.

Now if the previous picture didn’t intimidate and scare you, this picture should. I have PROFESSIONAL training in Tae Kwon Do. So much in fact, that in 3 months of intensive training, the sensei of my particular dojo saw such amazing talent in me that he promoted me all the way from white belt to white belt with yellow tips. PUSHA! Shortly afterwards, because I had excelled in skill beyond any of my peers, I decided that my reign in the Tae Kwon Do world must come to an end. And so I left. With a white belt and yellow stickers on each end.

Conquering the martial arts world, I then proceeded to another realm: the music world. Mozart, eat your heart out. Make room and make way, Samuel Kim’s in DA HOUSE. Unfortunately, I forgot how to play piano. I suck. *Sigh*

Sports was next on my list. With a rough and bumpy start at the beginning, and my parents dreaming that one day I grow up like Chan Ho Park, I knew that I would rise to stardom if I continued down the path of sports, and since I didn’t want to cause myself to stumble with things like pride, I decided to go the humble route and give up my baseball bat and pursue nobler things like being the CEO of a major fortune 500 company. Yes…I will battle pride by making lots and lots and lots of money.

Story from this point in my life:

I joined baseball one year before I took this picture. It was the first year that I would ever play baseball, and I would first join the “farm” league, which is the lower league of the two that I could have possibly joined. However, after a while of playing there, I got advanced into little league. During my first year at little league, I was horrible. I hardly hit the ball, couldn’t catch…I was a casualty on the field. So, (oh gosh, this is so sad for me to share this story), after the season’s end and before the next season began, I got TRADED FOR A GIRL! OH the shame!!! (No offense, ladies)  However, that season, I had a sensational season, batting over .300, getting a gold glove on the field, starting towards the end of the year, and all in all playing really well. The coach from the other team came up to me and said that he regretted trading me.  OH SWEET REDEMPTION!

My first dance in high school. Damn, I had a big forehead. I guess I still have the same forehead, eh? Dude, check out my PIMP shoes. Hahahahaha. My sister scolded me for being inconsiderate, and wearing such scrub clothes and nasty shoes. But COME ON! Look what my parents dressed me in! I had no sense of fashion whatsoever. Give me multi colored camouflaged clothes and I will thrive!!!

Caleb told me to mention and give a story about the girl who I’m with at homecoming. I used to like this girl so ridiculously much that it’s ridiculous. Hopefully she never stumbles upon this blog… No it was a long time ago…but honestly, if it were not for this girl, I’m not sure I would have come to Christ. I went to church, JUST FOR HER. And, subsequently, found Jesus. Sound familiar? (Half of the guys reading this blog nod a sad yes). That’s the way to start a megachurch. Hot Girls.

My wannabe Asian Gangster Period. Look at me all OG with a cross around my neck, and my KILLER bangs that were so sharp they would poke your eyes out. Quite sexy I must say. As Joyce Ku would put it, they were my “gonnabe” bangs.

My first halloween.

I love my sister. I love my family. I love my life. Thank you, God.

Steven Lee (The Pictureless Version)

Who actually wants to see pictures of Steve anyways? hahahhaha. (J/p)

Steve has some of the most disgusting and intriguing stories you will ever hear in your life. Stories of grown Korean men doing things that should NEVER be retold, or even rethought. And yet, Steve is the master rethinker, thinking up (and maybe even making up) stories so disturbing, that it’ll leave you absolutely appalled at the “Korean American” Christian Community. Oh, that is until he starts telling stories about himself. During those times, it’s awkward–you don’t know whether to laugh, or to cry. Poor Steve. He sympathesizes with the pain of many.

I love Steve. And I’m not just saying that to say that. Maybe it’s some weird Korean soul tie connection type thing, or the fact that we’re constantly surrounded by Chinese men, or maybe…(and this may be the most likely) it is that inner Korean Rage of violent disposition that ironically draws us both together (he’s cussed at me before). I don’t know what it is. But I’ve always felt comfortable around him, and more than anything, I love his heart. Steve, God has blessed you with a heart that is pure, beautiful, and I know that God is already and will continue to do wonderful things in there.

I remember when I first met Steve…ironically, it wasn’t even at PC. I was a youth pastor at a church in Fullerton, and he came to “promote” for Revivall at my church. It was such a hilarious encounter. I swear, I heard “Pastor Sam” come out of his mouth at least 100 times during the meeting. “Pastor Sam, I really think we should support this…yadi yadi yadi…Pastor Sam, Pastor Sam…” And now I’ve been demoted to just “Sam”. *Sigh*. hahahaha. Even then though, Steve desired so much to see revival. It was a cute gesture.

A second memory that I have of Steve was one day when I walked into the living room and saw him playing Mario Tennis on the gamecube. Playing Mario Tennis, Steve looked at me with that Korean “challenge” of “I can kick your (insert bad word here)”. Nonchalantly, I approached the controller, not knowing really what to expect. “Sam, I just want to warn you, I am a Mario Tennis expert”. *Shrug*. Maybe, you are. But let’s play anyway. And so the game begins. And although I won’t go into detail about what happened let’s just say that he only scored 2 points on me and lost horribly. hahahaha. Ever since then our relationship has always been one of jest filled competition.

I share that story to #1 embarrass the hell out of Steve and #2 to tell you something Steve. Your worth is not measured by what you can do, and you have nothing to prove. I know you are a capable man, we all know that. You are talented, intelligent, and some day you are going to find a woman to not only love, but who loves you. You have potential far more than you can ever imagine, and God’s going to utilize you in ways that you never thought He would. Steve. Really. You are quite a man.

You have grown so much in these past few months since you started coming to UCLA. I have literally seen that growth, and it is so encouraging. I know that right now things are a little bit uncertain, and I know it’s tough to feel like you’re disconnected from this side of the world, but bro, no distance will ever change the times we’ve shared and the fact that we’re family. You are much loved…and although you’re a ***** wannabe (hahahahaha), we think you’re an awesome man, and appreciate all that you represent.

Take care Steve. Long Beach for Jesus. Oh. And I win. Caleb spent three days on his post. I spent a whole 15 minutes.