Time flows by in the blink of an eye. I heard this line often from my parents growing up. Yet, never before had I felt its commanding truth this strongly until now. It has been nearly four months since I wrote anything substantial for myself. Time passed like a dream. Somewhere between four months ago and now, I found myself in love and swamped with school work. And while my circumstances have not changed, at the very least, I wish to take a little time to write and digest the events of my life. I feel rather lost without it.
The course of my life seemed to have taken an abrupt turn when I rededicated myself to school work. I wanted to care about it, because everyone else cared about it. And to be honest, I really did care about it. In the face of many of my friends talking about marriage, or actually getting married, I found (and still find) myself wondering about my future. Particularly, I tried to imagine myself as a husband and a father.
Upon doing so, I discovered that the lifestyle I lived in the world my imagination conjured differed greatly with the lifestyle I lived then. In my imaginary future, I was a responsible husband who had a good income and could provide for the whims of my family, while I still retained some of my positive nature. However, four months ago, I was rather irresponsible and I lived mostly for myself. Writing was my hobby, as well as my life goal.
When confronted with this discrepancy, I decided that I needed to refocus on school. I wanted to be able to provide for a family, and doing so by writing felt like a risky venture. I neither believed in my writing abilities nor had courage enough to pursue such a course. Thus, throwing myself into school, I became so very busy. Falling in love further reinforced my thoughts on this matter. Feeling the full effects of being in love, I understood that in the future, when I had a family, I could not gamble with their happiness. In short, I needed a good job to provide the people I loved with the freedom to be happy.
Yet now, while I'm still fully smitten with love, I find my previous thoughts to be rather arrogant and disdainful. My thoughts implied that, in the future, I was solely responsible for the happiness of my family. In particular, my income determined the happiness of my family.
What happened to love?
I had become trapped to thinking like the rest of the world. Particularly, I had become trapped to thinking like my parents. Money equaled happiness to them, and school equaled money. Although I cannot disagree with the idea that school allowed me to have a better income, I really need to get away from thinking that money will equal happiness.
For me, love equals happiness. When I love, I give. When I love, I live. God is my love. Life is my love. Family is my love. Friends are my love. Shirley is my love. And writing is my love.
I had plunged myself so far into school work that I had started to lose sight of all of this. It felt odd because I was becoming restless and discontent even while I was in love. I didn't know why. Until I slowly realized that I had stopped writing. Somewhere in my brain, I had set aside writing as purely a past time, unimportant and useless.
No, fortunately I realized that writing is far more important to me than most things that I do in daily life. It gives me an exuberance that I cannot describe. And while the words and the creative flow comes less smooth than it used to be, I cannot help but still relish in the rush. I need to keep on writing.
I like where I stand now because I realize the importance of school, but I am not overly zealous for it. At the same time, I can also see the importance of my hobbies. I need to find a good balance between them, so I may live my life to the fullest.
I am an idealist at heart, and any straying from that discontents me and depresses me. If I start buying into a "realistic" view on life, and working like everyone else and thinking like everyone else, I am afraid that I will become very much like everyone else. Lifeless and unhappy. If I keep plunging myself into work, I may end up very miserable in the end. Life happens in the now and I must take advantage of it. I shall write and study and love.
And who knows what the future will bring?
Perhaps, I can write my way into a comfortable life.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
China
I took a vacation to China about three weeks ago, and I have just returned. I cannot immediately describe all the thoughts and revelations that I had while in the country. However, I can share, perhaps, an overview.
China on the outside looked like an overpopulated, polluted, and disorganized world. As the country that gave birth to me, and as a country I had learned to fear through American politics, China evoked mixed feelings within me. I felt love and resentment, happiness and discontentment, pride and humility all at once. And because I had been gone for so long from it, the place felt both familiar and foreign. Yet, as I traveled through China and marveled at its rich culture, its different people, and its sense of direction, my views on it changed.
I love my homeland.
I cannot say that I love every part of it. The sanitation could definitely be more improved, there could be more orderliness to the country, and of course, the government of the country could allow for more freedoms (like facebook...), but it feels like the government is trying its best under the extraordinary circumstance of its immense population. China has 1.3 billion people in its country. Comparatively, America has 300 million. If we took all the problems America has and multiplied it by a factor of four, I wonder how we would compare?
In fact, it was precisely this type of thinking that had made me appreciate China to such a degree. As a whole, it felt like China ran everything much smoother. They have better public transportation, very efficient customs which even included screening for foreign diseases (a moot point, but one I like because of the incredible hassle American customs put me through, like losing a luggage of mine, and they didn't screen for foreign diseases), China's food was much more healthy and better tasting, they provide ample things to do for all ages (most of them free) and their services had much more understandable hours. Whereas everything in America closes at 8 or 9, except for bars (which seems like the only place one can hang out after a long day of work) China has many many things to do and places to eat especially after work hours, for all ages.
Of course, as Americans, we associate night life with bars and other adult entertainment, but for China night life meant a time where neighbors can come out and socialize, people can eat, and everyone can relax. I have seen the night time for three major cities of China, and Hong Kong, every time I felt relaxed, safe, and happy. The city government had provided wonderful, spacious places for people to gather and play badminton, hackey sack, learn to sing, learn tai chi, and other social activities. In every city we went, the city had even provided a scenic walkway for couples to be. It usually was a very spacious walk along a major river or along a near by hill. Sometimes music will play along these places. Much more of a romantic setting than I have ever found in America.
These are just a few of the thoughts that struck me as I traveled China. Some other thoughts were verbally said by friends. Like: "Almost everyone in China looks fit and slim. When I come back to America, sometimes whole groups of obese people would walk by me." Or: "There is so much to DO in China, if I lived here, I might be on the computer or vegetating in front of the TV ALOT less!"
Through all of this trip, I had always said one line: "I do not understand! America is supposed to be the best country in the world."
A part of me just could not comprehend it. We judge other countries so very critically. We adopt a very patronizing tone when talking about other countries. I had really believed that we were just better than everyone in the world. It really did not compute for me.
I do not say this to demean America. It's mostly my dear wish and want for America to do some things like China.
America, in many ways is almost the inverse of China. On the outside it has a wonderful incredible image. It's streets are orderly, it believes in freedoms and prosperity, and seem wholly superior to other countries in terms of morals and honor. Yet, when we experience America and live in it, we quickly see some incredible details that shouldn't exist so much in such a wonderful country. Depression, divorce, discontentment, crime, low education levels. I stay away from political or economic troubles because I cannot say, at this moment in time, what country does not have its share of those troubles.
Yet, on a wholly social level, America has many issues that seems to point to a larger feeling of unrest. Is the reason simply a lack of state sponsored, sustainable places for people of all ages to gather? Or is it something deeper within America? Is it because we are just now starting to develop a culture as a country, and as a country so young, we have metaphorically entered our teenage years, full of doubt and questions?
I wonder about this country I call home, and think about the country that gave birth to me. It seems each time I visit my mother country, a larger piece of me wants to call it home.
China on the outside looked like an overpopulated, polluted, and disorganized world. As the country that gave birth to me, and as a country I had learned to fear through American politics, China evoked mixed feelings within me. I felt love and resentment, happiness and discontentment, pride and humility all at once. And because I had been gone for so long from it, the place felt both familiar and foreign. Yet, as I traveled through China and marveled at its rich culture, its different people, and its sense of direction, my views on it changed.
I love my homeland.
I cannot say that I love every part of it. The sanitation could definitely be more improved, there could be more orderliness to the country, and of course, the government of the country could allow for more freedoms (like facebook...), but it feels like the government is trying its best under the extraordinary circumstance of its immense population. China has 1.3 billion people in its country. Comparatively, America has 300 million. If we took all the problems America has and multiplied it by a factor of four, I wonder how we would compare?
In fact, it was precisely this type of thinking that had made me appreciate China to such a degree. As a whole, it felt like China ran everything much smoother. They have better public transportation, very efficient customs which even included screening for foreign diseases (a moot point, but one I like because of the incredible hassle American customs put me through, like losing a luggage of mine, and they didn't screen for foreign diseases), China's food was much more healthy and better tasting, they provide ample things to do for all ages (most of them free) and their services had much more understandable hours. Whereas everything in America closes at 8 or 9, except for bars (which seems like the only place one can hang out after a long day of work) China has many many things to do and places to eat especially after work hours, for all ages.
Of course, as Americans, we associate night life with bars and other adult entertainment, but for China night life meant a time where neighbors can come out and socialize, people can eat, and everyone can relax. I have seen the night time for three major cities of China, and Hong Kong, every time I felt relaxed, safe, and happy. The city government had provided wonderful, spacious places for people to gather and play badminton, hackey sack, learn to sing, learn tai chi, and other social activities. In every city we went, the city had even provided a scenic walkway for couples to be. It usually was a very spacious walk along a major river or along a near by hill. Sometimes music will play along these places. Much more of a romantic setting than I have ever found in America.
These are just a few of the thoughts that struck me as I traveled China. Some other thoughts were verbally said by friends. Like: "Almost everyone in China looks fit and slim. When I come back to America, sometimes whole groups of obese people would walk by me." Or: "There is so much to DO in China, if I lived here, I might be on the computer or vegetating in front of the TV ALOT less!"
Through all of this trip, I had always said one line: "I do not understand! America is supposed to be the best country in the world."
A part of me just could not comprehend it. We judge other countries so very critically. We adopt a very patronizing tone when talking about other countries. I had really believed that we were just better than everyone in the world. It really did not compute for me.
I do not say this to demean America. It's mostly my dear wish and want for America to do some things like China.
America, in many ways is almost the inverse of China. On the outside it has a wonderful incredible image. It's streets are orderly, it believes in freedoms and prosperity, and seem wholly superior to other countries in terms of morals and honor. Yet, when we experience America and live in it, we quickly see some incredible details that shouldn't exist so much in such a wonderful country. Depression, divorce, discontentment, crime, low education levels. I stay away from political or economic troubles because I cannot say, at this moment in time, what country does not have its share of those troubles.
Yet, on a wholly social level, America has many issues that seems to point to a larger feeling of unrest. Is the reason simply a lack of state sponsored, sustainable places for people of all ages to gather? Or is it something deeper within America? Is it because we are just now starting to develop a culture as a country, and as a country so young, we have metaphorically entered our teenage years, full of doubt and questions?
I wonder about this country I call home, and think about the country that gave birth to me. It seems each time I visit my mother country, a larger piece of me wants to call it home.
Wednesday, August 05, 2009
True Feelings
So some time has passed, and I have indeed discerned my feelings amid the confusion of fears and hopes. And though I know that I am in love with the idea of love, I can rest my fears on this and truly say that my feelings for the person drove my actions and emotions rather than just the mere wish to be in love.
I am very glad and thankful to understand this part of myself, for it would not have been very fair to me or the other party should this be murky.
Now, I can be content in my happiness, smiling goofily, and contently be the object of friendly ridicule among my peers. I think this fair.
I am happy. In my happiness, I can only wish for everyone else around me to be happy as well.
=)
I am very glad and thankful to understand this part of myself, for it would not have been very fair to me or the other party should this be murky.
Now, I can be content in my happiness, smiling goofily, and contently be the object of friendly ridicule among my peers. I think this fair.
I am happy. In my happiness, I can only wish for everyone else around me to be happy as well.
=)
Monday, July 27, 2009
Love
I finally have internet after not having it for awhile. Consequently, the whole of June and alot of July has no posts. I suppose that's ok. Nothing had been too noteworthy. I moved into a new apartment and started summer classes and met an interesting girl. My thoughts on her distract me through many days and I think I may have feelings for her. Yet, as always, I am simply too analytical about myself on the subject. I fear that I am in love with love or with simply the idea of love, and thus, I love too simply and easily. Perhaps it is not the girl at all that I am interested in, but rather the feelings of being in love.
That is fine, I suppose. The answer that clarifies this whole thing is simply to explore it further, and thus, at the moment, all roads lead down the same path. This is not to say that most of me is skeptical about my feelings and thus, I must enact some sort of plot to distinguish clearly all the jumble. It probably is simply my fears getting the best of me. Fears of getting hurt or whatever. So, I have to rationalize this fear somehow. The best ways seems to question the logic of my feelings entirely.
It is, as they say, how I defend myself.
It's strange the subject of love. People catogorize it in so many different ways. Some people have this thing called "friendship love" and "mom and dad love" and "relationship love". I never really understood all of that too well. Let me illustrate.
Some people tell me I'm a nice person by nature, or that I always have some tendency to see the good in people (generally). I know people also wonder if I am mostly like that or is it simply a face I put on to meet people with, because of course, I can't always be like that. Without any pride, and just a little partiality, I would like to think that I am mostly nice.
But that's not how I think about it. It was kinda weird explaining how I looked at the world to people. Alot of people who know me, and especially the girls that I had been romantic with, say that I use the word "love" a lot and too liberally. I say "I love you" too often to too many different people. So that when I say it, it probably has no value.
I did alot of thinking and I realized that is completely false. I really mean it when I say "I love you" to my friends - even if I say it with a smile and to escape from trifling guilt. I think about them all the time. From my old friends back in North Carolina, to the friends I had met just as I moved to Vancouver (even though we started out being morel like rivals), to the friends I had met each school year, to the ones who broke my heart, to the ones that made me laugh, to the ones who listened to me, to the ones I listened to, to the ones who still talk to me and the ones who don't... I think about them all. And some way or another, somewhere in my heart, no matter the history I had with them or the present circumstances, I still love them.
That's probably why I have more lady friends than guy friends. Guys think I'm gay when I say stuff like that.
I recently read an article that had a study of human nature. In most humans the wish to do "evil" is much more compelling than the wish to do "good". As calvin and hobbes illustrates good simply doesn't put up a fight sometimes. In alot of cases, this is true for me.
Yet as the writer of the article says, the cracks of this type of thinking show up when we add love to the equation. He says: "We are often good simply because we love."
I love that quote. That explains me so simply. I like to love, and thus, I am kind.
It may be a virtue to some, and I am thankful for that. Yet, now, as the strings of romance start to sing once again, I am at odds with my personality. Girls like to be loved (as with anyone I suppose), and they wish to be loved solely. Yet, to come back to the point, there are times when I cannot answer the question: "What makes my love for her any different than my love for my best friends?"
I would die for them all. Put down whatever I was doing to help any of them. Simply, I love everyone. So, the love I have for them are different simply because one is for one and the other is for another? Hmmm....
As always, with the subject of love, I am a confused mixture of happiness and questions. Hopefully, I can be content without needing to find answers, for like I said in the beginning, perhaps my wish to rationalize everything comes from my fears.
I hope the one who is Love will give me guidance. I will put all my faith and trust in Him.
That is fine, I suppose. The answer that clarifies this whole thing is simply to explore it further, and thus, at the moment, all roads lead down the same path. This is not to say that most of me is skeptical about my feelings and thus, I must enact some sort of plot to distinguish clearly all the jumble. It probably is simply my fears getting the best of me. Fears of getting hurt or whatever. So, I have to rationalize this fear somehow. The best ways seems to question the logic of my feelings entirely.
It is, as they say, how I defend myself.
It's strange the subject of love. People catogorize it in so many different ways. Some people have this thing called "friendship love" and "mom and dad love" and "relationship love". I never really understood all of that too well. Let me illustrate.
Some people tell me I'm a nice person by nature, or that I always have some tendency to see the good in people (generally). I know people also wonder if I am mostly like that or is it simply a face I put on to meet people with, because of course, I can't always be like that. Without any pride, and just a little partiality, I would like to think that I am mostly nice.
But that's not how I think about it. It was kinda weird explaining how I looked at the world to people. Alot of people who know me, and especially the girls that I had been romantic with, say that I use the word "love" a lot and too liberally. I say "I love you" too often to too many different people. So that when I say it, it probably has no value.
I did alot of thinking and I realized that is completely false. I really mean it when I say "I love you" to my friends - even if I say it with a smile and to escape from trifling guilt. I think about them all the time. From my old friends back in North Carolina, to the friends I had met just as I moved to Vancouver (even though we started out being morel like rivals), to the friends I had met each school year, to the ones who broke my heart, to the ones that made me laugh, to the ones who listened to me, to the ones I listened to, to the ones who still talk to me and the ones who don't... I think about them all. And some way or another, somewhere in my heart, no matter the history I had with them or the present circumstances, I still love them.
That's probably why I have more lady friends than guy friends. Guys think I'm gay when I say stuff like that.
I recently read an article that had a study of human nature. In most humans the wish to do "evil" is much more compelling than the wish to do "good". As calvin and hobbes illustrates good simply doesn't put up a fight sometimes. In alot of cases, this is true for me.
Yet as the writer of the article says, the cracks of this type of thinking show up when we add love to the equation. He says: "We are often good simply because we love."
I love that quote. That explains me so simply. I like to love, and thus, I am kind.
It may be a virtue to some, and I am thankful for that. Yet, now, as the strings of romance start to sing once again, I am at odds with my personality. Girls like to be loved (as with anyone I suppose), and they wish to be loved solely. Yet, to come back to the point, there are times when I cannot answer the question: "What makes my love for her any different than my love for my best friends?"
I would die for them all. Put down whatever I was doing to help any of them. Simply, I love everyone. So, the love I have for them are different simply because one is for one and the other is for another? Hmmm....
As always, with the subject of love, I am a confused mixture of happiness and questions. Hopefully, I can be content without needing to find answers, for like I said in the beginning, perhaps my wish to rationalize everything comes from my fears.
I hope the one who is Love will give me guidance. I will put all my faith and trust in Him.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
The Thought that Counts
I received some pretty amazing gifts this year for my birthday, but most important to me are the smiles of my friends and the time they spent with me or wishing me a happy birthday. Just a few words doesn't seem like much, but to me, it can mean the world.
Everyone gave me just a little bit of time that day, and thought of me. Nothing is more precious to me.
I thank God for moments like this. May He keep me always like I am: appreciating all the little thoughts.
They count more than gold.
Everyone gave me just a little bit of time that day, and thought of me. Nothing is more precious to me.
I thank God for moments like this. May He keep me always like I am: appreciating all the little thoughts.
They count more than gold.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Learning to Write
I sat down today meaning to read a book about how to write. The book, entitled Bird by Bird, came highly recommended to me. When I took it down from my shelf, I looked at it, just simply looked at it. I did not read a single word from within the book chapters. I scanned the table of contents instead. At that moment, I thought to myself, closed the book, and put it back on my bookshelf.
I decided I will not read a book that teaches me how to write until I finished writing my own book.
This sounds foolish and silly, so perhaps I should back up a bit and put things in context. I had been scratching out notes to myself for most of the day about how to write. This was not something new to me. I do this almost all the time. I have notes saved on my computer, notes written in notebooks and note cards and even notes on my iPhone. I have them everywhere.
Somewhere during the day, I thought I was approaching writing like I was approaching any other subject I try to learn and master. Scientifically. I would examine anything related to the art of good writing, be it an example of good writing or bad writing, and I would make observations. I would jot down techniques such as the use of simile's in prose or, if my subject matter was a visual medium, techniques on plot and character development. Today's subject was the TV series Bones. (As a side note, I must say, the show impressed me.)
At first I was ashamed and frustrated at my sudden realization of what I was doing. I dislike the thought of containing all the tools of such a dynamic and creative art with labels, formulas or what have you. I had written labels for every note that I wrote: techniques, analysis, references. Looking upon it, I shuddered in disdain and fear. Writing was the only liberating study I had ever discovered. Science and math had always seemed dead and lifeless. I could study biology, the very basis of life, and feel it limiting me and trapping me. The sciences may let me quantify life but writing let me experience it. More than that, writing allowed me to share life as well.
Writing was alive to me, the sciences dead.
The horror of me turning something alive to something lifeless really paralyzed me. Thankfully, however, it only lasted for a moment. It did not take me long to realize that writing will always and forever be alive to me. It always fills me with a rush. Each moment so sublime it transcends almost any joy that I have ever felt. Inspiration will always be its breath of life, and the feelings I put in will be its heartbeat. Writing is truly the subject for me. I can study it an analyze it, and the more I do so, the better I can write. And the better I can write, the better I feel like I can experience life.
So why did I put the book that taught how to write away? Because writing is my craft. My own from learning it the way I want to learn it to creating it the way I envision it. I do not wish for someone else to take me by the hand to show me how to go about it. It is not ego and pride that makes me like this, it is simply fear. I fear that if I follow someone else's path, I will be writing just like someone else. No matter how famous they are, or how much I may like their writing, I cannot allow my writing to become a copy. It means too much to me. At this point in time, I feel I am quite impressionable and I do not trust myself in reading literature about writing literature with distance. For now, I want to study it on my own in my own way and produce writing on my own with my own means. So that one day, when I publish, be it good or bad literature, I know that it is unique and original.
Although, with a very fond smile, I can say that the stories I write, however, will never be just my own. They contain pieces of me, pieces of stories I heard, and of course, pieces of every person that has walked in my life. No, I would say rather, the stories I write may wholly belong to those I have been so very fortunate enough to meet. It is their enjoyment that brings me inspiration and their support that keeps me going.
Writing may be my art, but stories will always be everyone's.
I decided I will not read a book that teaches me how to write until I finished writing my own book.
This sounds foolish and silly, so perhaps I should back up a bit and put things in context. I had been scratching out notes to myself for most of the day about how to write. This was not something new to me. I do this almost all the time. I have notes saved on my computer, notes written in notebooks and note cards and even notes on my iPhone. I have them everywhere.
Somewhere during the day, I thought I was approaching writing like I was approaching any other subject I try to learn and master. Scientifically. I would examine anything related to the art of good writing, be it an example of good writing or bad writing, and I would make observations. I would jot down techniques such as the use of simile's in prose or, if my subject matter was a visual medium, techniques on plot and character development. Today's subject was the TV series Bones. (As a side note, I must say, the show impressed me.)
At first I was ashamed and frustrated at my sudden realization of what I was doing. I dislike the thought of containing all the tools of such a dynamic and creative art with labels, formulas or what have you. I had written labels for every note that I wrote: techniques, analysis, references. Looking upon it, I shuddered in disdain and fear. Writing was the only liberating study I had ever discovered. Science and math had always seemed dead and lifeless. I could study biology, the very basis of life, and feel it limiting me and trapping me. The sciences may let me quantify life but writing let me experience it. More than that, writing allowed me to share life as well.
Writing was alive to me, the sciences dead.
The horror of me turning something alive to something lifeless really paralyzed me. Thankfully, however, it only lasted for a moment. It did not take me long to realize that writing will always and forever be alive to me. It always fills me with a rush. Each moment so sublime it transcends almost any joy that I have ever felt. Inspiration will always be its breath of life, and the feelings I put in will be its heartbeat. Writing is truly the subject for me. I can study it an analyze it, and the more I do so, the better I can write. And the better I can write, the better I feel like I can experience life.
So why did I put the book that taught how to write away? Because writing is my craft. My own from learning it the way I want to learn it to creating it the way I envision it. I do not wish for someone else to take me by the hand to show me how to go about it. It is not ego and pride that makes me like this, it is simply fear. I fear that if I follow someone else's path, I will be writing just like someone else. No matter how famous they are, or how much I may like their writing, I cannot allow my writing to become a copy. It means too much to me. At this point in time, I feel I am quite impressionable and I do not trust myself in reading literature about writing literature with distance. For now, I want to study it on my own in my own way and produce writing on my own with my own means. So that one day, when I publish, be it good or bad literature, I know that it is unique and original.
Although, with a very fond smile, I can say that the stories I write, however, will never be just my own. They contain pieces of me, pieces of stories I heard, and of course, pieces of every person that has walked in my life. No, I would say rather, the stories I write may wholly belong to those I have been so very fortunate enough to meet. It is their enjoyment that brings me inspiration and their support that keeps me going.
Writing may be my art, but stories will always be everyone's.
Friday, May 22, 2009
A Note from my Past
I had been digging through my old writings today and I found a story I had written during the beginning of my senior year of high school. It was titled "A story loosely based on modern life" or perhaps "Aie Kaan". I remember at one point sending it out in e-mails to my friends as a series of chapters. They had enjoyed it, I believe.
Reading the story again after so long, I had expected myself to react with strong, vehement disdain like I usually do when reading past pieces. Yet, this one managed to escape this anger. In fact, I found myself enjoying the piece, admiring it, and at time, even finding life lessons in it. It joins the only other piece that I had written in my high school days that had managed to do this, Skip and Shuffle.
To be sure, the writing lacked some maturity in places. Some bits of grammar were wrong and some descriptions sub-par or even nonexistent. Yet, as a whole, the story and particularly the voice of the piece stuck out admirably. I was surprised that I could write such a thing. Even more surprising, as I had hinted at earlier, I managed to gain some deeper insight about life that I had perhaps lost touch with since then through this piece. In fact, I could almost say that though the piece was written in a very stream of consciousness fashion, the honesty of it and the inclusiveness of all my thoughts at the time seemed very much like a letter to me from my past to my present self written in story form. At times this simile seemed eerily true.
The story starts out with somewhat of a discourse by the main character about how life felt so very boring to him. He follows this by saying that he wished for adventure, even if, while on the adventure, he starts wishing for a normal life again. The main character understands perfectly well that stories of "wishing for adventure" oftentimes leads to the moral of "be careful of what you wish for", but he wishes to learn this lesson firsthand instead of suffering the monotony and mediocrity of everyday life. Perhaps, he stipulates, he would appreciate it more.
I cannot help but marvel at how clairvoyant the piece was about the future of my life from that point forward. I was indeed thrust into an adventure called college, and indeed, during the turbulent years I wished dearly to return to some ordinary, run of the mill, mediocre life. Truly, I have started to appreciate my past time in high school, and I would often think about it fondly.
Yet, here, the story of "Aie Kaan" seems to antipate this and within, a gem of insight rests for me to gleen here at 21 years of age. I shall not paraphrase here, but rather, just display it. Though I think the virtues of the followinig philosophy to be idealistic, I cannot help but to embrace it. So, in all its unedited, raw form, here is an excerpt of the story that was loosely based on modern life:
Life had these moments that I’d love to replay over and over again. I remember, quite vividly, one beautiful, sunny day. That gorgeous summer day probably could not have been more perfect. The sky shone a deep azure and the wind swept gently along the field. Most of my friends had found their way back from their various travel places. (We threw a surprise party for one that didn’t.) My friends’ eyes sparkled with genuine laughter. The world, full of its stresses, worries and noise, fell away. For that splendid time, the laughing faces, the bright blue sky, the green grass, that was my world.
Sometimes I think about those times or events like it. Sometimes, I’d wish those times would be my world again. I wished to take up that figurative remote control and rewind to those times. I would replay it over and over again. Yet, like I said, I would probably never use that remote control. An overwhelming principle stops me. To live in the past, to wish to go back to those times, can be defined as escapism. It implies a general belief that all that is good has already happened, and it inspires an apathetic attitude to the present. After all, if all my thoughts dwelled in the past, how could I possibly live in the present? By virtue of polarity, if all my thoughts worried about the future, I still could not live in the present.
So, I let go of that remote control. It is not for me to use. God deemed me to be here and now and here and now I shall stay. Like a little toy boat at the mercy of a mighty river, so I float on the mighty river of time. Yet, this is my adventure, my excitement that I was seeking. I would never be able to find the pyramids if I stayed in the harbor of my past. So, I’m swept onward on this river, drinking in each moment.
Indeed, I am reminded by this note from my past to live life to the fullest at this very moment. This is my adventure and I need to live it.
Reading the story again after so long, I had expected myself to react with strong, vehement disdain like I usually do when reading past pieces. Yet, this one managed to escape this anger. In fact, I found myself enjoying the piece, admiring it, and at time, even finding life lessons in it. It joins the only other piece that I had written in my high school days that had managed to do this, Skip and Shuffle.
To be sure, the writing lacked some maturity in places. Some bits of grammar were wrong and some descriptions sub-par or even nonexistent. Yet, as a whole, the story and particularly the voice of the piece stuck out admirably. I was surprised that I could write such a thing. Even more surprising, as I had hinted at earlier, I managed to gain some deeper insight about life that I had perhaps lost touch with since then through this piece. In fact, I could almost say that though the piece was written in a very stream of consciousness fashion, the honesty of it and the inclusiveness of all my thoughts at the time seemed very much like a letter to me from my past to my present self written in story form. At times this simile seemed eerily true.
The story starts out with somewhat of a discourse by the main character about how life felt so very boring to him. He follows this by saying that he wished for adventure, even if, while on the adventure, he starts wishing for a normal life again. The main character understands perfectly well that stories of "wishing for adventure" oftentimes leads to the moral of "be careful of what you wish for", but he wishes to learn this lesson firsthand instead of suffering the monotony and mediocrity of everyday life. Perhaps, he stipulates, he would appreciate it more.
I cannot help but marvel at how clairvoyant the piece was about the future of my life from that point forward. I was indeed thrust into an adventure called college, and indeed, during the turbulent years I wished dearly to return to some ordinary, run of the mill, mediocre life. Truly, I have started to appreciate my past time in high school, and I would often think about it fondly.
Yet, here, the story of "Aie Kaan" seems to antipate this and within, a gem of insight rests for me to gleen here at 21 years of age. I shall not paraphrase here, but rather, just display it. Though I think the virtues of the followinig philosophy to be idealistic, I cannot help but to embrace it. So, in all its unedited, raw form, here is an excerpt of the story that was loosely based on modern life:
Life had these moments that I’d love to replay over and over again. I remember, quite vividly, one beautiful, sunny day. That gorgeous summer day probably could not have been more perfect. The sky shone a deep azure and the wind swept gently along the field. Most of my friends had found their way back from their various travel places. (We threw a surprise party for one that didn’t.) My friends’ eyes sparkled with genuine laughter. The world, full of its stresses, worries and noise, fell away. For that splendid time, the laughing faces, the bright blue sky, the green grass, that was my world.
Sometimes I think about those times or events like it. Sometimes, I’d wish those times would be my world again. I wished to take up that figurative remote control and rewind to those times. I would replay it over and over again. Yet, like I said, I would probably never use that remote control. An overwhelming principle stops me. To live in the past, to wish to go back to those times, can be defined as escapism. It implies a general belief that all that is good has already happened, and it inspires an apathetic attitude to the present. After all, if all my thoughts dwelled in the past, how could I possibly live in the present? By virtue of polarity, if all my thoughts worried about the future, I still could not live in the present.
So, I let go of that remote control. It is not for me to use. God deemed me to be here and now and here and now I shall stay. Like a little toy boat at the mercy of a mighty river, so I float on the mighty river of time. Yet, this is my adventure, my excitement that I was seeking. I would never be able to find the pyramids if I stayed in the harbor of my past. So, I’m swept onward on this river, drinking in each moment.
Indeed, I am reminded by this note from my past to live life to the fullest at this very moment. This is my adventure and I need to live it.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Twenty One Years
Twenty one years of age means adulthood. It means something between young and full of life and mature responsible person. And I am not sure how I feel about tonight.
To be sure, unlike my previous birthdays, on this one I actually feel different, but not in a radical change type of way. Rather, I notice a few small changes about me that had built up over the course of the year to make me a little different. With this observation, I feel oddly reflective, optimistic, and well, different.
I guess in a way, I feel like me, the one that existed back in high school. It took me awhile to find me, and it took me awhile to embrace it, but now I feel wholly like me. This was a feeling that I had achieved in high school, but I had lost it somewhere along the way. Now, I have my optimism again and my exuberance. I have my sappiness back along with my idealism. I feel alive and well.
Yet, at the same time, I'm not the kid I was back in high school. I suppose I could only say that I have matured over the years. My taste in things have become more sophisticated. My optimism leveled somewhat by experience; my idealism weighted with reality. Though, not all things have been merely balanced. Some things have deepened. I do not care as much about other people's judgments about me. Of course, I will appologize if you think I am overly girly or what have you. Yet, I will still love reading books like Pride and Prejudice and watch movies like The Sound of Music. That is me.
And, thinking on this, I find that I like it this way. To me, this is life. I don't mind writing silly stories with the Sex and the City as my background noise and distractor. This is my twenty one years of age picture: cheerful, contemplative, creative, and capricious. Less talking, more listening. Less rambunctious, more appreciative.
Less trudging, more living.
And that is all I can ever hope to be.
To be sure, unlike my previous birthdays, on this one I actually feel different, but not in a radical change type of way. Rather, I notice a few small changes about me that had built up over the course of the year to make me a little different. With this observation, I feel oddly reflective, optimistic, and well, different.
I guess in a way, I feel like me, the one that existed back in high school. It took me awhile to find me, and it took me awhile to embrace it, but now I feel wholly like me. This was a feeling that I had achieved in high school, but I had lost it somewhere along the way. Now, I have my optimism again and my exuberance. I have my sappiness back along with my idealism. I feel alive and well.
Yet, at the same time, I'm not the kid I was back in high school. I suppose I could only say that I have matured over the years. My taste in things have become more sophisticated. My optimism leveled somewhat by experience; my idealism weighted with reality. Though, not all things have been merely balanced. Some things have deepened. I do not care as much about other people's judgments about me. Of course, I will appologize if you think I am overly girly or what have you. Yet, I will still love reading books like Pride and Prejudice and watch movies like The Sound of Music. That is me.
And, thinking on this, I find that I like it this way. To me, this is life. I don't mind writing silly stories with the Sex and the City as my background noise and distractor. This is my twenty one years of age picture: cheerful, contemplative, creative, and capricious. Less talking, more listening. Less rambunctious, more appreciative.
Less trudging, more living.
And that is all I can ever hope to be.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Writing Challenge
I do this every once in awhile to really make sure that my writing skills keep improving. I guess I have learned a lot over this past year, and particularly this quarter. Things about myself, things about life, and most importantly to me, things about writing.
With each new experience, each new memory, and each new elevation, I realize that there are so many stories out in the world. Somehow, it always seems like a daunting task to want to tell each and every one of them. Yet, in my goal to write and publish an inspiring story, I realize I have improved much to reaching it. My grasp of grammar has become better, so too has my word choice (though I still need to expand my vocabulary) and my voice. With this, and many other improving tools, if I can just keep writing everyday, I feel like I can reach the goals I set out to accomplish.
So, I think it's time for another one of my writing challenges. I'm thinking about writing a short story - around 10 pages or less. To make it a truly an inspiring story, I'm shooting for either a "Christmas Story" or a "Children's Story." I'm hoping the tale will be somewhat timeless and feel good.
Before, my challenges have always been broad in the premise, hoping to only hone in one specific skill or another. Themes have always been something like: practice first person writing, understand the use of present and conditional tenses, practice prose, and understand cadence and alliteration, among others. I won't say I have always followed through on these, or have managed to do anything in much success, yet, I believe I did learn from it.
This new challenge is much more specific in the premise, but much more vague on the skill on which I wish to brush up. I guess if I had to name one, it would be just plain storytelling.
Haha, reading this journal entry, it sounds a bit silly. I don't really understand why I want to write so badly. It's not prestigious. It's not safe. It's not a pathway to wealth. Yet, it makes me happy. I had always dreamed that I would be a famous someone in life. Perhaps an actor, or a talkshow host. Perhaps a professor or a diplomat. Yet, writer? They are little known, little heard, except for the little books they leave behind.
Yet, that suits me just fine. The rush of words fills me. It helps me cope with the stresses of life. And it will always feed the dreams that I have. No matter how old I get, I will never lose this one part of my youth: my dreams. They may be impractical. They may be out of my reach. Yet, I will rather die trying to attain this, than settle for anything else.
It's sad because I have no talent for the craft. Math, science and even the social sciences have always come easier to me than writing. I have always grasped those other things with minimal effort. Yet, here, in the field that I have consistently struggled in, I feel the most free and the most like me.
Thinking on this, I cannot help but smile a sad smile. Perhaps it was meant to be this way. With a bittersweet heart, I will quietly, unbeknown to the rest of the world, complete my own writing challenge. It may be useless. It may not affect the world in anyway possible.
Yet, I will do it.
Because this is my craft.
This is my heart.
With each new experience, each new memory, and each new elevation, I realize that there are so many stories out in the world. Somehow, it always seems like a daunting task to want to tell each and every one of them. Yet, in my goal to write and publish an inspiring story, I realize I have improved much to reaching it. My grasp of grammar has become better, so too has my word choice (though I still need to expand my vocabulary) and my voice. With this, and many other improving tools, if I can just keep writing everyday, I feel like I can reach the goals I set out to accomplish.
So, I think it's time for another one of my writing challenges. I'm thinking about writing a short story - around 10 pages or less. To make it a truly an inspiring story, I'm shooting for either a "Christmas Story" or a "Children's Story." I'm hoping the tale will be somewhat timeless and feel good.
Before, my challenges have always been broad in the premise, hoping to only hone in one specific skill or another. Themes have always been something like: practice first person writing, understand the use of present and conditional tenses, practice prose, and understand cadence and alliteration, among others. I won't say I have always followed through on these, or have managed to do anything in much success, yet, I believe I did learn from it.
This new challenge is much more specific in the premise, but much more vague on the skill on which I wish to brush up. I guess if I had to name one, it would be just plain storytelling.
Haha, reading this journal entry, it sounds a bit silly. I don't really understand why I want to write so badly. It's not prestigious. It's not safe. It's not a pathway to wealth. Yet, it makes me happy. I had always dreamed that I would be a famous someone in life. Perhaps an actor, or a talkshow host. Perhaps a professor or a diplomat. Yet, writer? They are little known, little heard, except for the little books they leave behind.
Yet, that suits me just fine. The rush of words fills me. It helps me cope with the stresses of life. And it will always feed the dreams that I have. No matter how old I get, I will never lose this one part of my youth: my dreams. They may be impractical. They may be out of my reach. Yet, I will rather die trying to attain this, than settle for anything else.
It's sad because I have no talent for the craft. Math, science and even the social sciences have always come easier to me than writing. I have always grasped those other things with minimal effort. Yet, here, in the field that I have consistently struggled in, I feel the most free and the most like me.
Thinking on this, I cannot help but smile a sad smile. Perhaps it was meant to be this way. With a bittersweet heart, I will quietly, unbeknown to the rest of the world, complete my own writing challenge. It may be useless. It may not affect the world in anyway possible.
Yet, I will do it.
Because this is my craft.
This is my heart.
Monday, May 11, 2009
Persuing Dreams
Despite all the doubts and fears I have had in the past and those that I will carry with me as I walk into the future, I cannot help but pursue my dreams.
I will become published one day. I will write a book that will be gripping and inspiring.
Then I will write more.
Count on it.
I will become published one day. I will write a book that will be gripping and inspiring.
Then I will write more.
Count on it.
Friday, May 08, 2009
Treading the Line
I hate writers who cannot do it and writing that does not have it.
Treading the line does not mean social or political activism. Treading the line is when a writer has something they like and a narrative that they wish to tell and can write out both without sacrificing either. This usually means that the writer combats his or her own likes, inspirations, or desires in favor of preserving the all sacred narrative.
I write these sentences with some passion because for the past few days now, all I have been reading are stories filled with writers succumbing to their wants and killing the narrative. Ugh, it disgusts me.
Either the writer will like a character too much, or a character's trait too much, or loves pleasing the fans too much, or something and suddenly, character development, storyline flow, insights, and reader inspiration completely dies. The writing becomes mangled, garbled, confused and frustrating for the reader. It does not inspire, it does not even convey. It just simply rests, speaking with wasted words about nothing!
It's like a writer being struck with some muse that whispers an amazing tale filled with wonder, hope, adventure, and the depths of human emotions, and then along the way, the writer says something like: "Yes, this is great, but the story is getting in the way of my glory!" And then, the writer promptly sabotages it with lackluster, cop-out chapters to fill pages and satisfy his or her vanity.
Concrete examples would be something like the show House. Season one and two had been filled incredible writing. The dark, arrogant doctor House that the viewers understand shows an odd, tortured philanthropist side of him. The character builds. Tension rises. The narrative blooms as powerful and unforgiving. Amazing. Then, at the tail end of season three, it seemed like someone at headquarters decided to fire the writers that made this show good. I suppose they did it in an effort to draw in more viewers at a fast rate, and thus resorted to underhanded tactics. Shock and awe became the paradigm of the writing. The show, for me, tanked. Then, upon seeing this drop in ratings, headquarters must have said: "No! It must be the quick wit of the show AND the shock and awe that drove the ratings! Save it! Save it quick!" And thus they focused solely on wit and shock and awe. What happened to character? What happened to development? Inspiration?
Though, now, I hear that the last two episodes may actually have some redeeming qualities, and so I shall give it some more time and patience before utterly abandoning it. Yet, my point comes across clear.
I despise writing that had an opportunity to instruct, uplift, inspire, complex, convey, or deepen but stubbornly pursued other, cheaper, interests. I despise it even more so than just meaningless dribble.
And now here is the kicker, I am not sure where this line lies for me. This is my most profound fear. I bear this in all honesty, grasping for some sort of comfort. I will not have bad literature published, but I have such a deep bias for my own writing I do not know what that could mean. I know I love certain characters, and certain types of characters. I know I cannot help but indulge in writing lengthy sentences wrought with apt, though unusual words. This is probably why I call it treading the line.
It is all too easy to fall one way or another when walking on this line. Too much narrative causes a dry, thin story barely held up by its skeleton, and too much indulgence makes it fat, cumbersome, and grotesque. I need something in between. Something charming and seductive, passionate and sensual, strong and agile. Something compelling. I really hope that I have a good enough handle on my craft to achieve this.
I will never settle for anything less. And this becomes but one of the many dark tortures my craft deals me even while leaving me in raptures.
God help me tread this line!
Treading the line does not mean social or political activism. Treading the line is when a writer has something they like and a narrative that they wish to tell and can write out both without sacrificing either. This usually means that the writer combats his or her own likes, inspirations, or desires in favor of preserving the all sacred narrative.
I write these sentences with some passion because for the past few days now, all I have been reading are stories filled with writers succumbing to their wants and killing the narrative. Ugh, it disgusts me.
Either the writer will like a character too much, or a character's trait too much, or loves pleasing the fans too much, or something and suddenly, character development, storyline flow, insights, and reader inspiration completely dies. The writing becomes mangled, garbled, confused and frustrating for the reader. It does not inspire, it does not even convey. It just simply rests, speaking with wasted words about nothing!
It's like a writer being struck with some muse that whispers an amazing tale filled with wonder, hope, adventure, and the depths of human emotions, and then along the way, the writer says something like: "Yes, this is great, but the story is getting in the way of my glory!" And then, the writer promptly sabotages it with lackluster, cop-out chapters to fill pages and satisfy his or her vanity.
Concrete examples would be something like the show House. Season one and two had been filled incredible writing. The dark, arrogant doctor House that the viewers understand shows an odd, tortured philanthropist side of him. The character builds. Tension rises. The narrative blooms as powerful and unforgiving. Amazing. Then, at the tail end of season three, it seemed like someone at headquarters decided to fire the writers that made this show good. I suppose they did it in an effort to draw in more viewers at a fast rate, and thus resorted to underhanded tactics. Shock and awe became the paradigm of the writing. The show, for me, tanked. Then, upon seeing this drop in ratings, headquarters must have said: "No! It must be the quick wit of the show AND the shock and awe that drove the ratings! Save it! Save it quick!" And thus they focused solely on wit and shock and awe. What happened to character? What happened to development? Inspiration?
Though, now, I hear that the last two episodes may actually have some redeeming qualities, and so I shall give it some more time and patience before utterly abandoning it. Yet, my point comes across clear.
I despise writing that had an opportunity to instruct, uplift, inspire, complex, convey, or deepen but stubbornly pursued other, cheaper, interests. I despise it even more so than just meaningless dribble.
And now here is the kicker, I am not sure where this line lies for me. This is my most profound fear. I bear this in all honesty, grasping for some sort of comfort. I will not have bad literature published, but I have such a deep bias for my own writing I do not know what that could mean. I know I love certain characters, and certain types of characters. I know I cannot help but indulge in writing lengthy sentences wrought with apt, though unusual words. This is probably why I call it treading the line.
It is all too easy to fall one way or another when walking on this line. Too much narrative causes a dry, thin story barely held up by its skeleton, and too much indulgence makes it fat, cumbersome, and grotesque. I need something in between. Something charming and seductive, passionate and sensual, strong and agile. Something compelling. I really hope that I have a good enough handle on my craft to achieve this.
I will never settle for anything less. And this becomes but one of the many dark tortures my craft deals me even while leaving me in raptures.
God help me tread this line!
Tuesday, May 05, 2009
Holy Crap, Yao Ming!
I have always had a sort of harsh measure against my own race in terms of athletes. Oftentimes it seems like Chinese athletes just do not have what it takes to become great. Sure, they can be good but not great. Something always hinders them, be it nerves, pride, class, excuses, and all the other usual gambit of reasons.
So, I had always felt that Yao Ming was an overrated player. His popularity being based on nothing more than the sheer number of Chinese fans that exist in the world. To me, he looked slow. He didn't understand aggression, a key element needed for basketball. He had no flare, no flash. He seemed like he was just what any above average Chinese person would be if they had his height: solid fundamentals and a nerdy study of the game. Simply, no inspiration.
That was, of course, a couple of years back. I stopped watching basketball for awhile, but ever since the olympics I had been hearing more and more of Yao Ming. So, with the same prejudices, I started watching again this year.
What I saw was a different Yao. He had energy. He had hunger. I loved it. More than loved it, I started to admire the guy. Yet checking myself, I kept myself back, thinking that perhaps Chinese pride or something was blinding me. He still seemed weak. Once awhile, I would hear a report of how other players can dunk on him.
Of course, tonight, I am able to confess my manlove for this guy. He played truly inspired basketball today. I cannot help but feel proud and swell in admiration for him. He played a gritty, angry, and hard fought game. A game that people without spines would not have lasted. A game where a solid understanding of basketball could not cut it. He played with heart.
And now, I have to join the other hopeless throngs of starry eyed Chinese fans for him. Ugh. Yet, perhaps it won't be so bad. Perhaps, the reason I dislike cheering for a Chinese athelete or measure them harshly is purely due to my want for one. And after being disappointed time after time again because of the athletes that just didn't have what it takes, I had chosen to disdain them, closing my heart from them forever.
Now, begrudgingly but with a defeated sort of smile, I have to say that Yao Ming has become a hero to me tonight. And I will smirk derisively at anyone who mocks me for this.
=)
So, I had always felt that Yao Ming was an overrated player. His popularity being based on nothing more than the sheer number of Chinese fans that exist in the world. To me, he looked slow. He didn't understand aggression, a key element needed for basketball. He had no flare, no flash. He seemed like he was just what any above average Chinese person would be if they had his height: solid fundamentals and a nerdy study of the game. Simply, no inspiration.
That was, of course, a couple of years back. I stopped watching basketball for awhile, but ever since the olympics I had been hearing more and more of Yao Ming. So, with the same prejudices, I started watching again this year.
What I saw was a different Yao. He had energy. He had hunger. I loved it. More than loved it, I started to admire the guy. Yet checking myself, I kept myself back, thinking that perhaps Chinese pride or something was blinding me. He still seemed weak. Once awhile, I would hear a report of how other players can dunk on him.
Of course, tonight, I am able to confess my manlove for this guy. He played truly inspired basketball today. I cannot help but feel proud and swell in admiration for him. He played a gritty, angry, and hard fought game. A game that people without spines would not have lasted. A game where a solid understanding of basketball could not cut it. He played with heart.
And now, I have to join the other hopeless throngs of starry eyed Chinese fans for him. Ugh. Yet, perhaps it won't be so bad. Perhaps, the reason I dislike cheering for a Chinese athelete or measure them harshly is purely due to my want for one. And after being disappointed time after time again because of the athletes that just didn't have what it takes, I had chosen to disdain them, closing my heart from them forever.
Now, begrudgingly but with a defeated sort of smile, I have to say that Yao Ming has become a hero to me tonight. And I will smirk derisively at anyone who mocks me for this.
=)
Monday, May 04, 2009
Insomnia
Insomnia. My hated enemy. I'm not awake. I'm not asleep. I tread this shadowy middle line, always reaching for one side or another but never actually obtaining it.
Yet, that aside, it does seem to help the productivity of my writing.... until, I'm burned out. Then, it's just a slow decline until exhaustion.
I don't understand whether this state is a blessing or a curse. If only I could up the tempo of my writing, and then sleep for six hours and keep writing.
Well, whatever. This at least beats fever induced writing or my one try at alcohol induced writing. Nothing seemed to come out of either but delirium, like a jumble of mixed words in a rush of excitement. As usual, inspiration does not mean genius.
Now let me sleep.
Yet, that aside, it does seem to help the productivity of my writing.... until, I'm burned out. Then, it's just a slow decline until exhaustion.
I don't understand whether this state is a blessing or a curse. If only I could up the tempo of my writing, and then sleep for six hours and keep writing.
Well, whatever. This at least beats fever induced writing or my one try at alcohol induced writing. Nothing seemed to come out of either but delirium, like a jumble of mixed words in a rush of excitement. As usual, inspiration does not mean genius.
Now let me sleep.
Saturday, May 02, 2009
Of Love and Cynicism
Ah, perhaps it is the season, or perhaps it is the myriad of couples that wonder the flower filled campus, but I have started to wish and daydream for a girlfriend after suppressing the desire for awhile. Although, admittedly, I do not really think that I have ever gone long without that thought popping up in my mind.
I suppose I am honestly desperate for love. In shorter terms, I suppose that boils down to something between attention and romantic gazes and, in longer terms, that means something like a committed stable relationship that I can depend and trust with my partner able to do the same thing.
Upon reading and writing this, however, I realize what a sad, pathetic state I am in at the moment. These sort of thoughts should never be actually admitted, or if done so, should be written in some private journal somewhere buried under dictionaries and covered in dust. These are the very thoughts that burn a man to shame and condemn him of being weak and hopelessly romantic.
Yet, for merely the absurd reasons that I do not possess a private journal, and that I have promised myself that I shall be perfectly candid on this site, I have chosen to display my obvious weaknesses and shortcomings for any passerby to mock. I do not really understand why I adhere to the idea of having a perfectly candid blog like it represents all of my integrity as a person. Perhaps, I fear that if I close off even this avenue of sight to my otherwise walled-off, tank-patrolled core, I would utterly lose the ability to open up. After all, I am posting as a relatively anonymous person, without needing to see the reactions of anyone who reads this non-advertised space or confront it. Thus, if I stop posting here, perhaps I have turned truly and entirely cowardly. That, and I'm sure some part of my conscious craves for some sort of attention that my brain has convinced itself must exist out in a void of empty Internet space.
Wow, this is indeed an introspective psychological analysis of one used to psycho-analyzing everything. I'm sure if I tried to dive deeper into my own psyche my mind might implode at the infinite-loop.
Yet, all that rambling aside, I shall state that I am pretty unafraid to say aloud what I desire. Though, this outspokenness on my part can be called a human failing, I do not really care. I really have started to miss courtship and all that really comes with it. If only, and this is a truly laughable wish, I could find someone that I do not have to pursue, but instead, some sort of reciprocation of actions and wants manifest openly, actively, and even proactively. This would be incredible.
Incredible meaning unbelievable. I don't really understand it myself, but I suppose I have gotten sort of jaded to the process of dating. It seems like the task of initiating anything have always and forever fallen squarely into the lap of the male species, even in this 21st century. This isn't really so bad, and I really am just lamenting, but sometimes I do wonder if I should be a person that merely likes to take. It certainly would be a lot easier, and for some reason, it also seems to be an attractive quality in a male.
Ah, I shall never understand it.
All this whining and cynicism aside, (this is the part where Wei comes back to being Wei and not a presumptuous fool) I guess I am merely in want of a relationship which a two way street exists. I shall never be the bastard that I always say I want to be because I don't believe that actually attracts women, and because, well, I simply cannot. I suppose I just like to verbally strike this type of character of a man (because they actually exist) when I feel frustrated and cynical.
In any case, I have not lost heart yet, and hopefully, I never will. I know that, in some cases, the things I look for in a person is difficult to find (like good intentions, a willingness to try new things, and a proactive wish to give) but, then again, I believe in God. If I can believe in an all powerful being that can see and do anything, I can believe that He will find someone that I can fit with, despite my own wishes and whatnot. I, afterall, can also be a very difficult person to deal with and, I am not altogether anywhere close to being a saint.
So perhaps eventually God will lead me to a nun, or perhaps a succubus. Ah, we shall see. In any case, I shall endeavor to be less cynical on this subject and keep hoping. After all, I feel that Wei without his idealism and starry-eyed hope is like the sun without light. It'd be just some defiled, raging husk of a thing.
And no one wants that. =)
I suppose I am honestly desperate for love. In shorter terms, I suppose that boils down to something between attention and romantic gazes and, in longer terms, that means something like a committed stable relationship that I can depend and trust with my partner able to do the same thing.
Upon reading and writing this, however, I realize what a sad, pathetic state I am in at the moment. These sort of thoughts should never be actually admitted, or if done so, should be written in some private journal somewhere buried under dictionaries and covered in dust. These are the very thoughts that burn a man to shame and condemn him of being weak and hopelessly romantic.
Yet, for merely the absurd reasons that I do not possess a private journal, and that I have promised myself that I shall be perfectly candid on this site, I have chosen to display my obvious weaknesses and shortcomings for any passerby to mock. I do not really understand why I adhere to the idea of having a perfectly candid blog like it represents all of my integrity as a person. Perhaps, I fear that if I close off even this avenue of sight to my otherwise walled-off, tank-patrolled core, I would utterly lose the ability to open up. After all, I am posting as a relatively anonymous person, without needing to see the reactions of anyone who reads this non-advertised space or confront it. Thus, if I stop posting here, perhaps I have turned truly and entirely cowardly. That, and I'm sure some part of my conscious craves for some sort of attention that my brain has convinced itself must exist out in a void of empty Internet space.
Wow, this is indeed an introspective psychological analysis of one used to psycho-analyzing everything. I'm sure if I tried to dive deeper into my own psyche my mind might implode at the infinite-loop.
Yet, all that rambling aside, I shall state that I am pretty unafraid to say aloud what I desire. Though, this outspokenness on my part can be called a human failing, I do not really care. I really have started to miss courtship and all that really comes with it. If only, and this is a truly laughable wish, I could find someone that I do not have to pursue, but instead, some sort of reciprocation of actions and wants manifest openly, actively, and even proactively. This would be incredible.
Incredible meaning unbelievable. I don't really understand it myself, but I suppose I have gotten sort of jaded to the process of dating. It seems like the task of initiating anything have always and forever fallen squarely into the lap of the male species, even in this 21st century. This isn't really so bad, and I really am just lamenting, but sometimes I do wonder if I should be a person that merely likes to take. It certainly would be a lot easier, and for some reason, it also seems to be an attractive quality in a male.
Ah, I shall never understand it.
All this whining and cynicism aside, (this is the part where Wei comes back to being Wei and not a presumptuous fool) I guess I am merely in want of a relationship which a two way street exists. I shall never be the bastard that I always say I want to be because I don't believe that actually attracts women, and because, well, I simply cannot. I suppose I just like to verbally strike this type of character of a man (because they actually exist) when I feel frustrated and cynical.
In any case, I have not lost heart yet, and hopefully, I never will. I know that, in some cases, the things I look for in a person is difficult to find (like good intentions, a willingness to try new things, and a proactive wish to give) but, then again, I believe in God. If I can believe in an all powerful being that can see and do anything, I can believe that He will find someone that I can fit with, despite my own wishes and whatnot. I, afterall, can also be a very difficult person to deal with and, I am not altogether anywhere close to being a saint.
So perhaps eventually God will lead me to a nun, or perhaps a succubus. Ah, we shall see. In any case, I shall endeavor to be less cynical on this subject and keep hoping. After all, I feel that Wei without his idealism and starry-eyed hope is like the sun without light. It'd be just some defiled, raging husk of a thing.
And no one wants that. =)
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Beautiful World
The sun has come out and the world fills with warmth and beauty. Sun kissed cherry blossoms fall slowly in the gentle breeze.
Ah, what a wonderful feeling it is to be alive, knowing that spring has come.
May we cherish our planet, our lives, and every moment in simple happiness.
Though I had not intended the post to be on this day, but indeed, I think it to be fitting. Happy Earth Day.
Ah, what a wonderful feeling it is to be alive, knowing that spring has come.
May we cherish our planet, our lives, and every moment in simple happiness.
Though I had not intended the post to be on this day, but indeed, I think it to be fitting. Happy Earth Day.
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Bloom and Grow
Usually, on the horizon, I see clouds bearing rain, wind and thunder. On those days, I shut myself in my little room, and think. I dislike constant rain, and I find it hard to retain the strength to keep smiling and face each day anew when the rain always beats down on me.
This, obviously, describes not only my literal reality, but my metaphorical one as well.
It had felt like I have always bore some heavy load, with a gloomy outlook in the horizon, as I treaded through these past few college years. There have been sun-breaks, but always, clouds hovered in the distance.
However, I can now see a shaft of light in the distance now, growing brighter and brighter. The friends I have gained along the way have made my load much easier. And now, even the horizon looks like it will clear soon.
I have always loved to write, and I have always wanted to entertain and delight people with my writing. For years now, I have taken up ambitious writing projects of my own design and chipped and worked at it. I never know if I could show them to the world, but I could never stop writing either. It became sort of a paradox. The more I wrote, the more I invested myself into the writing, and the more I invested myself, the more fearful I became about showing it to the world.
Yet, writing became a solace to me over the past few years. It was a little seed that, I would like to think, had been well watered by the rains. Now, I feel it growing and sprouting.
I have, once again, taken up collaboration work with some close friends. Learning from the mistakes of previous attempts to do these things, we have drawn up a strong course to succeeding in our endeavors. I shall write for the project, with the inputs with our team, and hopefully, our end result would be an offering savory to the public.
I pray for our work to bloom and grow. Truly, little seed bloom and grow.
When it does, the sun shall dry me and hold me in its comfort.
This, obviously, describes not only my literal reality, but my metaphorical one as well.
It had felt like I have always bore some heavy load, with a gloomy outlook in the horizon, as I treaded through these past few college years. There have been sun-breaks, but always, clouds hovered in the distance.
However, I can now see a shaft of light in the distance now, growing brighter and brighter. The friends I have gained along the way have made my load much easier. And now, even the horizon looks like it will clear soon.
I have always loved to write, and I have always wanted to entertain and delight people with my writing. For years now, I have taken up ambitious writing projects of my own design and chipped and worked at it. I never know if I could show them to the world, but I could never stop writing either. It became sort of a paradox. The more I wrote, the more I invested myself into the writing, and the more I invested myself, the more fearful I became about showing it to the world.
Yet, writing became a solace to me over the past few years. It was a little seed that, I would like to think, had been well watered by the rains. Now, I feel it growing and sprouting.
I have, once again, taken up collaboration work with some close friends. Learning from the mistakes of previous attempts to do these things, we have drawn up a strong course to succeeding in our endeavors. I shall write for the project, with the inputs with our team, and hopefully, our end result would be an offering savory to the public.
I pray for our work to bloom and grow. Truly, little seed bloom and grow.
When it does, the sun shall dry me and hold me in its comfort.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
I'm English and American
As a writer, I'm quite peculiar about grammar. Yet, recently, I realized I constantly switch between English grammar and nuances and American grammar and nuances.
I use words like toward and towards or while and whilst interchangeably, sometimes even in the same article or story. It seems to be a trend that as I get more enraptured by my story, the more English I become.
I find this both strange and annoying. Strange because I have only ever learned American grammar (if they even teach that in schools) and annoying because it breaks the consistency in my writing that allows for immersion. This discovery has also lead me to be much more paranoid about my writing and less focused on storytelling. Needless to say, I am very distraught.
I have a theory though about why I display this odd trait. All of my favorite books I have ever loved to read have been by British authors, or a distinctively English translation of some other author. This, added with the fact that grammar has never ever been drilled into me by my school teachers ("just write what sounds right"), probably produced in me this strange twist. Thus, when I begin to write feverishly, I draw more heavily on the books that had inspired me.
However, due to this, I am very very upset. This means that I have to go back and edit every one of my ongoing pieces for one unified style over the other. As well, at this moment in time, I cannot decide which style I prefer. Personally, I like the slightly more decorated style of British grammar, but readers would probably prefer the efficiency of American style, for it is less distracting.
Ugh. The perfectionist in me is now screaming.
I use words like toward and towards or while and whilst interchangeably, sometimes even in the same article or story. It seems to be a trend that as I get more enraptured by my story, the more English I become.
I find this both strange and annoying. Strange because I have only ever learned American grammar (if they even teach that in schools) and annoying because it breaks the consistency in my writing that allows for immersion. This discovery has also lead me to be much more paranoid about my writing and less focused on storytelling. Needless to say, I am very distraught.
I have a theory though about why I display this odd trait. All of my favorite books I have ever loved to read have been by British authors, or a distinctively English translation of some other author. This, added with the fact that grammar has never ever been drilled into me by my school teachers ("just write what sounds right"), probably produced in me this strange twist. Thus, when I begin to write feverishly, I draw more heavily on the books that had inspired me.
However, due to this, I am very very upset. This means that I have to go back and edit every one of my ongoing pieces for one unified style over the other. As well, at this moment in time, I cannot decide which style I prefer. Personally, I like the slightly more decorated style of British grammar, but readers would probably prefer the efficiency of American style, for it is less distracting.
Ugh. The perfectionist in me is now screaming.
Monday, April 13, 2009
Beauty
Far too little is beauty ever celebrated now.
I am not talking about the fake, tortured sort of forced beauty society promotes in super models and lusty tv ads. No, I mean serene, truthful, natural beauty.
Waterfalls and fluffy clouds. A lady walking bare feet on soft grass, the wind playing with her ribbons and white dress. Birds laughing and butterfly's flying.
I miss seeing these things. In this urban, regulated environment, sometimes I feel so trapped.
One of these days, I'll go find some sunshine and a rushing breeze that brings color to my cheeks and leaves me breathless. I'll find quiet songs whispered in the trees and poems in the sky.
Then my soul would be free to grow, once more, innocent in its serenity.
I am not talking about the fake, tortured sort of forced beauty society promotes in super models and lusty tv ads. No, I mean serene, truthful, natural beauty.
Waterfalls and fluffy clouds. A lady walking bare feet on soft grass, the wind playing with her ribbons and white dress. Birds laughing and butterfly's flying.
I miss seeing these things. In this urban, regulated environment, sometimes I feel so trapped.
One of these days, I'll go find some sunshine and a rushing breeze that brings color to my cheeks and leaves me breathless. I'll find quiet songs whispered in the trees and poems in the sky.
Then my soul would be free to grow, once more, innocent in its serenity.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
The One Thing of Passion
3:00 AM.
In this deep night of Easter morning, words hardly come to me. My mind swirls with the feverish mists of this cold. Between my spasm of coughs, I understand that I search for something, something tangible in the fog of my mind.
Logical creativity eludes me. I cannot see the paths my words wish to dictate. It travels spontaneously. Murky, dim fog gives way to moments of fleeting enlightenment. It flashes, then, just before I grasp it, it disappears back into the gloom. I am left with merely tendrils of smoke and hallucinations of its existence.
This form of creation is wholly new to me. I, rooted deeply in logic, analysis, and synthesis, cannot but feel a mix of fear and excitement as I anticipate what my searching will yield. Perhaps, in this state of my mind, the barriers to true creative genius can be breached and new territories can be mapped. Or, perhaps breaching these walls only allows for the whole coherent logic that readers depend upon to collapse, becoming a pile of word rubble and debris.
I am only certain of the existence of a vague, undefinable feeling. It rushes and bubbles, like a stream. It leads to a deep introspective search.
I had nearly given up on my pursuit of a creative, sustainable, entertainment medium. And, by medium, I mean words, particularly the flow, connection and conveyance of them. Yet, this feverish, sickly state of mine produced an irrevocable recognition of a passion within me. It will not die. I yearn and hunger.
This undefinable feeling can only be termed "passion". While browsing other works of genius, I have found a cry to try and create something similar, though altogether my own. I want to create something that not only entertains my fellow readers, but transcends me to a state of joy and happiness every time I do. Something that I can marvel at, be surprised by, and be humble about. Its existence wholly accidental but miraculous, only brought forth by my inexpert hands and chaotic mind but hailed and exalted by not only its creator but its readers as well.
This is my wish. My goal. My passion.
I pen it here so that I cannot feign ignorance of it. It has been written, black ink on white parchment. Sacred, since the dawn of language.
In this deep night of Easter morning, words hardly come to me. My mind swirls with the feverish mists of this cold. Between my spasm of coughs, I understand that I search for something, something tangible in the fog of my mind.
Logical creativity eludes me. I cannot see the paths my words wish to dictate. It travels spontaneously. Murky, dim fog gives way to moments of fleeting enlightenment. It flashes, then, just before I grasp it, it disappears back into the gloom. I am left with merely tendrils of smoke and hallucinations of its existence.
This form of creation is wholly new to me. I, rooted deeply in logic, analysis, and synthesis, cannot but feel a mix of fear and excitement as I anticipate what my searching will yield. Perhaps, in this state of my mind, the barriers to true creative genius can be breached and new territories can be mapped. Or, perhaps breaching these walls only allows for the whole coherent logic that readers depend upon to collapse, becoming a pile of word rubble and debris.
I am only certain of the existence of a vague, undefinable feeling. It rushes and bubbles, like a stream. It leads to a deep introspective search.
I had nearly given up on my pursuit of a creative, sustainable, entertainment medium. And, by medium, I mean words, particularly the flow, connection and conveyance of them. Yet, this feverish, sickly state of mine produced an irrevocable recognition of a passion within me. It will not die. I yearn and hunger.
This undefinable feeling can only be termed "passion". While browsing other works of genius, I have found a cry to try and create something similar, though altogether my own. I want to create something that not only entertains my fellow readers, but transcends me to a state of joy and happiness every time I do. Something that I can marvel at, be surprised by, and be humble about. Its existence wholly accidental but miraculous, only brought forth by my inexpert hands and chaotic mind but hailed and exalted by not only its creator but its readers as well.
This is my wish. My goal. My passion.
I pen it here so that I cannot feign ignorance of it. It has been written, black ink on white parchment. Sacred, since the dawn of language.
Monday, March 30, 2009
Love in Laughter
Surprise, surprise. According to more and more articles, the secret in long lasting love is humor. Apparently, happiness comes with laughing. Shocking right?
All sarcasm aside, I do find it interesting that people need to be told that humor makes for long lasting romances and even good sex. I had always known it, but I never felt quite justified in my observations. In every good relationship that I had observed, be they young or old, I saw that humor created the most basic and fundamental connection for a relationship to be built on. Yet, with my own adventures with ladies, I find that most girls love having a strong, trusting connection with me, built on the hours we spent laughing and entertaining each other, as a safety line or, in their terms, as a "best friend". They hold strongly to our relationship, while searching for a male specimen that they feel would be a potential mate. Most of these relationships with these strapping young males often have little depth, little insight, and far too little solid foundations.
This, of couse, is not a new observation from me. I had always complained about it before, being slightly bitter. Yet, currently, I feel oddly happy. I never thought that I looked like a paragon of manhood, nor did I feel like I possessed many of the flourishes that seems to attract the typical female heart - bravado, power, wealth and an untamed spirit. I wouldn't say I do not have any of those things. I just do not have much of it. What I do have is simply charisma, a nature that makes the people around me happy, laughing, and content. Which, according the many books and articles being published now, means that I hold the single most important key to a successful, long lasting, slow burning, romance.
While my self esteem does not rely completely on the findings of social scientists, I do find it strangely vindicating that other people, of high repute, agrees with my views.
Yet, enough about my feelings and history for now. I wish to explore the topic of humor further. I do not believe that humor alone is the key for a successful relationship. I believe it's something far deeper.
It's honesty.
We often grow up believing and dreaming of romantic hollywood relationships, so much so that we lose sight of reality. For those of us who watch anime, no girl or guy we meet would ever be so perfect, or suffer merely one personality flaw. Or, for those of us who watch dramas (wow, am I really guilty of both?) no guy or girl can be symplified into those archetypes that they explore: dying sick girl filled with love, gloomy strong guy in search of redemption, stubborn idiot jerk turned gentle by affection... etc. No.
Rather, everyone of us are filled with many, many imperfections without a glorfying story for each one. I may smile far too much for my own good. I'm lazy. And lets face it, when it comes to romance, I am by far not the smoothest rock on the beach. These among many others are my flaws. Yet, if we allow ourselves to see these things in ourselves and especially in others, and embrace them with an easy air of honesty - meaning, embrace their flaws with the idea that every one of them ultimately creates and contributes to the person that we cherish - then we allow for fun, passion and love to grow. After all, when it comes to this we can either laugh about it, or cry about it. And who wants to cry?
Like I have always said about music and art: I have never enjoyed hearing the final performance piece more than hearing all the practices with all the mistakes and revisions. It's just simply more honest. I do not tolerate people hiding behind fake masks in friendship. Why should I allow it in romance?
Dates will not always go perfectly. Violins do not play when we stare into our significant other's eyes. Passionate acts are more fumbling around and messy than euphoric and transcending. And I laugh and enjoy every part of everything. They make for hilarious stories, and, hopefully my future girlfriend would enjoy talking about all the craziness of everything as much as I do. In short, I hope my future girlfriend would be much more real.
So, as for my luck with ladies thus far, I will not say I did not make my share of mistakes. Yet, perhaps it is the demographic of girls I happen to talk to, asian girls mostly. (Like do asian families even teach laughter? or reality? in their controlling idealistic minds?) Or perhaps it is merely the level of maturity in all of us. In any case, I shall strive to find and connect with a person who both enjoys my humor and has courage enough to build on it.
I shall keep my heart open and hopeful. Love is an adventure that makes life worth living. It's only fair to have fun and laugh a bit on the way. And while I'm at it, perhaps I'll learn and grow so that my flaws will deminish.
Who knows? Maybe I'll meet someone that thinks that too.
(Man have I had some embarassing encounters. Lol)
All sarcasm aside, I do find it interesting that people need to be told that humor makes for long lasting romances and even good sex. I had always known it, but I never felt quite justified in my observations. In every good relationship that I had observed, be they young or old, I saw that humor created the most basic and fundamental connection for a relationship to be built on. Yet, with my own adventures with ladies, I find that most girls love having a strong, trusting connection with me, built on the hours we spent laughing and entertaining each other, as a safety line or, in their terms, as a "best friend". They hold strongly to our relationship, while searching for a male specimen that they feel would be a potential mate. Most of these relationships with these strapping young males often have little depth, little insight, and far too little solid foundations.
This, of couse, is not a new observation from me. I had always complained about it before, being slightly bitter. Yet, currently, I feel oddly happy. I never thought that I looked like a paragon of manhood, nor did I feel like I possessed many of the flourishes that seems to attract the typical female heart - bravado, power, wealth and an untamed spirit. I wouldn't say I do not have any of those things. I just do not have much of it. What I do have is simply charisma, a nature that makes the people around me happy, laughing, and content. Which, according the many books and articles being published now, means that I hold the single most important key to a successful, long lasting, slow burning, romance.
While my self esteem does not rely completely on the findings of social scientists, I do find it strangely vindicating that other people, of high repute, agrees with my views.
Yet, enough about my feelings and history for now. I wish to explore the topic of humor further. I do not believe that humor alone is the key for a successful relationship. I believe it's something far deeper.
It's honesty.
We often grow up believing and dreaming of romantic hollywood relationships, so much so that we lose sight of reality. For those of us who watch anime, no girl or guy we meet would ever be so perfect, or suffer merely one personality flaw. Or, for those of us who watch dramas (wow, am I really guilty of both?) no guy or girl can be symplified into those archetypes that they explore: dying sick girl filled with love, gloomy strong guy in search of redemption, stubborn idiot jerk turned gentle by affection... etc. No.
Rather, everyone of us are filled with many, many imperfections without a glorfying story for each one. I may smile far too much for my own good. I'm lazy. And lets face it, when it comes to romance, I am by far not the smoothest rock on the beach. These among many others are my flaws. Yet, if we allow ourselves to see these things in ourselves and especially in others, and embrace them with an easy air of honesty - meaning, embrace their flaws with the idea that every one of them ultimately creates and contributes to the person that we cherish - then we allow for fun, passion and love to grow. After all, when it comes to this we can either laugh about it, or cry about it. And who wants to cry?
Like I have always said about music and art: I have never enjoyed hearing the final performance piece more than hearing all the practices with all the mistakes and revisions. It's just simply more honest. I do not tolerate people hiding behind fake masks in friendship. Why should I allow it in romance?
Dates will not always go perfectly. Violins do not play when we stare into our significant other's eyes. Passionate acts are more fumbling around and messy than euphoric and transcending. And I laugh and enjoy every part of everything. They make for hilarious stories, and, hopefully my future girlfriend would enjoy talking about all the craziness of everything as much as I do. In short, I hope my future girlfriend would be much more real.
So, as for my luck with ladies thus far, I will not say I did not make my share of mistakes. Yet, perhaps it is the demographic of girls I happen to talk to, asian girls mostly. (Like do asian families even teach laughter? or reality? in their controlling idealistic minds?) Or perhaps it is merely the level of maturity in all of us. In any case, I shall strive to find and connect with a person who both enjoys my humor and has courage enough to build on it.
I shall keep my heart open and hopeful. Love is an adventure that makes life worth living. It's only fair to have fun and laugh a bit on the way. And while I'm at it, perhaps I'll learn and grow so that my flaws will deminish.
Who knows? Maybe I'll meet someone that thinks that too.
(Man have I had some embarassing encounters. Lol)
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Memories and Goals
For me, sometimes I am ever looking into the past, analyzing every detail, processing it, and turning it into an action that propels me forward. At the same time, I am always looking into the future, anticipating all the pit falls, planning my moves, and driving toward a goal that I have deemed as "success".
Sometimes, many times, I just miss the here and now.
Yet, what can someone do? In high school, I have always been known to live for the now, and live to no regrets. In college, I looked into the future, I stumbled, and now I study the past. I do not understand all the choices that I want to make. I do not even have the time to process all the information at this second before another second sneaks up on me and I have be clairvoyant enough to decide instinctively.
There is a part of me which wants to move forward. I wish desperately to reach the goals that I had always envisioned. Yet, I at the same time, I feel as I reach and grasp for the future, I am trading away my here and now. My friend groups have become smaller. My intimacy with people have fallen to the wayside. My memories that I make with the experiences I have now have started to blur together into just long moments of study, analysis, planning and doing. A part of me feels like I am growing up and reaching for something higher, and a part of me feels like I am losing myself and dying.
I do not know what I wish to save. I do not know what I wish to relinquish. Time feels so short. I feel it pressing upon me. Some of my friends have managed so well. I do not understand it. They have boyfriends, supportive friends, and a safe path to walk. One of my friends have already managed to secure the next four years of her future; another two chases vigilantly the fleeting dream of being published.
What have I done?
The friends I feel that I can count on have diminished from their vast number to only a handful. And even then, it feels like I have to try with all my might to hold on to them. I am too rooted in fear to feel like I can push for publishing, and out of that very same fear says the words "and even if I do, even if I do... can I sustain my future with mere words and dreams? Will I be able to eat my fantasies and philosophies?" I do not know. I do not know.
Perhaps, for this reason, I have turned to religeon to keep me afloat. Perhaps, the vision of a benign God watching with all His mercy and benevolence, His infallible love and patience wrapping around me and guiding me. Depending on him does not require work, but mere belief. He is someone I can always trust. He would not hurt me, play mind mind games, and I do not have to invest anything but my soul and my faith.
Yet, on a much more human note, what have I done? Really, what have I actually ever accomplished? My only steadfast goal that I had ever held on to - to be ever loving and supportive to my friends, for if I can make at least one persons life better, I have redeemed myself a little - seem so dull, irrelevant. When all have been said and done, there will be no rewards for me. I will not get a better job. I will not be recognized.
I have to try hard on every aspect of my life. On friendships, on relationships, in work, at school, in play and everything. I have been stressed and pulled. I have been crushed and pieced back together. I have given past the limit of what I can give. And, in the end, I am tired.
I stare at the roads constantly before me. No road signs point the way. No leader to tell me my options. Not even a voice to tell me they're right there with me. It annoys me. My old friends have zoomed ahead, almost out of sight. And whilst I have new friends and new ideas, I cannot help but compare what I had with what I have now.
They say the value of a person is measured by the company he keeps. On most days, in most times, my shadow and the waining phases of the moon are my company. I have friends who know how to study, but are not mindful of the ever shifting tides of their surroundings. I have friends who know how to love, but do not understand the giving or the taking. I have friends who know how to entertain, but cannot face the seriousness of reality. In many respects they cannot compare with the groups of people I had held company with. And yet, I love everyone of these people. I will defend each and every one of them to the end. I will forever protect them with what I have, and never regret it. What does this mean?
I do not understand my motivations. I have been called foolish, romantic, idealistic and at worst, failure, by those old friends who have zoomed ahead and not given a second thought of looking back. I do not understand. Friendship is so mercurial, and despite all that I have done to solidify its definition to me, I find myself being torn apart.
Only a few things remain constant to me. I will love my friends. I will love my God.
Somehow, with these principles, somehow with all the contradictions, somehow with a road riddled with sacrifices and compromise, I will find a road that lets me be successful in the future and retain memories, friendships, principles and individuality that I have now.
This is the only way of living I know; this is the only path I can follow. This is my way.
Sometimes, many times, I just miss the here and now.
Yet, what can someone do? In high school, I have always been known to live for the now, and live to no regrets. In college, I looked into the future, I stumbled, and now I study the past. I do not understand all the choices that I want to make. I do not even have the time to process all the information at this second before another second sneaks up on me and I have be clairvoyant enough to decide instinctively.
There is a part of me which wants to move forward. I wish desperately to reach the goals that I had always envisioned. Yet, I at the same time, I feel as I reach and grasp for the future, I am trading away my here and now. My friend groups have become smaller. My intimacy with people have fallen to the wayside. My memories that I make with the experiences I have now have started to blur together into just long moments of study, analysis, planning and doing. A part of me feels like I am growing up and reaching for something higher, and a part of me feels like I am losing myself and dying.
I do not know what I wish to save. I do not know what I wish to relinquish. Time feels so short. I feel it pressing upon me. Some of my friends have managed so well. I do not understand it. They have boyfriends, supportive friends, and a safe path to walk. One of my friends have already managed to secure the next four years of her future; another two chases vigilantly the fleeting dream of being published.
What have I done?
The friends I feel that I can count on have diminished from their vast number to only a handful. And even then, it feels like I have to try with all my might to hold on to them. I am too rooted in fear to feel like I can push for publishing, and out of that very same fear says the words "and even if I do, even if I do... can I sustain my future with mere words and dreams? Will I be able to eat my fantasies and philosophies?" I do not know. I do not know.
Perhaps, for this reason, I have turned to religeon to keep me afloat. Perhaps, the vision of a benign God watching with all His mercy and benevolence, His infallible love and patience wrapping around me and guiding me. Depending on him does not require work, but mere belief. He is someone I can always trust. He would not hurt me, play mind mind games, and I do not have to invest anything but my soul and my faith.
Yet, on a much more human note, what have I done? Really, what have I actually ever accomplished? My only steadfast goal that I had ever held on to - to be ever loving and supportive to my friends, for if I can make at least one persons life better, I have redeemed myself a little - seem so dull, irrelevant. When all have been said and done, there will be no rewards for me. I will not get a better job. I will not be recognized.
I have to try hard on every aspect of my life. On friendships, on relationships, in work, at school, in play and everything. I have been stressed and pulled. I have been crushed and pieced back together. I have given past the limit of what I can give. And, in the end, I am tired.
I stare at the roads constantly before me. No road signs point the way. No leader to tell me my options. Not even a voice to tell me they're right there with me. It annoys me. My old friends have zoomed ahead, almost out of sight. And whilst I have new friends and new ideas, I cannot help but compare what I had with what I have now.
They say the value of a person is measured by the company he keeps. On most days, in most times, my shadow and the waining phases of the moon are my company. I have friends who know how to study, but are not mindful of the ever shifting tides of their surroundings. I have friends who know how to love, but do not understand the giving or the taking. I have friends who know how to entertain, but cannot face the seriousness of reality. In many respects they cannot compare with the groups of people I had held company with. And yet, I love everyone of these people. I will defend each and every one of them to the end. I will forever protect them with what I have, and never regret it. What does this mean?
I do not understand my motivations. I have been called foolish, romantic, idealistic and at worst, failure, by those old friends who have zoomed ahead and not given a second thought of looking back. I do not understand. Friendship is so mercurial, and despite all that I have done to solidify its definition to me, I find myself being torn apart.
Only a few things remain constant to me. I will love my friends. I will love my God.
Somehow, with these principles, somehow with all the contradictions, somehow with a road riddled with sacrifices and compromise, I will find a road that lets me be successful in the future and retain memories, friendships, principles and individuality that I have now.
This is the only way of living I know; this is the only path I can follow. This is my way.
Monday, March 09, 2009
Breathe Easy in Face of Finals
Or any other type of stressful activity for that matter.
People over the years have tried a couple of ways to manage stress such as meditation, yoga, exercise and even sound therapy. Doctors recognize that doing one or any of the above activities releases endoriphins, a chemical that makes us feel good. The "natural high" if you will.
Yet, I come from another school of thought. While I believe that meditation, yoga, and excercise all will increase a person's overall health over time, I feel it masks the stress and exhibits an overall far too scientific approach. Everytime I think about doing one of the above, I imagine a doctor in a white coat standing next to me saying in a cool proffesional voice "Good, now breathe in, one, two, three, four, five, and out..." This hardly appeals to me.
No, I come from another school of thought. I like hearing encouragement, and I thought I'd pass that along.
Times could definitely be tough. I will not lie. From the economy to next week's finals to strained relationships to menegitis that you caught because of the freezing temperatures outside to the unrelenting, neverending piles of homework and things on your ToDo lists, there will always be something or somethings that strive to hold us to a place of pressure, anxiety and fear.
Yet, take heart, I believe that you can conquer it all. Not just simply get through it in some form of "alive". No, no. You will triumph. How do I know? Because I do not get very many readers on this site. I know those of you who visit it. I can attest personally to your mental strength, tenacity, and will.
The obstacles that you see before you are merely your stepping stones to overall accomplishment. You merely have to take all that comes at you a single step at a time. Eventually, you will be standing on top of the mountain you once thought insurrmountable. Trust me. I am one to analyze and evaluate. My information can be counted upon. You will succeed.
Everyone, young and old, strong and weak, will all cower in face of obstacles they feel they cannot handle. Yet, with great tenacity, they shove forward and in the end of it, they marvel how they ever managed to accomplish the impossible. Thomas Edison invented the lightbulb after trying 1000 some times. It would be absurd to think that he did not become discouraged along the way. You would think that after the first hundred or so, he would say something like "Wow ok, this really isn't working very well". Yet, he pushed forward.
You can too. You needn't invent the light bulb, or try something a thousand times. You merely need to believe, in simple faith, that you can achieve extraordinary things. I believe it. There will be times when we grow tired, our shoulders slump, and our feet drag. Where our will to battle all the things laid before us deminishes and our spirits grow weak.
Yet, know that there is a great power within you. Dig deep. You can find it. I can see it. Take a deep breath. Reset. Focus only on the goal and not on the time it takes or any other thing. The goal lies before you, and you can definitely reach it.
After all, I am reaching towards those very same goals under similar circumstances. We'll do this together. You and I. It'll be easier. Whatever you're studying for, whatever you're dealing with, whatever you're striving for, I will lend you my support. Yes you. Do not be thinking that I am talking of anyone else except you. You, my reader.
I do not make bets that I cannot win. I know that you can conquer all that is infront of you. You have the spirit, the strength and the will of a champion.
People over the years have tried a couple of ways to manage stress such as meditation, yoga, exercise and even sound therapy. Doctors recognize that doing one or any of the above activities releases endoriphins, a chemical that makes us feel good. The "natural high" if you will.
Yet, I come from another school of thought. While I believe that meditation, yoga, and excercise all will increase a person's overall health over time, I feel it masks the stress and exhibits an overall far too scientific approach. Everytime I think about doing one of the above, I imagine a doctor in a white coat standing next to me saying in a cool proffesional voice "Good, now breathe in, one, two, three, four, five, and out..." This hardly appeals to me.
No, I come from another school of thought. I like hearing encouragement, and I thought I'd pass that along.
Times could definitely be tough. I will not lie. From the economy to next week's finals to strained relationships to menegitis that you caught because of the freezing temperatures outside to the unrelenting, neverending piles of homework and things on your ToDo lists, there will always be something or somethings that strive to hold us to a place of pressure, anxiety and fear.
Yet, take heart, I believe that you can conquer it all. Not just simply get through it in some form of "alive". No, no. You will triumph. How do I know? Because I do not get very many readers on this site. I know those of you who visit it. I can attest personally to your mental strength, tenacity, and will.
The obstacles that you see before you are merely your stepping stones to overall accomplishment. You merely have to take all that comes at you a single step at a time. Eventually, you will be standing on top of the mountain you once thought insurrmountable. Trust me. I am one to analyze and evaluate. My information can be counted upon. You will succeed.
Everyone, young and old, strong and weak, will all cower in face of obstacles they feel they cannot handle. Yet, with great tenacity, they shove forward and in the end of it, they marvel how they ever managed to accomplish the impossible. Thomas Edison invented the lightbulb after trying 1000 some times. It would be absurd to think that he did not become discouraged along the way. You would think that after the first hundred or so, he would say something like "Wow ok, this really isn't working very well". Yet, he pushed forward.
You can too. You needn't invent the light bulb, or try something a thousand times. You merely need to believe, in simple faith, that you can achieve extraordinary things. I believe it. There will be times when we grow tired, our shoulders slump, and our feet drag. Where our will to battle all the things laid before us deminishes and our spirits grow weak.
Yet, know that there is a great power within you. Dig deep. You can find it. I can see it. Take a deep breath. Reset. Focus only on the goal and not on the time it takes or any other thing. The goal lies before you, and you can definitely reach it.
After all, I am reaching towards those very same goals under similar circumstances. We'll do this together. You and I. It'll be easier. Whatever you're studying for, whatever you're dealing with, whatever you're striving for, I will lend you my support. Yes you. Do not be thinking that I am talking of anyone else except you. You, my reader.
I do not make bets that I cannot win. I know that you can conquer all that is infront of you. You have the spirit, the strength and the will of a champion.
Sunday, March 08, 2009
Comfort
“[The God of All Comfort] Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God.”
- 2 Corinthians 1:3-4
Some people close to my heart have commented once in awhile that they admire how "strong" I can be or how "giving" I am even when faced with great difficulty, pain, or suffering. These casual praises have always made me a little embarrassed and, truthfully, a little proud. Yet, I must now lay down myself and confess that if I, alone, tried to tank the blows that life hits me with and still remain gentle, giving and compassionate, I would probably have gone insane at the first struggle.
No. Human nature, by definition, does not allow me to be selfless. I often struggle with the ideas of "what I want" and "what I should do because it is right". Often times, the struggle becomes very intense, especially when I feel justified in what I want. Let me explain a very easy example:
If a person came up to me and kicked me in my business zone, my natural reaction would be to retaliate, after I stopped rolling on the ground of course. I would want to hurt them as much as they have hurt me. Or, at the very least, I would wish to avoid this person at all costs for as long as the memory of it sticks in my mind.
Yet, somewhere in my mind, I know that inflicting pain only makes things worse. A voice calls out to me, and morally, I feel compelled to kneel and pray for this person. Perhaps try and speak to them, perhaps even appologize. To many, this may seem like an overly pious thing to accomplish. They stand correct. If the above scenario truly did occur, I know for sure my selfish side would occur first 9 times out of 10. Yet, I am happy and glad that I can at least do the other 10%.
The example stands as an extreme example. Sometimes, the action is not a kick, but rather could be simply a friend or coworker taking advantage of my personality again and again, until its started to wear me down. This makes giving and loving a sacrifice of my dignity and sometimes, it really strikes me, as if I had been kicked.
Yet, I thank God, for like the quote said earlier, I do not have to rely on my own strength for this! I realize now that I am, actually, quite weak. Had not God renewed me every time, I would not have the energy or strength to be able to do the things that the Bible commands me (to Love everyone). I imagine that I am like a tank of sorts, like the ones in RPG games. I, myself, could maybe take some hits, yet if I am continuously pummeled I would die very fast and easily. Yet, God is my Healer (who, evidently, never runs out of mana). Thus, I can be strong.
I find God to be more and more marvelous every day. I thank God for lending me His strength, for I am weak, but He is strong. I thank God for giving me my wonderful friends, for showing me all sides of the people I know, and for still allowing me to love everyone of them more and more. I thank God for forgiving me of my sins, for allowing me to be free of negativity towards others, for letting me shielded in Him.
Marvelous.
Thursday, March 05, 2009
Boys Don't Cry
They take walks instead.
There are definitely times when I feel like I am in constant battle. I wage war with my feelings, the negative ones that try to swarm me, and with the temptations that surround me. At times, I can imagine myself to be a lone hero doing battle with these things. They appear as shadowy forms with fangs and glowing pure red or black eyes. They laugh and snicker, dance about me, and glide phasing in and out of sight, leaving only their eyes in sight as they do. Their dark translucent bodies block out the light, a light that only seems to emanate from my heart. Hideous. Truly hideous.
I feel that that this metaphor describes very aptly the things I feel. I suppose, in a way, this post is a deep study of metaphor. As I walk through the night, well, even through the day, I see pairs of people walking from place to place. I even saw a pair of people tonight on my walk, praying together. As I gaze at them, I know that they do not battle alone, and perhaps the light shines brighter in their lives.
When, I pray, I feel that I, too, do not battle alone. Someone else walks beside me with a searing blinding light. The shadows vanish, and I can see that I am at a field with blooming flowers, green rolling hills, and sparkling bubbling brooks. Love.
Yet, it is not always easy being able to be in such a place. I suppose maybe I am just emotionally weak. It's the breach that allows in all these shades that haunt the night. My only defenses come from my faith which is my armor and the Bible my sword. Yet, because of how unstudied I am, cracks fill my armor, and rust dulls my sword. Sometimes I feel overwhelmed in this battle, sometimes I feel I can carry on.
Mostly, I hope that through the coming days I can gain more and more strength to win these battles. So that I can focus not on myself, but on others. So that I can not feel down about walking alone, but aid others in their own struggles. So that I can stop asking for someone to reach me in my loneliness, but to reach and lift up the people I care about. Everyone walks wanting people to think about them, and everyone wishes for others to take an initiative in their lives. I had never strove to be ordinary and I shall not do so now. I pray that I will stand against these weaknesses and vices of mine, and over come them with a spirit of giving and flowing love.
It is no excuse to be selfish and lazy when my mood strikes me down. With God's help, I shall overcome and reach ever closer towards true unrelenting, selfless love.
I feel His flowing through me already.
There are definitely times when I feel like I am in constant battle. I wage war with my feelings, the negative ones that try to swarm me, and with the temptations that surround me. At times, I can imagine myself to be a lone hero doing battle with these things. They appear as shadowy forms with fangs and glowing pure red or black eyes. They laugh and snicker, dance about me, and glide phasing in and out of sight, leaving only their eyes in sight as they do. Their dark translucent bodies block out the light, a light that only seems to emanate from my heart. Hideous. Truly hideous.
I feel that that this metaphor describes very aptly the things I feel. I suppose, in a way, this post is a deep study of metaphor. As I walk through the night, well, even through the day, I see pairs of people walking from place to place. I even saw a pair of people tonight on my walk, praying together. As I gaze at them, I know that they do not battle alone, and perhaps the light shines brighter in their lives.
When, I pray, I feel that I, too, do not battle alone. Someone else walks beside me with a searing blinding light. The shadows vanish, and I can see that I am at a field with blooming flowers, green rolling hills, and sparkling bubbling brooks. Love.
Yet, it is not always easy being able to be in such a place. I suppose maybe I am just emotionally weak. It's the breach that allows in all these shades that haunt the night. My only defenses come from my faith which is my armor and the Bible my sword. Yet, because of how unstudied I am, cracks fill my armor, and rust dulls my sword. Sometimes I feel overwhelmed in this battle, sometimes I feel I can carry on.
Mostly, I hope that through the coming days I can gain more and more strength to win these battles. So that I can focus not on myself, but on others. So that I can not feel down about walking alone, but aid others in their own struggles. So that I can stop asking for someone to reach me in my loneliness, but to reach and lift up the people I care about. Everyone walks wanting people to think about them, and everyone wishes for others to take an initiative in their lives. I had never strove to be ordinary and I shall not do so now. I pray that I will stand against these weaknesses and vices of mine, and over come them with a spirit of giving and flowing love.
It is no excuse to be selfish and lazy when my mood strikes me down. With God's help, I shall overcome and reach ever closer towards true unrelenting, selfless love.
I feel His flowing through me already.
Wednesday, March 04, 2009
Yearning for a Spiritual Connection
I suppose in recent days, I have had this craving and wish for a spiritual connection with my Christian friends. I keep seeing this image of us able to talk together and come together in prayer and love. The image tantalizes me, and becomes more vivid the more I think about it. I have my friends with me and as one, we kneel and bow our heads in prayer. A feeling of need and want fills me every time I think on it.
I guess it is because I had such a tight knit group like that back in high school. I keep thinking back to my old church back then. I had left it for obvious reasons. Yet, in the course of time, these reasons have become more minute, and inversely, the reasons why I loved it in the first place has become amplified. I loved my circle of brothers and sisters. Though the adults with their Asian politics and what not made it a hard environment to spiritually grow, our close circle seemed to prosper. At church and getting together for whatever reason, the Spirit that bound us always, intangibly, made us closer than all our other best friends. We leaned on each other and could openly confess God to each other. I really do miss them.
Yet, I can also say that God willed me to separate from them, for I felt like I grew more and found God truly to be my personal Savior and Guide after leaving them. After the parting, and especially after not seeing them for awhile, I have found myself more Spiritually mature (though I don't know exactly how mature I am, given that I always feel weak) because I had not been distracted by all the faults and "humanness" I found myself always eying and judging. I now know that no one on Earth is without fault, and church does not escape that law for humans make up this body. Thus, I find all my previous anger and frustration melted away, and my desire to return to such a close circle grow.
However, I also feel within me that God has another purpose for me, and I must content myself for just praying about them and watching them grow in God. My place and my role have changed regarding them, and now I must support them from afar, ever knowing that they will forever remain my close brothers and sisters.
Of course, a new feeling now emerges from me due to this, a feeling of longing for that type of connection again. I have this prayer that God will lead my Christian friends closer and closer to me and each other, so that once again the Spirit may walk before us in any event, secular or religious. This way, though we cannot always consciously feel it, somewhere in the depths of our hearts, we will know (ginosko) that the Spirit of Christ links us and binds us. This is a special bond, far greater than any earthly bridges we could build.
Oh, how I crave it.
On the same note, with a slightly different tone, I have also become increasingly intoxicated by the thought of celebrating God with some special someone. To be honest, I have never had a romantic relationship that allowed be to experience this, and my heart yearns for this as well for my mind and body now acknowledges that a connection built upon the Spirit far surpasses those built on the soul or body. Yet, this yearning I will not emphasize here. My heart tells me God will lead me on this and the time has not yet come.
Truly, though, imagine with me a tight circle of friends to hang out with and do things with, under the banner of God with the same Spirit following the same Teacher. I pray that one day I will find this solace once more, rooted and strong. For as I gaze into the foreseeable future, I see graduation looming ahead and so many vagueness and doubts. I know that I do not adjust to change very well, and for this reason, I have been more protective of myself in recent years. Fearing to make a strong connection, lest the pain of losing it will destroy me, I am reluctant to open myself up to people. Yet, in my heart, for some reason, I feel like if God leads us, I will be alright, come what may.
Dear Jesus, let me build strong friendships upon the rock of Your love and guidance. Bring us together, root us to You, and let nothing break us.
Amen.
I guess it is because I had such a tight knit group like that back in high school. I keep thinking back to my old church back then. I had left it for obvious reasons. Yet, in the course of time, these reasons have become more minute, and inversely, the reasons why I loved it in the first place has become amplified. I loved my circle of brothers and sisters. Though the adults with their Asian politics and what not made it a hard environment to spiritually grow, our close circle seemed to prosper. At church and getting together for whatever reason, the Spirit that bound us always, intangibly, made us closer than all our other best friends. We leaned on each other and could openly confess God to each other. I really do miss them.
Yet, I can also say that God willed me to separate from them, for I felt like I grew more and found God truly to be my personal Savior and Guide after leaving them. After the parting, and especially after not seeing them for awhile, I have found myself more Spiritually mature (though I don't know exactly how mature I am, given that I always feel weak) because I had not been distracted by all the faults and "humanness" I found myself always eying and judging. I now know that no one on Earth is without fault, and church does not escape that law for humans make up this body. Thus, I find all my previous anger and frustration melted away, and my desire to return to such a close circle grow.
However, I also feel within me that God has another purpose for me, and I must content myself for just praying about them and watching them grow in God. My place and my role have changed regarding them, and now I must support them from afar, ever knowing that they will forever remain my close brothers and sisters.
Of course, a new feeling now emerges from me due to this, a feeling of longing for that type of connection again. I have this prayer that God will lead my Christian friends closer and closer to me and each other, so that once again the Spirit may walk before us in any event, secular or religious. This way, though we cannot always consciously feel it, somewhere in the depths of our hearts, we will know (ginosko) that the Spirit of Christ links us and binds us. This is a special bond, far greater than any earthly bridges we could build.
Oh, how I crave it.
On the same note, with a slightly different tone, I have also become increasingly intoxicated by the thought of celebrating God with some special someone. To be honest, I have never had a romantic relationship that allowed be to experience this, and my heart yearns for this as well for my mind and body now acknowledges that a connection built upon the Spirit far surpasses those built on the soul or body. Yet, this yearning I will not emphasize here. My heart tells me God will lead me on this and the time has not yet come.
Truly, though, imagine with me a tight circle of friends to hang out with and do things with, under the banner of God with the same Spirit following the same Teacher. I pray that one day I will find this solace once more, rooted and strong. For as I gaze into the foreseeable future, I see graduation looming ahead and so many vagueness and doubts. I know that I do not adjust to change very well, and for this reason, I have been more protective of myself in recent years. Fearing to make a strong connection, lest the pain of losing it will destroy me, I am reluctant to open myself up to people. Yet, in my heart, for some reason, I feel like if God leads us, I will be alright, come what may.
Dear Jesus, let me build strong friendships upon the rock of Your love and guidance. Bring us together, root us to You, and let nothing break us.
Amen.
Monday, February 23, 2009
To Be Filled with Love
“There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears is not made perfect in love.”
- 1 John 4:18
Many times though out the day, I feel like my emotions are like the fizz inside a bottle. When I am happy and distracted, the fizz stays at a cool and contained state. Yet, sometimes I forget. I become agitated, and everything gushes forth. Then, as if nothing has happened, I return to a state of calm.
I suppose the analogy could only be called weird. Yet, I cannot think of any other better way to describe it.
I have more than once marveled at what neutralizes all the agitation I feel. When I become irritated, fearful, and selfish, I sometimes cannot help but to assume the worst in situations, in me, and about others. Yet, then in moments of quiet reflection and prayer, something changes within me. The chemical formula for the fizz (sticking to the prior analogy) morphs into something else entirely, as if changed by a catalyst. It becomes more like... sugar? Love.
The feeling elates me. It brings me to peace. It allows me to be positive and see the best in people. I cannot fully describe it. I only know where it comes from. God, of course.
I know that I have posted a similar post yesterday, yet, I have promised myself that I would write this blog as if I had no audience. This promise holds me honest in my postings to the true and uncensored me. I have stated before that I find this honesty to be a weakness in the defenses that usually protects me, allowing others to see things about me that I would normally protect or hide. I suppose I am more or less afraid of the judgements of others. Yet, I find this weakness to be a tollerable nessessity. So judge me if you will. After all, no communication can happen without weaknesses, like no trade can happen without gates. (Ok, so I'm also full of weird analogies today.)
So, to come back to the topic at hand, I suppose I wished to share this feeling within me. Love is a marvelous and wonderful thing. One does not have to be in love to experience it or share it. Rather, love just spreads. And sharing it does not diminish your own supply but rather makes it grow. Truly, marvelous.
This feeling motivates me to care, to protect, to understand, to be patient, to be kind, and to always hope.
It is my prayer that I can share my love to all those that walk within my life. =) I hope others feel the same way.
Have a good night everyone.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
A Far Greater Power than Me
I find it interesting that it seems like every year around this time, a lot of pensive thoughts swarm me. Or maybe, I have a lot of pensive thoughts anyway, and it only becomes amplified during this time of year? Ah who knows.
From the state of the economy, to my future, to my family's future, to my friends' well being, and of course, to my own personal life, so many uncertainties and variables coalesce to become this fog that obscures my sight. I cannot really grasp anything tangible from them, though I vainly try. I catch only wisps and shadows of answers, and see only the haziness.
However, I am not in a state of panic or despair. It is not because I do not experience it, far from it. I seem to be in constant battle with the gloominess and the uncertainty that threatens to drown me. Yet, on my side, I feel a power far greater than myself. Yes, indeed, I feel though my strength alone hardly amounts to anything substantial, I have a power that exceeds, surpasses, and overwhelms my own strength and tolerance and gives me more than ample support.
I am glad, for this is the power that my faith has lent me.
My God has provided friends for me to cherish and trust. They distract me from my moody thoughts and lift me to moments of happiness. Just the idea that they wish to see me and be around me gives me ample joy.
Yet, more than that is the love that God shows me each and every day. Whenever I start sinking, He keeps me afloat. Though my faith may not be big enough to drive out demons or heal the sick, and even on the day to day things, I feel it being challenged, I am oddly comforted. For I remember a time when just the slightest of the things that I am experiencing now would plunge me into a state of unrest and unhappiness that I cannot seem to escape from. This time around, however, facing a far greater barrage of stresses that I did not believe I could handle, I feel almost secure and comforted.
I have my moments of weakness of course. Sometimes an emotional phone call from my mother may be too much, and sometimes just a reminder of the responsibilities I shoulder may magnify my tasks to look overwhelming, yet, I am constantly pulled back up. I am then strengthened to tackle the piles of homework, to brave all the extra responsibilities my mother places upon me, to face work with energy, and even to comfort those that are dear to me if they needed.
I know that everyone faces many difficulties in their lives, and many people probably face more numerous and stressful ones than mine. I admire their strength and courage, yet, I no longer envy them. For I have found a strength of my own, and though my trust on it wavers, and though in the grand scheme of things, my challenges may hardly be even a mote in the ocean, I am not ashamed to say that I falter and I am satisfied to say that God picks me up.
The following passage may be over written and plastered everywhere, yet I still wish to share it for it allowed me to see more of this strength:
When I think of God's wonderful love, I feel humbled and content.
From the state of the economy, to my future, to my family's future, to my friends' well being, and of course, to my own personal life, so many uncertainties and variables coalesce to become this fog that obscures my sight. I cannot really grasp anything tangible from them, though I vainly try. I catch only wisps and shadows of answers, and see only the haziness.
However, I am not in a state of panic or despair. It is not because I do not experience it, far from it. I seem to be in constant battle with the gloominess and the uncertainty that threatens to drown me. Yet, on my side, I feel a power far greater than myself. Yes, indeed, I feel though my strength alone hardly amounts to anything substantial, I have a power that exceeds, surpasses, and overwhelms my own strength and tolerance and gives me more than ample support.
I am glad, for this is the power that my faith has lent me.
My God has provided friends for me to cherish and trust. They distract me from my moody thoughts and lift me to moments of happiness. Just the idea that they wish to see me and be around me gives me ample joy.
Yet, more than that is the love that God shows me each and every day. Whenever I start sinking, He keeps me afloat. Though my faith may not be big enough to drive out demons or heal the sick, and even on the day to day things, I feel it being challenged, I am oddly comforted. For I remember a time when just the slightest of the things that I am experiencing now would plunge me into a state of unrest and unhappiness that I cannot seem to escape from. This time around, however, facing a far greater barrage of stresses that I did not believe I could handle, I feel almost secure and comforted.
I have my moments of weakness of course. Sometimes an emotional phone call from my mother may be too much, and sometimes just a reminder of the responsibilities I shoulder may magnify my tasks to look overwhelming, yet, I am constantly pulled back up. I am then strengthened to tackle the piles of homework, to brave all the extra responsibilities my mother places upon me, to face work with energy, and even to comfort those that are dear to me if they needed.
I know that everyone faces many difficulties in their lives, and many people probably face more numerous and stressful ones than mine. I admire their strength and courage, yet, I no longer envy them. For I have found a strength of my own, and though my trust on it wavers, and though in the grand scheme of things, my challenges may hardly be even a mote in the ocean, I am not ashamed to say that I falter and I am satisfied to say that God picks me up.
The following passage may be over written and plastered everywhere, yet I still wish to share it for it allowed me to see more of this strength:
Psalm 23
The LORD is my shepherd, I shall not be in want.
2 He makes me lie down in green pastures,
he leads me beside quiet waters,
3 he restores my soul.
He guides me in paths of righteousness
for his name's sake.
4 Even though I walk
through the valley of the shadow of death, [a]
I will fear no evil,
for you are with me;
your rod and your staff,
they comfort me.
5 You prepare a table before me
in the presence of my enemies.
You anoint my head with oil;
my cup overflows.
6 Surely goodness and love will follow me
all the days of my life,
and I will dwell in the house of the LORD
forever.
When I think of God's wonderful love, I feel humbled and content.
Monday, February 09, 2009
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Happy Chinese New Year
This year for Chinese New Year, I did not celebrate with my family, but rather, my best friends. Truly, I felt touched by their sincerity and their hospitality. I suppose that many, or perhaps all of them, instinctively understood that the occasion and event had a great significance to me. And they all made me feel like family.
I, once again, felt I had a family that I never knew but always loved. I thank God for these precious, precious people.
Waking up early in the morning, I really did not know what to expect from the day. Little things bothered me, and many plans seemed to go awry. Yet, after praying, the day brightened more and more. I suppose the turning point really came when I met up with a friend, who - to celebrate the occasion - wore a little bit of red in the form of a hair band around her wrist. The patience she had listening to my worries and frustrations touched me and lifted me from my fears.
Then, the accommodations and happiness of my long time friends just hit it home.
I know that the party was not the most fun party I have ever thrown. The conversation might not have been the most engaging. And because I was running around trying to cook and eat at the same time, I could not fully devote my attentions to making the group a more cohesive whole and entertain them at my best effort.
Yet, looking on it, none of that seemed to matter when I saw them. It was very simple, they knew the day was important to me and they came because of it. The idea brought tears to my eyes. I don't really know if they knew that I had celebrated Chinese New Year with my mom all these years, and that every time had been a special time for me. I don't really know if any of them consciously knew, that this year, more than ever, I felt homesick and lonely thinking about the New Year.
Yet, the lengths they went through, their sincere smiles and understanding, and even just their mere presence really touched me.
My family.
I do not know what I did to deserve all these wonderful friends. I feel most of the time that I probably do not deserve them. Yet, I thank them from the depths of my very being for everything.
I did not want to cry in front of them, but, in the privacy in my own room, I can shed my tears freely. Thank you.
This year has started wonderfully.
I, once again, felt I had a family that I never knew but always loved. I thank God for these precious, precious people.
Waking up early in the morning, I really did not know what to expect from the day. Little things bothered me, and many plans seemed to go awry. Yet, after praying, the day brightened more and more. I suppose the turning point really came when I met up with a friend, who - to celebrate the occasion - wore a little bit of red in the form of a hair band around her wrist. The patience she had listening to my worries and frustrations touched me and lifted me from my fears.
Then, the accommodations and happiness of my long time friends just hit it home.
I know that the party was not the most fun party I have ever thrown. The conversation might not have been the most engaging. And because I was running around trying to cook and eat at the same time, I could not fully devote my attentions to making the group a more cohesive whole and entertain them at my best effort.
Yet, looking on it, none of that seemed to matter when I saw them. It was very simple, they knew the day was important to me and they came because of it. The idea brought tears to my eyes. I don't really know if they knew that I had celebrated Chinese New Year with my mom all these years, and that every time had been a special time for me. I don't really know if any of them consciously knew, that this year, more than ever, I felt homesick and lonely thinking about the New Year.
Yet, the lengths they went through, their sincere smiles and understanding, and even just their mere presence really touched me.
My family.
I do not know what I did to deserve all these wonderful friends. I feel most of the time that I probably do not deserve them. Yet, I thank them from the depths of my very being for everything.
I did not want to cry in front of them, but, in the privacy in my own room, I can shed my tears freely. Thank you.
This year has started wonderfully.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
The New Year
The year 2009 seemed to have started out with something less than hope. With old conflicts continuing and new ones just sparking, I start wondering about what the year in full would turn out to be.
A part of me has always aspired to be someone who can change the world. I know this sounds arrogant or even absurd, yet I truly do. I have always yearned, and even dreamed, for super human abilities so that I may save one life at the very least.
Yet, as I grow older and more accustomed to the rules of the world and reality, sometimes I would revisit these old aspirations. I realize that I cannot gain the power of warp speed flight or super human strength. I can only stop bullets with my body but once and I could never predict where crises may arise.
When I learned and accepted these thoughts about myself, I started to pray that I could be a paladin for God. Someone spiritually girded with a shield of faith and a sword of holy words. Someone spiritually faithful enough to heal the sick and wounded by mere touch and prayer. Although, I still believe that people can do this, I am starting to realize that it is not by my own will or even by avid trying that allows one to do this.
Rather, I am just myself, a human being with limited reach and influence. I have neither the resources nor the fame enough to actually change the world. I, then, thought that I could at least change myself, and subsequently, my own world.
I know that there is very little that I can do about the conflict in Gaza, but perhaps, I can, at the very least, try to do the best I can each and every day with the things I can accomplish. My mission statement may not be to change the world, but for now, perhaps I can make my friends smile and the lives of the people around me just a bit happier.
I will not assume that I have even the power or influence enough to impact those around me, for they struggle with their own set of difficulties and ideals. I do not believe that I am good enough nor my ideals grand enough for it to be able to be applied in another person's life. Rather, I simply wish to be there and help anyone and everyone that I know when they wish for it.
Thus, this is my New Year's resolution: I wish to give without expecting return. I wish to be able to help those who wish for help. And, above all, I wish to be able to allow my friends to smile more and to cry less, to be a supportive and wholly selfless friend. That is my earnest wish. And hopefully, along the way, I will learn more about myself, my God, and my friends. Hopefully, I will learn from every experience and encounter I have with the people around me and grow into a better person.
Though I do not have paladin status, nor magical powers, I wish to try my hardest in working with the limited tools that I do possess, for that is all I can do. I will pray and seek God for guidance, and who knows, maybe I will become strong enough one day to be able to wield that Shield of Faith.
A part of me has always aspired to be someone who can change the world. I know this sounds arrogant or even absurd, yet I truly do. I have always yearned, and even dreamed, for super human abilities so that I may save one life at the very least.
Yet, as I grow older and more accustomed to the rules of the world and reality, sometimes I would revisit these old aspirations. I realize that I cannot gain the power of warp speed flight or super human strength. I can only stop bullets with my body but once and I could never predict where crises may arise.
When I learned and accepted these thoughts about myself, I started to pray that I could be a paladin for God. Someone spiritually girded with a shield of faith and a sword of holy words. Someone spiritually faithful enough to heal the sick and wounded by mere touch and prayer. Although, I still believe that people can do this, I am starting to realize that it is not by my own will or even by avid trying that allows one to do this.
Rather, I am just myself, a human being with limited reach and influence. I have neither the resources nor the fame enough to actually change the world. I, then, thought that I could at least change myself, and subsequently, my own world.
I know that there is very little that I can do about the conflict in Gaza, but perhaps, I can, at the very least, try to do the best I can each and every day with the things I can accomplish. My mission statement may not be to change the world, but for now, perhaps I can make my friends smile and the lives of the people around me just a bit happier.
I will not assume that I have even the power or influence enough to impact those around me, for they struggle with their own set of difficulties and ideals. I do not believe that I am good enough nor my ideals grand enough for it to be able to be applied in another person's life. Rather, I simply wish to be there and help anyone and everyone that I know when they wish for it.
Thus, this is my New Year's resolution: I wish to give without expecting return. I wish to be able to help those who wish for help. And, above all, I wish to be able to allow my friends to smile more and to cry less, to be a supportive and wholly selfless friend. That is my earnest wish. And hopefully, along the way, I will learn more about myself, my God, and my friends. Hopefully, I will learn from every experience and encounter I have with the people around me and grow into a better person.
Though I do not have paladin status, nor magical powers, I wish to try my hardest in working with the limited tools that I do possess, for that is all I can do. I will pray and seek God for guidance, and who knows, maybe I will become strong enough one day to be able to wield that Shield of Faith.
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