Valentine’s Day 2012: Why I Don’t Deserve Her

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It’s Valentine’s Day 2012. While I feel that my maturity, at least as it relates to relationships, is growing with each passing February 14th, I came to a pretty poignant realization in the past few months: I don’t deserve her.

Who is ‘her’, you ask? Gentlemen, ‘her’ is the typical female friend in your life. Yea, that one that you are not dating. The one you enjoy companionship with. The one you enjoy texting when you’re feeling lonely or wanting to converse with the opposite sex. The one you’ll meet up with from time to time. The one you flirt with for the thrill of it. It may not even be one, it might be many. Sadly, whether we’ll admit it or not, it’s the one we’re “dating” but without any of the commitment.

I am selfish. I guess I always knew that. I could twist this around in so many ways saying that it’s just human nature and that I’m just doing my best, but all that would simply be efforts to bullshit my way out of admitting that I don’t deserve her.

Since I am still young, I feel that I am not ready to throw aside the things I want to do in my life. If I were to enter into a relationship, I’m sure that I would love deeply and would probably allow it to become a higher priority than what might be best for me in my singleness. But because of these various deliberations and logic, I have probably misled many wonderful females I have had the pleasure of coming across in my life.

This so-called dysfunctional relationship actually isn’t so rare when I look around at many around  me. We, as men, need to step up as gentlemen and stop treating these females as placeholders. While it may deceptively seem like both parties are benefiting from this convenient “friendship” of sorts, I’d have to sadly admit that we’re just blind. We’re just feeding a relationship that in essence benefits us, and we don’t even care about the long-term repercussions. I don’t know how many times I’ve heard the following statement from one of my male friends: “yo, we’re just friends” or “dude, she’s like a sister to me.” I know that I’ve been guilty of saying this in response to passing inquiries as well.

So why is there a dire need for this so-called “wake-up call”? Because the risk lies in not just a convenient relationship with your “just friend” but rather in her heart and the vulnerability that encases it.

I know so many females with wonderful hearts. These very same women are expecting males around them to make the first move and as these very same women grow older, they’re bound to weigh the actions of their male friends when all these men are doing are feeding their own egos.

We, as gentlemen, need to stop feeding our own egos and stop passively advocating these single women to waste their time on us if we’re not romantically interested. That being said, if you are really interested in your female friend, stop being a coward and pursue her. Otherwise, end the quasi-friendship and MAN up. I’ll guarantee you that even though you are “just friends” when you end this, it will feel like a deep breakup. And even more so if you really care for the girl. Either way, taking this step is definitely a difficult one, but it is a step that needs to be taken.

It’s a sad realization i’ve come to, but it is one that reminds me that I’m a broken guy in need of a lot of Grace and though I fail, I’m growing and becoming a better human being. In carrying on these so-called quasi-relationships, I haven’t just been stealing her time and attention, I’ve been stealing the love and emotional intimacy that she should be reserving for her future love interest. And this is why I don’t deserve her.

On Self Promotion: I can bench 475 lbs now?!?

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Self Promotion

If you are reading this, you’ve given into a technique of shameless self-promotion, and while you probably could have easily ignored this post and written it off as self-adulation, you are hopefully intrigued enough to hear out what I have to say. Self promotion is a topic that I feel like everyone will be able to relate to in some form or other. It’s also something one definitely needs, but needs to be careful how to go about doing it.

Sadly, I should admit up front that I cannot bench 475 nor will I probably ever. Not that you probably couldn’t already figure that out by taking a look at me… Anyhow, I recently found myself re-thinking this idea of self-promotion.

In the past few weeks, I’ve been made aware of a few novel truths about myself. First, a close co-worker of mine stated that one of my strengths was that I am “creative.” I can only recall being called creative only once in my life and that was that time in 2nd grade when we had an old substitute teacher and I proceeded to quietly pass a note around the room that read: ‘Drop your textbook on the floor at 1PM.’ Pretty soon, every kid in class was watching the seconds tick off from 12:59 and as that clock hand hit that magic number, I was elated at the magnificently loud sound of textbooks hitting the floor coupled with the sheer magnitude of the substitute teacher’s frightening scream. My trip to the principal’s office was so worth it, and my ego grew just a little bit as I sat there being told that my actions were absolutely unacceptable, yet absolutely creative for someone my age. My luck since then, is a whole other story.

Being that this is the only time I can remember being called creative, I asked my co-worker to expound upon her statement. And then I realized that she was speaking about this dogmatic thinking that individuals in various careers are either creative or critical. I would imagine that most in my field of academia, sciences, and healthcare lean toward the critical side. Anyhow, it seems that those who surround me at work are individuals who have used their critical thinking skills to get to where they are. PhDs, MDs, PharmDs, RNs, you name it. I suppose these individuals don’t really need to self-promote since they have this “badge” of self-promotion right next to their names. So we come back to this concept of self-promotion. I have always heard that if you are in a creative field or working in something like music, you need to self promote to develop a following for your creative work. Of course there is a clear line between self-promotion and self-adulation. Self-adulation is technically defined as the “excessive admiration of one self.” That definition alone makes me cringe. Self-promotion should be an art of spreading ideas, concepts, and one’s own vision.

This past weekend, I was in NYC for a wedding, and I was talking to a good buddy of mine from college. While he is currently pursuing his degree at a prestigious law school, he is one of the most creative guys I know. And so when I made a coy suggestion that he use YouTube to get his humorous ideas out to the public, he replied to me “No way, I don’t ever want to self promote myself like that. It’s just not something I would do.” I understood his sentiments, but my heart sank because as a musician, one of the main avenues of building up a following of listeners has been to use YouTube. And this got me thinking. I’ve just been doing what others are doing, by setting up Twitters, YouTubes, and even Facebook Pages, but then why was I feeling so guilty? I put myself into other people’s shoes, and was horrified at this prospect that they might just see this as some sort of insecurity or self-boasting. Furthermore, I could just hear the thoughts going through people’s minds: “Who does he think he is?” coupled with the harmless-yet-malicious ‘eye-rolling’.

It is actually pretty funny because if you talk to “communication experts” (really?), they say that the magic number is to self-promote 20% of the time. They will tell you that self-promotion is NOT an instinctive behavior, but rather an art form that requires refinement through trial-and-error. It is deemed an “important skill to master” which makes sense since nobody likes someone who brags all the time. I don’t know about you, but we live in some tricky times. We live in the United States where you are supposed to be bold and chase your dreams. A perfect picture of this is when you see athletes in jubilation when they reach their title aspirations. Yet we are touched by humbleness and humility. We do indeed live in a digital age where self-promotion has become so accessible and personal branding is considered a skill set.

Online self-promotion is even more complicated because it begins as a one-sided discussion of sorts. For instance, this blog… I throw myself out there, attempting to stand out amongst the masses, drawing attention to a glimpse into my thoughts and ideas. But in doing so, I’ve learned a pretty important lesson. No amount of writing skills or expertise can be crafted into entries that serve as a personal statement of who I truly am. I need to cultivate conversations/discussions and develop relationships through interactions and engaging with my would-be readers.

I recently met up with a friend I had not seen in maybe 6 years. We had kept in touch through online means over the years, and it was wonderful catching up. It is interesting though, because at one point in the conversation, he said to me “You know, it’s funny because in person, you’re very different than how I imagined you to be now.” I understood that it is quite easy for a person like him who does not interact with me every day, to draw conclusions and assume certain things about me (both good and bad), since they have but only certain mediums from which to draw these conclusions. Which brings us full circle to the medium of how one projects oneself. While we cannot control how others will perceive us, there is definitely merit in not only being transparent in my writing but also being intentional and authentic in the relationships I cultivate. Basically, self-promotion doesn’t end with the delivery of a message. You must maintain relationships.

I am indeed thankful that I have been blessed with the opportunity to cultivate relationships with others in person, but I was quite taken aback because I realized that oftentimes when people write about their own thoughts and feelings, it is usually so much easier to write about just the positives and exaggerate successes and strengths. Instead, the focus should be on a set vision and ideas. But I truly do believe that if you have your own vision and set of ideas and carry yourself both confidently and authentically, people will either love you or hate you for it. It has been said that the main rule of self-promotion is to “be the best version of yourself.”

I feel that conversing with individuals in person is a much easier medium than online to talk about feelings or personal struggles and/or faults. In some ways, I think it has been quite freeing and cathartic these past few months to write more from a combination of my heart and my ideas, mixing into it a sense of vulnerability (as seen in my previous entry about loneliness). (Shameless self-promotion within a written piece about self-promotion. Yes, this is what they call ultimate irony.) It is a personal challenge of mine to attempt to approach writing in this way… to approach it with both humility and authenticity.

So, one positive way of looking at self-promotion is the investment of one’s own time into a conversation which in turn will inspire hope, thought, or action in the other individual, and then in turn that individual will pass this along. In ironic fashion, the best self-promotion is the promotion done by others, not by self. Of course, it is important to note that this description is of my own sense of self-promotion and what it should be. So following in that line of thinking, I feel that the take-home point is that if everyone is a self-proclaimed expert and there is no shortage of hyperbole in everyday conversations, then the individual who represents their own self but also at the same time exercises both a sense of transparency and also a balance of authenticity and humility will be most respected.

A Loneliness Observed

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Photo Commissioned for this entry {www.annyphotography.com}

This concept of loneliness has been pervading my personal thoughts over the past few months. Let’s address something first. Loneliness is not the same as being alone. Why write about loneliness? Simply put, loneliness is something that no one wants to admit they are going through let alone want to talk about. Furthermore, it is also something that no individual is immune to. But I think it makes sense to step out in faith and admit it; talk about it. While I had previously written about loneliness in the context of relationships, I didn’t quite know how to go about beginning to write about my own loneliness. But I did once hear that writing was an antidote for loneliness. So the most logical step was to just simply put pen to paper and begin.

When loneliness clouds your vision, it becomes the only thing you can see and understand. Following its due progression, it’s naturally the only thing that you can think about. It won’t necessarily make you (as the writer) an expert on anyone else’s loneliness (e.g. the reader), but since much of what surrounds loneliness is made up of similar elements, the writer/reader juxtaposition is a deeper relationship. In the end, a writer will write to tell others what they themselves see; what they themselves feel. And regardless of whether or not the reader can relate, in the end, writing will potentially be a way for an individual to escape from the labyrinth within his or her mind. And in some magical eureka moment, the reader may just come across an arrangement of words that just might define their own experience, and point them toward some sort of window through which his or her own perspective might change. For better or worse.

I suppose it would help to explain how I came to this place of self-contemplation which exists alongside loneliness. It has been an interesting first quarter of 2011. Aside from work, many new opportunities related to music have been popping up. I have had the pleasure of doing a bit of traveling and meeting many new individuals. While this has been wonderful on so many levels, being constantly on the move coupled with new faces in unfamiliar surroundings has left me quite lonely. It’s almost like you’re surrounded by air, not water, but you’re still drowning. You’re drowning in this realization that all the discussions and interactions, aren’t really satisfying this thirst you have for true fellowship or connectedness. I’m not exactly stating that you go straight from a sense of loneliness to self-contemplation and then you’re done. For me, the past few months has culminated in a self-contemplation of sorts consisting of many stages. It isn’t an unfamiliar concept that we live in an era of surface relationships and interactions that stem across various avenues, such as texting, instant messaging, and email. This loss of personal connectedness is quite worrisome.

On the other hand, it seems that these types of connections are quite ubiquitous and it may just be that this is the inevitable direction that personal relationships are steering toward. My cries for society to do better with connectedness will probably go unheard. Simply put, you could presume that society is driven by something that waits for nothing: time. Society will defend itself by saying that time waits for no one and we need to get on with life, since life is so transient. But then there is an irony in that. Because life is transient, should you stop to smell the roses? Or are the roses really not worth missing out on that next platform we’re chasing. But then when life is through, will we have found ourselves running in circles, with an odd realization that we’ve simply tired ourselves out and fallen out of the hamster wheel?

One example of a transitional relationship between loneliness and connectedness is seen in the process of the grieving that takes place with the passing of a loved one. When someone we know loses someone they love, we want to acknowledge their pain so much… almost as if to know it as our very own. We go through the motions. We offer up our shoulder to cry on. We even offer our awkward platitudes. Maybe send some flowers (which in proper Dostoevsky-like form, will wither away much like all living things). And then a strange thing happens. Time plays its cards and we move on, leaving them to mourn on their own. We don’t do this in carelessness but rather because we understand society’s own defense that grief is a lonely and personal place. Nothing we say or do will really matter. It’s all part of a process.

I can’t help but think of one of the most poignant books I’ve ever read, “A Grief Observed” by C.S. Lewis. In the book, Lewis wrote about his experience with grief after the death of his wife, who succumbed to cancer. He didn’t write about his wife’s sickness but rather about his own thoughts within his mind. You are able to see “through the progression of the book”, the stages of his coming back to the world. In devouring his thoughts, one key element still stands out: I feel that the loneliness (expressing the pain of being alone) and solitude (expressing the glory of being alone) found in his experience with death and grief, was a secluded privilege of sorts.

And while calling it a privilege would almost seem counterintuitive, I really do believe loneliness is but a stage that is inevitably necessary for true growth. Of course, growth results from the self-contemplation that exists alongside loneliness. These days, it’s almost a recurring theme I hear from friends and family, who assume that since I’m quite extrovert, I must be having the time of my life being able to meet new people and see new sights. But I feel that my life experiences have instilled in me this desire and need for deeper connections with individuals, and in just making do with interactions that side on superficiality, externality, and brevity, it is leaving me almost depressed and quite lonely. I’m also not trying to say that every person I meet, I would expect to connect with on a deeper level, but I do feel that if the majority of the relationships that surround me are on a surface level, then it is likened to my being alone in a jail cell. Call me crazy for making this comparison, but at least in a jail cell, you can only but be yourself, whereas on the other hand, you are expected to go through the motions that all those around you are going through.

I honestly struggle with this idea of differentiating between certain relationships with certain people. You cannot connect on a deeper level with every individual, but I refuse to accept that and will damn well try, even if it means I’ll fall and get hurt. It goes back to vulnerability, which again I previously discussed as it relates to relationships. Those who make themselves vulnerable enough will either hurt lot or experience one of the key joys of life- to love and be loved in return. This isn’t limited to romantic relationships.

It’s also frustrating to know that as I come across more unique individuals and as I experience more unique situations in life, … it becomes harder and harder to relate to everyone on every thing. Now I do think it’s important to point out that the “quick fix” of reaching out to someone because they are lonely isn’t necessarily the best answer either. It really is acceptable to feel loneliness.

In the end, we’re not meant to be solitary creatures. But there is a sense of irony in that I feel that some solitude is indeed a necessity. You will either understand the difference between loneliness and solitude or believe it is the very same thing. But if you see loneliness as the “poverty of self” and solitude as the “richness of self“, then you’ll see that loneliness is almost a fear of living. But I suppose it makes more sense knowing what my loneliness points to. Singer/songwriter Brooke Fraser reiterates one of Lewis’ points in her song “C.S. Lewis Song” where she writes: “If I find in myself desires nothing in this world can satisfy, I can only conclude that I was not made for here.” For me, loneliness points toward finding hope in something beyond my own self. It points to an inevitable stumbling; maybe even a fall. But you pick yourself back up, and start living.

It has been a joy to struggle through loneliness and learn to embrace the solitude, and allow it to serve as a catalyst to really think about and challenge my own mindset. A mindset that holds within it what it is that I strive for and live for, each and every day. It isn’t about the status of my job or a chosen career. It isn’t about nice cars, fancy things, nice homes or any other measures of wealth. It isn’t about how many people you know or how popular you are or how many people are enamored with you. Instead, I feel that it’s probably got to do a little something with the relationships I am cultivating through love. I’m not saying its easy. People by nature have conflicting hearts that oftentimes deceive and so in turn, conflict is inevitable. We won’t be able to love all the time, but like many things in life, the effort we put in will most likely define us. And so, contrary to what society tells you, it’s okay to be alone. Because loneliness is a privilege. In loneliness and in solitude, we proclaim the depths of our love. It is a privilege that indeed has no place for society.

“…chasing dreams on the bend/left with nothing in the end/trying to fill the void/left destroyed/you know, this unhappiness inside fosters a hunger for the sky.” -Jae Jin (lyrics from an upcoming EP track)

Writing Songs Between the Lines

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As a musician, writing songs is such a beautiful and wonderful thing, yet painstakingly difficult. Over the last decade, I’ve filled pages upon pages with songs, or rather words resembling an order that may or may not be able to be set to a melody. Some pages have but a few words. Some pages, you can see the words getting smaller and smaller, the closer and closer I get to the bottom of the page… trying to squeeze out every last ounce of what is on my mind. Songwriting is indeed a craft. It’s not just something that you do, like breathing. Very rarely does it come to you in some dream. You work at it, like every other thing in life worth putting effort into. I’ve found that my songs touch upon the human condition… this experience or experiences of trying to understand oneself within a specific social or personal setting. And to go even further, theorizing that the one thing we all have in common, is searching out our purpose… relating ourselves to the environment we exist in… seeking out understanding and our influence in this very environment around us. And then, I suppose, that I hope that when people hear my songs or read my lyrics, they’ll be able feel certain emotions or find their own selves in the very line of words I’ve purposefully put together.

I am happy and excited to announce, that in just a few short weeks, I will be releasing my very first single from my EP album. While I have had the pleasure of releasing some songs in collaboration with other musicians and producers, this is the very first song that I am truly able to call my very own. The lyrics come from my heart and soul and the melodies sung are in my own unique style. It is my hope that when the beats, melodies, instruments, and the singing of the words are stripped away, all these things combined will have expressed enough to evoke some sort of feeling or emotion in the individual listening to the song. I am also excited that many, including those I know and those I do not know, will be able to get a sense of what my music is about and will be about. Of course, my songwriting on this particular song is not a final product of who I am, as there is still growth to undertake and molding to undergo, into who I have been made to become.

In this day and age, it seems like a lot of people are caught up on the word “happiness” and what it entails or how it relates to one’s life. I feel that a lot of my songwriting focuses not on “being happy” or “being depressed” but rather on the ups and downs of blessings and joy. I recall a discussion I had about a year ago with a few musician friends in New York City about music. I brought up Bob Dylan, Leonard Cohen, and Joni Mitchell as a few of my favorite and most influential songwriters. At that time, I had recently read an interesting article in Rolling Stone magazine in which Bob Dylan spoke about “happiness” being a “yuppie word.” To him, he felt that what really mattered was being “blessed or unblessed.” I think that this struck really deeply in my mind.

Eudaimonia is the Greek word that is translated as “happiness” and in its most classical Greek sense, doesn’t even really take much resemblance to what many of us call “happiness” in today’s day and age. The word doesn’t  point to a subjective emotional state, but rather an objective state of being… a state of being that includes living well and doing well (integrity and good prosperity). Many of us believe that happiness consists of being free to do, come, and go as we please. In the end, I feel that many of us are so excited and proud to talk about how “self-aware” we are, but let’s be honest… the only things we are truly cognizant of is our moods(states of mind). Many of us know how we feel at any given moment, but know little else about  ourselves. That’s not to say that this lack of true self-awareness is a negative thing. It just supports the idea that in times when we are in a bad mood, or feel tired or frustrated or unsatisfied, there’s something else, beyond our own selves. And that is perfectly okay.

Some of us may need to move beyond seeking after our own satisfaction, instead attempting a sincere and committed pursuance of balancing living and doing well with certain disciplines… and that may or may not include spirituality or faith for some of you. Speaking for myself, much of my own thoughts and feelings have been defined by my faith and I feel that song-writing has included its joys on one hand, and its painstaking difficulties on the other. To me, it is both a humbling and astonishing concept to be able to use the words and thoughts and emotions of my own life, to be able to evoke and ignite a whole other set of words, thoughts, and emotions in another individual. And to do this through something as universal and expressive as music, only magnifies this.

“To me, the only way songwriting works is if you write the truth. It’s the only way it works, period. Where I’m going as a writer, what I’m looking for is an expansion of the truth, finding out more truth – especially about me. It’s easier to write about me, because I know where I am. As a younger man, it was easy to get to my truth: I was a simple man, having fun. As you get older it gets more complicated – but it’s also about opening up a lot more places. After all, that’s where the deeper truth resides.” -Pat Green

Gentlemen, be Vulnerable.

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Valentine’s Day is in just a few short weeks. I recently spoke to a friend of mine who was stating her urgency in finding a male counterpart, to fulfill her desire to actually celebrate this holiday for the first time in years. Of course, she matter-of-factly stated that it was–obviously–  a stupid holiday. I suppose its safe to say that many individuals are in this same predicament. Although I feel that they wouldn’t dare outwardly admit so. You’ll hear either one side or the other. There is some sort of brash bravery associated with being single and proud of it, just as much as there is a kind of brashness in romanticizing on the opposite extreme. On the flip side, just because you’re in a relationship, and will actually celebrate this random day, doesn’t necessarily mean you are guaranteed a wonderful time or that you’ll be left completely satisfied either. What makes a specially marked calendar day such as Valentine’s day an excuse to treat someone better than you do any other day? I suppose Hallmark, Godiva, and other similar romance-related companies would benefit the most if we actually put in this same kind of effort 365 days of the year… but I digress.

I came across a really interesting short blurb by Ashton Kutcher. Yeah, I know what you’re thinking. “Blogging about a quote from Ashton Kutcher?!? The Punk’d guy?!?” In his defense, I feel that his dating a much older woman has kind of forced him into maturity faster than he probably would have reached it had he been dating Selena Gomez or some other Disney-sponsored teenie-bopper. Regardless, the premise of his new movie “No Strings Attached” is actually quite an interesting one.  While the concept isn’t novel, it’s almost a hush hush situation that isn’t as unusual as one might think. [[Note: The movie--even though it's a chick flick-- was actually really good. There's actually a lot more content to blog about so I may revisit this at a later time]] In the movie, Kutcher does touch upon some interesting points regarding the exchange of communication in today’s day and age:

I was shooting a scene in my new film, No Strings Attached, in which I say to Natalie Portman,

“If you miss me. you can’t text, you can’t email, you can’t post it on my Facebook wall. If you really miss me, you come and see me.”

I began to think of all of the billions of intimate exchanges sent daily via fingers and screens, bouncing between satellites and servers. With all this texting, emailing, and social networking, I started wondering, are we all becoming so in touch with one another that we are in danger of losing touch?

It used to be that boy met girl and they exchanged phone numbers. Anticipation built. They imagined the entire relationship before a call ever happened. The phone rang. Hearts pounded. “Hello?” Followed by a conversation that lasted two hours but felt like two minutes and would be examined with friends for two weeks. If all went well, a date was arranged. That was then.

Now we exchange numbers but text instead of calling because it mitigates the risks of early failure and eliminates those deafening moments of silence. Now anticipation builds. Bdoop. “It was NICE meeting u” Both sides over-analyze every word. We talk to a friend, an impromptu Cyrano: “He wrote nice in all caps. What does that mean? What do I write back?” Then we write a response and delete it 10 times before sending a message that will appear 2 care, but not 2 much. If all goes well, a date will be arranged.

Whether you like it or not, the digital age has produced a new format for modern romance, and natural selection may be favoring the quick-thumbed quip peddler over the confident, ice-breaking alpha male. Or maybe we are hiding behind the cloak of digital text and spell-check to present superior versions of ourselves while using these less intimate forms of communication to accelerate the courting process. So what’s it really good for?

There is some argument about who actually invented text messaging, but I think it’s safe to say it was a man. Multiple studies have shown that the average man uses about half as many words per day as women, thus text messaging. It eliminates hellos and goodbyes and cuts right to the chase. Now, if that’s not male behavior, I don’t know what is. It’s also great for passing notes. there is something fun about sharing secrets with your date while in the company of others. think of texting as a modern whisper in your lover’s car.

Sending sweet nothings on Twitter or Facebook is also fun. in some ways, it’s no different than sending flowers to the office: You are declaring your love for everyone to see. Who doesn’t like to be publicly adored. Just remember that what you post is out there and there’s some stuff you can’t un-see. But the reality is that we communicate with every part of our being, and there are times when we must use it all. When someone needs us, he or she needs all of us. There’s no text that can replace a loving touch when someone we love is hurting.

We haven’t lost romance in the digital age, but we may be neglecting it. In doing so, antiquated art forms are taking on new importance. The power of a hand-written letter is greater than ever. It’s personal and deliberate means more than an email or text ever will. It has a unique scent. It requires deciphering. But, most important, it’s flawed There are errors in handwriting, punctuation, grammar, and spelling that show our vulnerability. And vulnerability is the essence of romance. It’s the art of being uncalculated, the willingness to look foolish, the courage to say,

“This is me, and I’m interested in you enough to show you my flaws with the hope that you may embrace me for all that I am but, more importantly, all that I am not.”

Thoughts?

Christmas Love

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We are only a few days away from the month of December, and now that Thanksgiving has passed us by, we’ll be reminded of the holiday season through all the red, white, and green as well as the ubiquitous commercialism of this season. I was recently reading over my old journal entries and came across one in particular I had written many, many Decembers ago. I had written down a story that had blessed me immensely. The story was about a mother who was going to attend an evening production of her son’s “Winter Celebration Concert” when he was in Kindergarten.

Along with the rest of the parents and all the children of the school, the mother sat with anticipation for all that was about to unfold. As the school was a public school system, they had stopped referring to the holiday as Christmas and in her mind, she didn’t expect anything but commercial entertainment– songs about Rudolph, Santa Claus, snow men, and good cheer. So as her son’s class rose to sing a song titled “Christmas Love,” she was taken aback by its bold title.

Her son was aglow, as were all of his classmates, as they stood adorned in fuzzy mittens, cozy red and green sweaters, and bright white snowcaps upon their heads. Each child in the front row held up posters with letters on them spelling out the song. As the class would sing C is for Christmas, the C would be lifted high above the respective child’s head, and so on. Things were going well, until everyone noticed a little girl with what should have been an M holding it upside down, making it look like a W. The audience of elementary school students all began to snicker at this little girl’s mistake. But it didn’t faze her. She stood up tall, and proudly held up her “W”.

Although many of the teachers tried to shush their respective classes, the laughter and snickering continued until the last letter was raised up, and they all saw the letters together. A hush of silence fell over the audience and eyes began to widen. In that instant, the mother thought to herself of the reason why they were there, and why we celebrated the holiday in the first place. For as the last letter was held up high, the message read loud and clear: “CHRISTWAS LOVE.”  ((Christ still is and always will be LOVE))

As I think about this holiday season, and all the cheer and festivity, I can’t help but think of the reason why we love others. May we all offer up that love in all that we do. As you are surrounded by family and loved ones, may Christ’s love be with each and every one of you this CHRISTMAS season.

With love,
Jae Jin

26 Reflections On Turning 26.

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This Saturday, I will be 26 years of age. I don’t really make a big deal out of my birthday. I do still remember the most important lesson about “birthdays” that I ever had. The first year my mother married my stepfather, it was my 14th birthday. My stepfather came home from work that day with a bouquet of flowers in his arms.

“But I’m a man!  Flowers look nice, but I’m not sure that’s what I exactly wanted for my birthday,” I said, with the right amount of dramatic hesitation.

With a surprised look on his face, he quickly replied, “Who said you’re getting a present for your birthday? Who did all the work when you were born? Who went through all the pain? These flowers are for your mother!”

I really couldn’t argue with that, so I slowly, sulked my way back to my room, as he handed the bouquet to my mother giving her a kiss on the cheek.  I really DO hope that I’ll be half the man my stepfather is, when get to eventually be his age.

Here are 26 thoughts and reflections as I turn 26. I’ll start with the misfortunes of turning 26, and move toward the fortunes and blessings of doing so. By the way, thank you all for taking the time to read this blog and be a part of my life. If you know me personally, you’ve helped to mold and shape me in some way or other. I feel truly blessed to reach the age of 26.

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1. No Free Lunch. Don’t believe anyone when they tell you, at age 21, that you’re an adult. That’s bullsh*t. Especially in this day and age. At age 26, you still aren’t an adult, but you’re darn sure expected to be one. No asking for or borrowing money from your parents. No excuse paying your bills in an untimely manner. No staying out late/drinking on a weekday night, with work the next morning. No unemployment(unless you are in a graduate school well on your way to being one of the Asian “3″: Doctor/Lawyer/Businessman). No moving back home. You’ve gotta be a grown-up.

2. No Looking Forward to Specific Ages as they relate to Laws. At age 18, if you were into lung abuse, you could buy cigarettes. You could also legally buy pornography, which also proved you were from the stone age and hadn’t heard of something called the Internet. At age 21, you could finally buy/drink alcohol. If you ended up going to college, chances were that aside from studies, you also were taught and socially encouraged to break this law often. Then just last year, I was elated to find that I could legally rent a car on my own… and then ZipCar got really big.

3. Employment Equals Social Status, not Money. Thankfully my $160,000 education from a prestigious University didn’t go toward flipping burgers at McDonalds, but by age 26, your job has to be more than a job.  Many of my peers were part of the unfortunate group that graduated with the economical instability, and many worthy candidates, were left jobless. That didn’t stop people from finding tutoring jobs, or going off to other countries to teach English making $50,000+ a year(i’m sorry, but I REALLY loathe this. But that can be a topic for a future post). Nevertheless, you get this sort of grace period to find a steady job, and by 26, you hope that you can confidently answer the very first, often asked question posed by individuals of your same age or older when first meeting them.

4. The Idea of Sports–both played and watched– Changes. You realize it the day after an intense basketball game on the courts. Your body is sore. I’m not talking about the good type of sore normally coming after a great workout. I’m talking about the Oh-crap-you’re-getting-older-and-your-body-is-now-starting-to-break-down-a-little-bit-each-year-for-the-rest-of-your-life kind of sore. I suppose all that was to be expected, but then even watching sports completely changes. Just last week, I was at a sports bar with friends, watching Lebron James play against the Orlando Magic. He rose up through the air and dunked on on some 6’6 opponent. This is a guy you look up to and idolize right? Wrong. Lebron James is younger than I am. This SEEMS wrong because he sure as hell doesn’t LOOK younger than me. Don’t even get me started on Greg Oden and how old HE looks… ((google search him, if you don’t know who he is.))

5. What The Heck Is My Dad Listening To? By 26, you are most likely listening to a few of those bands that your parents listened to. Growing up, I would tease my stepfather about Pink Floyd. I mean come on… sounds like a girly band. I would hear Michael Jackson on our stereo at home and i swore it was a girl singing. Fast forward 15 years, and I already consider Michael Jackson one of my biggest musical influences, and I’m starting to listen to more and more music that I used to make fun of my parents about. It’s even almost endearing to be able to share a musical taste with one of your parents. Something about sitting in a car and having a song come on the radio, that both of you actually like. Neither of you hits the change channel button. You quietly just bob your head, and have a nice family conversation(without the words.)

6. You Really Aren’t All That. With the rising of your age, coupled with the rise of Youtube, you realize that you really aren’t all that talented. I like to sing. Who cares? There’s some random 7 year old that just belted the same song you tend to audition with, and SHE blew your version out of the water. People think I can play the piano a little bit. Who cares? There’s that Chinese guy that plays with his feet only. Forget talents… even everyday things! Can you clap? Have you ever given a round of applause?  Yeah? But can you clap 14 times in one second?

7. Rest>>>Good Time Feel free to replace the “greater than” symbol with an “equal” symbol if you want. They’re really interchangeable by the time you’re 26. Halloween recently went by. One week prior, I had about 3-4 invites to parties or “Halloween events.” We had 3 (I REPEAT, THREE!!) nights/opportunities to celebrate Halloween during that weekend. Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. Let’s see. Friday night, cleaned my place and slept early. Saturday night, went for a nice run and slept early. Sunday night, cooked and got ready for the work week. If we had a 2nd Halloween this coming weekend, i’d probably do the very same thing. Sigh…

8. How Old Are You? If you were to ask a bunch of strangers how old they think you were, you would get a graphed plot so scattered that you could connect the dots and draw the Cool-Aid man. Seriously, I’ve gotten anywhere from College Freshman to Ahjuhshi (Korean word: 아저씨 which is something you call a guy who seems A LOT older than you). It’s also a nagging reminder that you’re just some random faceless person born sometime in the 80s. You don’t really fit in. Kinda like this:

9. You Will Stop At No End to Stay Youthful. You remember that time you hung out with your friends at the sports card store and were talking to each other about how great of a QB Troy Aikman
was? And then that weird creepy 26 year old dude came in, and asked you guys, “How about that Roger Staubach? Great QB, am I right?” And then you and your friends looked at each other and walked over to the basketball card table? Well you are now that guy. Only 4 years ago, you were 4 years removed from high school, getting ready to finish college, and still knew the pop culture, fashion trends, and cool shows on TV. Now, you’re 8 years removed from HS and clueless. Maybe being clueless isn’t SO bad. As a male, you refuse to start watching Glee, no matter what all the media/girls/gay guy friends say about it. Note: Apologies to all you straight fellas who watch it. I don’t judge… but yes, others do ;)

10. After 26 Years, You Still Pretty Much Look The Same. For a large majority of individuals, you can look at their baby pictures and people pretty much look the same, minus the horrible clothes your mother used to dress you up in.Even then, in the end, things don’t change much… including maturity level.

11. Not Everyone Is Going To Like You. I think that one of the key lessons people learn as they grow up, is to master the hard task of figuring out how to not worry about what others think. In the end, It’s extremely hard. Almost impossible. But when you can let go of holding expectations of others, and just meet everyone else where they’re at. You can only hope to be yourself, and those that matter, will meet you where you’re at too.

12. The Truth About Females. They always say that females mature faster than males. At age 26, I am not going to act like I’ve figured out females. Most can’t even figure each other out. But what I have come to respect about the opposite sex, is that for all the things about women that men complain about , they generally all tend to be good at knowing what they want.

13. Independence Feels Good. At age 26, you’ve had 4 years(that’s the same number of years most people spend in college) to grow out of your collegiate ways and learn(struggle) to take care of yourself. But when I look back at this past year, I realize I’ve been paying my rent on my own for years. I’ve been doing my own taxes, paying all my bills, paying medical bills, scheduling/making appointments… i mean, I’m completely self-reliant. It’s not easy, but it’s a good feeling. I remember once reading that if a man finds no satisfaction in himself, he seeks for it in vain elsewhere. So basically, if you want to set up an equation for adulthood, it’s pretty simple:  self-discipline + self-reliance = adulthood. And then once you figure out how to balance the two and develop each, that would be maturity.

14. It Only Gets Harder to Make New Friends. This is a pretty key reflection up to this point in my life. As you get older, it’s going to be tough to make new close friends. I’m not just talking about meeting new people. If you can bring yourself to make an effort to go out, you’ll meet new people. I ride a charter bus to get to work every day, and I’ve had the pleasure of meeting new people quite often. That being said, the friends I’ve kept through the years, are few yet as I get older, I’m more intentional about “keeping” them. I realize that as life gets busier, it’s easy to lose touch. It’s easy to let days, weeks, months go by. It’s a reality: Work and family obligations keep individuals very busy these days. But go out of your way to make it a point to set up times to talk. Don’t just email or text message. Make it a point to just go out of your way to drop in on someone’s life randomly and let them know that something reminded you of them. Doing this can seriously make a person’s day and it’s quite lasting. Relationships take effort. It’s common sense. Oh, one more thing. People come and go in your life, and some come back. Accept them with open arms. On your end, be willing to swallow your pride and let bygones be bygones. Life’s too short to hold onto grudges.

15. Never Settle. At 26, I’ve learned an important lesson that actually extends in numerous ways. Never settle. Not in relationships. Not in a job. Not in your current state, whatever that may be. Basically, never.

16. Reading. As I’ve said many times before in this blog, reading is vitally important. As I look back at the last 26 years of life, I wish I could go back to my youth when I could literally get lost in books. While many would say that technology like Kindles make reading easier, it just makes reading turn into an ADD activity. Too often, I hear from Kindle/iPhone Books users who say they bought  a book, got through a little, and then stopped. Much of that is due to this fast paced lifestyle of reading bits and pieces at a time on public transportation or waiting for an appointment. What I’ve learned, in coming across many successful individuals, is that anyone who has been successful in anything was a big reader.

17. Money Doesn’t Matter As Much As You Think. The biggest thing I’ve learned by age 26 regarding money, is that you REALLY don’t need all that much to live comfortably and happily. I’d guesstimate that you may not need all that much more than 35k or 40k to do so. I firmly believe the strong correlation that the more you make, the more you spend. It’s often true. Our culture subliminally sends this message. In the end, money isn’t everything. Even cars. Even if you drive a crazy nice car, honestly the novelty of it rubs off pretty quickly, and you’re left wanting something better or different. Money is just like that. The more you have, the more you want. And in the end, you don’t even need all that much to be happy and content.

18. By Helping Others Get/Do What They Want, You Somehow Will Get What You Want(…Even If You Don’t Necessarily Know That You Want It At That Time). This is pretty self explanatory, but in my short 26 years of life, this is a truth that I’ve found.

19. Change Your Mindset To Reflect This: Value, Not Cost. Economics aside, in the end, it’s really about the value of things, rather than cost. I have an odd system where I’ll be frugal about certain things, and less frugal about others. It’s all about value, and lucky for you, just like beauty, value is in the eye of the beholder.

20. At 26, Changing The World. You grow up hearing things like “YOU CAN CHANGE THE WORLD!” or Gandhi’s quote “Be the change you wish to see in the world.” Thus far, what I’ve found is that the world is in your head. It’s what you make of it, or how you see it. And in that sense, you can indeed change the world. I know this sounds cliche, but in believing in yourself, that first key step leads to changes, that ironically do start to change those around you… and in turn, changes the environment you live in(i.e. the world.)

21. Give Thanks. One of the most useful lessons  in life, I learned when I was young. When my stepfather was growing up as the eldest of 4 boys, his father taught him an important lesson, which in turn was passed down to me. Every Christmas morning, they would open their gifts, but before they were allowed to play with their toys, they were ordered to sit at the dining room table, and write out thank you cards to every individual that gave them a gift. My stepfather passed this down to me, and went even further, by stating that if any kind act was done, whether it was someone buying me food or giving me a ride, I was to make sure to sit down at a table in my house that same day, and write/send a thank you card. Not an email. Not a text message. But a good old-fashioned thank you card.

22. The Art of Letting Go. In turning 26, I’ve had the (mis)fortune of experiencing many things. Loving, being loved, getting hurt, hurting others, etc. From all of these things, I’m slowly learning the art of letting go. Sometimes, life’s just easier that way. You let go of things. Sometimes they’ll come back. Sometimes they won’t because better things are on their way. Sometimes people are placed in your life for a specific amount of time. But you aren’t God so you really can’t see the big picture. All you do is learn to let go, and move forward looking forward.

23. “Find Something You’re Good At, And Get Someone To Pay You To Do It.” I’m pretty sure all of you have maybe heard this quote, but if you haven’t, it’s probably one of the most commonsensical yet genius things I’ve ever heard. I’ve allowed this to guide me in some way or fashion to the creative endeavors I pursue in music, writing, and other things in life. I’m still young, but it’s starting to pay off.

24. It’s Okay To Be Extreme. I’ve learned that I’m a pretty “extreme” sort of guy. In the sense that I’m always on the extremes. If I like something, I really like it. If I don’t, I really don’t. Same goes for things i’m passionate about. I’m not sure it’s a good thing. But it’s who I am. You are who you are. You can be who you are. And that’s always okay.

25. Birthday Excitement Has An Inverse Relationship with Age. Birthdays were so much better when you were a little kid. You could get together with your buddies and have a sleep over, sneaking out at night to walk 5 miles to the 7-11 to eat those Neon Yellow-colored nachos and slurpees. You could blow out candles on a birthday cake. Although you know there was always that one birthday kid, whose birthday party you went to, and he/she ALWAYS spit all over the damn cake while blowing out candles.

26. “All The World Is Birthday Cake, So Take A Piece, But Not Too Much.” In my short 26 years of life, I’ve also learned the importance of everything in moderation. It’s all about balance. In the end, we all want it, and move toward it. Sometimes we fall, but then we get back up and recorrect ourselves. That’s the beauty of the human spirit. I’m not sure what the next year holds for me, but I know that it’ll be good in the big picture of things. They always say that in leadership, you can never go wrong leaving the listeners(or readers) with an Abraham Lincoln quote so here goes:

“And in the end, it’s not the years in your life that count. It’s the life in your years.”

Thank you God, for letting me live to see my 26th year of life.

Why Relationships & Solitude are Not Mutually Exclusive

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Photo Commissioned for this entry by: mela.de.gypsie//photography

I consider myself fortunate that certain pressures do not seem overbearing for me, as they relate to dating, marriage, and/or courtship. I’ll be 26 in a little over a month; one year closer to the 30 mark. But in all honesty, that doesn’t even seem like a huge milestone anymore. If this was a quarter century ago, I might be pushed into thinking that something is wrong with me if I’ve had opportunities to date, yet find myself completely single and not even thinking at all about marriage. Of course, times have changed. They say 30 is the new 20, and I’m not sure whether that’s a sign that we’re living longer and longer, or if its just that we’re not maturing as fast as people used to. I’m going to assume the latter, since in my heart of hearts, I feel that at age 25, I feel just as clueless about marriage as I did at age 15. Okay, maybe my idea of who I’m looking for has evolved. Maybe my capacity to love others has also evolved, even grown. Maybe my experiences have taught me things that I did not know at age 15. But at the end of the day, despite what I don’t know about marriage, there is one thing that I hold firmly to, which is that while I’m out here in life all alone, trying to get through day by day, I’m not exactly alone. Not only are there others like myself, but God is out here with me as well. And He continues to teach me about the vastness of Him and His boundless marvel and love. Admittedly, being single can indeed be lonely… but that loneliness seems to be the perfect vessel through which God often speaks.

I feel that by isolating oneself, man is able to become aware of the abundance of his existence, rather than of the absence of those around him. Events in my life have led me to enter into deep and drawn out states of solitude, away from society, in complete solitary confinement even. These times, although tough, were not without purpose. In solitude, conflicting thoughts increase. There comes even a point in time where the mind teeters between loneliness and depression. And the only way you are able to bring yourself to the right side, is to realize that the distinct difference lies in loneliness versus solitude. Loneliness conveys the agony and grief of being on your own while solitude conveys the magnificence of being on your own. Albert Einstein once said  that solitude is “painful in youth, but delicious in the years of maturity.” I suppose that being forced to mature led to a better understanding of myself. And more importantly, being forced into solitude, my mind gained strength and adapted itself to lean on something beyond the world. Yes, solitude is difficult. But that is the exact reason that we should want to yearn for it. To learn perseverance. A richness gained.

Now I’m not arguing completely for solitude. On the contrary, through my time being single, I’ve been able to deeply appreciate the significance of community. As each year in the form of a page in my life, turns, I find a growing frequency of wedding invitations in my mailbox.  If you feel that weddings make you feel wistful and serve as a question of when your turn will finally come,  you aren’t too far off. However, on the flip side, I’ve found that weddings paint the perfect picture of what community is. Yes, there is the bride and groom. Yes they look beautiful. But just as important, are the individuals that surround these two. The community of family. Of friends. Of loved ones. Each representing love, suffering, sacrifice, fellowship, and encouragement. It never can be, nor will it be, just two individuals. For as long as I can remember, I’ve held onto the notion that holy matrimony is threefold. The foundation of Christ must be the vital part of a triangle relationship between man, woman, and God. If there is a foundation that exists in a human relationship, that far exceeds imperfection, then regardless of the flaws of character or the arguments that will inevitably arise, it will last. And even then, marriage isn’t the end of the road. Some will marry, while others will be called to a life of singleness. And that’s alright. There is love to be found even in the interactions one has with others. Regardless of whether it is a marriage relationship, or whether your “relationships” consist of these interactions, they simply make up one piece of a larger puzzle (after all… life can be quite puzzling). One component of a greater picture, which God continues to paint in each and every one of our lives.

Quia amasti me, fecisti me amabilem.   ((Because You loved me, You made me lovable.))

Men Vs. Women

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Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus

Just last week, I had a really interesting conversation with a good friend of mine about the salient differences between men and women. Obviously this is a debate for the ages, that will never be completely figured out. After all, “Men are from Mars, and Women are from Venus.” This book by John Gray basically highlights the different needs and expectations that both men and women have, that they might as well be from different planets. He further goes on to attribute difficulties in relationships and marriage in our present culture to the failure for men and women to understand how the other both loves and expects to be loved. There are also a slew of articles and ongoing discussion in regards to the changing make-up of male/female relationships. What was once touted by experts as a solid belief of men being in the workplace and women staying at home, has now completely dissipated. Now you see both men and women working together, even in fields formerly dominated by one gender. You even see more women sharing sports interests with men and socializing together. This shift in gender culture has allowed for successful, platonic friendships between a male and a female, breaking the prior dogmatic truth that if you see a guy and girl together it must be romance. At its simplest point of understanding, each gender tends to excel at different types of cognitive functions. Neuroscientists attribute this toward the differing ratios of white and gray matter. Apart from science, a man has will, but woman has her way.

Paradigm Shift

The argument continues on as to whether this shift is a positive thing. Yes, gender inequality is addressed. Benefits are discussed. Emotional rewards are discussed. But you really cannot ignore the fact that men ARE different than women not only physically but mentally as well. I’m not saying one is dominant either. Newsweek just released an article today about how Women earn more Doctorates than Men. I just feel like with so much effort to EQUATE men and women, we’re changing the face of all the great differences between the two. Do we really want to go down that road where we want men and women to basically be the same?

Predicaments in Medical School

I had a really interesting discussion with my old roommate just last month. To put this conversation into context, I have to mention that he is now finishing up medical school and is in a wonderful relationship with his girlfriend heading toward marriage. We discussed how so many female medical students these days are talking about freezing their eggs, so that they can focus on their careers, and then when they feel ready to do so, they can always just have a child later on. Now, I’m not going to argue about the ethics of this type of thing, but I generally tend to favor things being as natural as possible. I’m going to assume you can paint your own picture of how things might be when you have a female in their late 40s deciding to back off a wonderful and successful profession to begin having a child. I think where this whole idea really surprised me, was how many of these female medical students actually were excited at this idea and how many decided to go forth and make the decision to have their eggs frozen. Here I was… thinking that female med students were busy enough thinking about studies, USMLE Step exams, and figuring out where to do their residencies.

Imagine if men could freeze or store their Human Growth Hormone over the course of 10 years, starting at age 15, and then inject all of it when they are age 30, and be an amazing athlete for 5 years of their life. They could make $40 Million dollars a year and then never work ever again. I know this sounds ridiculous, but with the way technology is going, I’m not sure its completely out of the question.

Why Women Love Coca Cola More than Men

Gender has even crept its way into the “Climate Change” debate, which i think is completely ridiculous. An article in today’s USA Today features a study done by an associate professor at Michigan State University which concludes that women are more likely to accept climate science than men. I don’t really think I agree with the professor’s point that women convey greater scientific knowledge of climate change and that they are more concerned about it. I do hold my own passionate opinions about the importance of being stewards of this planet, however, I think that the only thing this article tells me, is that more females are concerned, because the USA Today editor put a cute picture of a baby polar bear as a part of the article. For example:

Polar Bear Picture in USA Today Article

A few gems of wisdom which I hope will prove invaluable to both male and female readers…

Men Vs. Women: Thoughts

Men Vs. Women: Chances of Men Winning an Argument

Men Vs. Women: Colors

Boys Vs. Girls: Boys' Dodgeball Usage

Men Vs. Women: Bathroom Sign

Never Judge a Book by its Movie.

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Photo Commissioned for this entry by: mela.de.gypsie//photography

On this lazy Sunday afternoon of this Labor Day Weekend, I was thinking back to many a Sunday afternoons where I’d escape into a good book. This escape is incomparable. You can travel anywhere, without the cost or hassle of airlines. You can even be in two places at the same time, if you try hard enough. You can carry on intimate conversations with individuals across generations. These unseen generations can furthermore bring you into the past, or fling you into the future. And whichever way you are brought, somehow you are still at the very same time in the present, sitting there curled up with that book. And some books will engross you to the point of losing yourself completely. Sometimes losing self, and transforming into a completely different character. And the sad reality of it is that when i stop and think of all the amazing and wonderful books i’ve read, it has been many years since i’ve felt the same way I did while reading those books. I suppose that’s what happens. We grow older, which in turn speeds up how fast the weeks go by. The change in speed of time, changes our priorities. It is as if we don’t even have a single hour to set aside to escape. And so i’d love to break this cycle of reading to remember, so that I can go back and read to forget.

In no particular order, here are ten of my favorite books I’ve lost myself in:

1. This Side of Paradise- F. Scott Fitzgerald

This was one of my favorite books I read as a young adult. It seemed to do the best job of attempting to struggle with this fine line of immature adolescence and tender manhood. This book ends with one of my favorite ending lines I’ve ever read: “I know myself, but that is all.” ((You can read it for free online))

2. The Sun Also Rises- Ernest Hemingway

Ernest Hemingway embodies all of what literary ellipsis is. To me, I feel that there is nothing better than this notion that emotions are so tremendous that there are no words to adequately describe them.

3. Love in the Time of Cholera- Gabriel Garcia Marquez

Aside from this being one of the most beautifully written books I’ve ever read, I love the fact that this book is more complex than most people think. It isn’t just a Hollywood style love story about love triumphing over all. If you take the time to ingest what is going on, you see that Ariza does the same thing many people who fall victim to love do. Ariza also is the victim of his surroundings and what others consider “ideal happiness.” I also am engrossed at this idea of love being a literal “illness.”  ((Note: I have an upcoming post on this book))

4. A Farewell to Arms- Ernest Hemingway

I used to think that if I ever lived a life worthy of writing into a semi-authobiographical work, it would have to be as well-written as this Hemingway novel.

5. Demian- Hermann Hesse

The first book I read (oddly in Elementary School) which challenged me into thinking about opposing forces, within one’s consciousness. In some odd way, it encouraged me to challenge the status quo. This book embodies the realization of self.

6. Brothers Karamazov- Fyodor Dostoevsky

This was one of the most challenging books i’ve ever read. Not in the way that Ulysses is difficult, but rather one can get through it, but to really struggle with the numerous ethical debates surrounding faith, existence, and reasoning. No other work of fiction has tugged at the foundations of my mind, the way this did.

7. A Severe Mercy- Sheldon Vanauken (+ C.S. Lewis)

Hollywood romance is cliche. If you want to read something truly heart-wrenching and worth calling love, read this.

8. Travels with Charley- John Steinbeck

This is more a travelogue than a novel, but nonetheless reads effortlessly and inspires you to understand why everyone talks about taking road trips. I’m assuming that if Steinbeck had gone with other human beings rather than his dog, the travelogue would have played out much more differently… and by differently, i’d side with interesting different, but in a bad way.

9. The Catcher in the Rye- J.D. Salinger

I hate that High School required reading lists often tend to destroy the potential of certain books. (i.e. Great Gatsby). Luckily when I read this book, it was not required, and I was able to enjoy it aside from all the allusions that people spoke about. Yeah, sure, the loss of innocence was felt, but aside from that, I often think that some books are just meant to be read and meant to affect you in whatever ways they do. This is one of those books.

10. The History of Love- Nicole Krauss

“Once upon a time there was a boy who loved a girl, and her laughter was a question he wanted to spend his whole life answering.”  Yes. It’s like that part in the book where you can totally understand that part where you might see a girl who is absolutely beautiful. One part of your mind thinks: ‘Please don’t look at me.’ And part of you thinks: ‘Look at me.’  The quotes in this book will both blow your mind and both excite and depress your heart at the very same time.

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Perspectives: A Series (Vol. 3- Love)

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This third group of responses, submitted from a variety of individuals I personally know and respect, touch upon a common theme of love in various ways. These experiences have led to the growth and molding of perspectives about the environment around them, the individuals surrounding them, and their own selves. I hope you’ll enjoy reading these as much as I did. Maybe it will give you perspective in your own lives in some way…

Note: If you have not yet read the Introduction to this Perspectives Series, feel free to do so prior to continuing on. You can also read  the first two batches of responses: Vol 1(Life) and Vol 2(Death).

A Warm Blanket on a Cold Night

It had snowed 6 inches and I was nowhere near prepared for it.  A March flurry like this was late in the season, even for the Himalayas. I hiked alongside of her, tired, wet and cold.  She kept up a brisk pace for such thin shoes. As dusk set in and icy water trickled down my back, I thought about all the loved ones back home I missed.  We had arrived at her house – a single cement room carved out of the mouth of a waterfall. “Welcome” she said, with a thick accent, motioning for me to step inside.  Fear crept up my throat.  We were alone in a snowstorm, miles from a main road, and there was no electricity.  Inside was one blanket on a bed and a couple of eating utensils. Maybe it was irrational, but I really did start to get scared.  Could this Indian social worker who spoke only a few words of English really guide me back to my research group in the valley tomorrow morning?

We peeled potatoes in near-darkness and I thought about how we had been strangers just hours earlier.  I marveled at her decision to leave the comfort of the city after graduate school and return to the rural mountain villages of her childhood to run a public health clinic.   Everyone we passed in the village had greeted her with a wide smile.  Her selflessness touched me – a real agape sort of love for others. There aren’t many times in my adult life where I can remember being vulnerable – feeling really helpless against the elements.  But that night was one of them.

I shivered and looked down at the wet UnderArmor and North face fleece I had on.  It was too cold to peel back some of the wet layers that weren’t providing any warmth.  As I continued to shiver, the fear in my heart grew. What if I get hypothermia? Frostbite? Or worse? I wish I could just turn up a thermostat. It wasn’t long into the night I felt her take the lone blanket we were sharing and put it all on me.  I peered over the covers at the thin cotton shirt and pants she was wearing.  ”Aren’t you cold?” I asked, listening to the wind outside. That’s a silly question, I thought, of course she is.

“All of mine is yours because I call you my friend,” she replied.  Her words blew cobwebs off a Scripture verse in the dusty corners of my mind:  John 15:15-16 “I no longer call you servants, because a servant does not know his master’s business. Instead I have called you friends, for everything that I learned from my Father I have made known to you. You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you to go and bear fruit – fruit that will last. Then the Father will give you whatever you ask in my name. This is my command: Love each other.”

I don’t know how to define love.  But I know I felt loved by a kind stranger that night, because somehow, after that, I fell asleep. The cold and my fear were gone.

Sentiments on Love

Whether friendly, familial, or romantic, love is constantly considered both the apex and the core of valuable relationships.  Consistently, love serves as the topic of songs, works of art, sermons, poetry- it seems that love is everywhere.  But in reality, is it love that is everywhere, or merely the idea of love?  Love seems so simple to understand considering we tattoo the word on our bodies, we plaster it on walls, we sing about it, we write about it, and we dream about it.

It seems like the little word holds an indefinitely large amount of power.  We want to believe that love possesses the power to hold a relationship together, to hold a community together, and to fix the problems in our world.  We use the word on a daily basis, often without even thinking about it or realizing that we are doing so. So what does this absence of thought about the using word love itself suggest about what the meaning of the word has become?

To me, it suggests that the word means something different to everyone.  And with the differences of meaning comes differences of intensity and general importance.  True love, romantic love, is vague because everyone is on somewhat of a different page regarding what it actually means to them. It is easy to fall in love, to think that we are in love.

I have fallen in love and experienced both the best and worst of it.  However, love is confusing and often makes aspects of relationships messier than they have to be.  When it comes to love, I may be young but I believe that I know more about it than people twice my age, even three times my age.  Why?  Because I am realistic about it.  I look for compatibility and companionship- not true love.  Sure, I could label all of the things I love about an individual as “why I love him”, but I would rather just take those qualities for what they are…not part of something I have created in my imagination about him.

Too often we forget to humanize others, especially those whom we possess strong feelings for.  We become infatuated with their existence; which our relationship to them.  We want to love others and we want to be loved, which is understandable.  However, love can sweep us into the clouds and drop us off some place we would really rather not be.  Then, looking back, we wonder what the hell happened to us.  We become bitter.  We stop believing in love at all.

As I have moved beyond those bitter and disappointed feelings that love can leave you feeling, I say that yes, love exists. Love is not a goal; it is something we should show others and feel for ourselves every day.  However, romantic, head-over-heels type of love is simply a fairy tale.  It just does not exist on its own.  We power love; it does not power us.  We must harness it and understand that we create it ourselves; otherwise it will warp our thoughts and opinions about others based on what we want to believe.

The Gift A Child Brings

I didn’t believe in love until she came. It was a figment of my imagination and something other people experienced. It wasn’t until news of my pregnancy came shortly after my 21st birthday that love struck me full force. A child is a gift from God. Yea right, well… maybe. Parenthood is trying more times than not, but my daughter’s smile will light up a room, and she’s captured the hearts of many, including my own.

That said, it is not her love that has affected me the most. Never before had I been so hyper-aware of the love felt for me until she came into the picture. Generally not one to express feelings, I was overcome with emotion at my baby shower when forty plus women showed up with gifts, support, and advice just for me. Not sure why I have been so blind to the love that surrounded me but with the coming of my daughter those scales fell from my eyes. Love became real for the first time in my life. The grace, love, and care shown towards me and my child have been a powerful witness to me that love does exist. Perhaps I’m selfish, or obtuse, perhaps a little of both, but I’m glad I was brought to a place of complete need so that I could experience genuine care. I now believe in love, and it’s a powerful thing.

With Love Always, Your Daughter

Dear Dad,

Do you remember when you took off my last training wheel back when I was five?  I made it to the other side of the lot with great success but I was crying like an ugly child the entire way.  I remember you ran over with the biggest smile on your face before you scooped me up and started laughing. You had let go before you actually finished saying you were going to let go. I didn’t think I was ready to take off that last wheel but you knew better.  You knew I was going to be successful.

I needed that same reaction when I told you I’d be moving to LA after graduation, geographically nowhere near VA.  Instead you lashed out at me with all the negative consequences this decision of mine could yield.  For the first time you used “failure” as a claim in your argument against me. A reaction I have never been exposed to and one in which I didn’t know how to receive.  I would be lying if I told you I didn’t hate you with all of my heart in that one moment.  I left despite and in spite of all you had said.

Fast forward four years later; I sit here writing this letter to you. Though I was entirely alone on my independent journey, you were with me through all the advice you had bestowed upon me, your frequent phone calls, and of course in spirit.  I could have never anticipated the amount of hardships I would have to endure to get to where I am now.  Most importantly, through those hardships came lessons and through those lessons came realizations.  I realized what kind of father you are to your children; what kind of husband you are to your wife; what kind of brother you are to your siblings; and ultimately what kind of child you were to your parents.  You are a man who is not afraid to love his family wholeheartedly.  You use this love as your fuel to live each day.  I know now that it is because you loved me so much that I found the confidence to attain much of the success I have achieved and am able to strive for greater success in the future.  I am honored to be your daughter and I wear your name with the utmost pride.

Thank you for taking off my training wheels when you did.  Otherwise, I would have never learned that you’re not supposed to wait until you feel like you’re ready.  Rather, it’s about taking control and creating the right moments to succeed.  I reflect back on all the hardships these past 4 years have brought me and it was what you said in our phone call the other night that makes it all worthwhile, “Sweetie, I’m proud of you.  I love you.”

I love you too.

With love always,
Your daughter.

Untitled Love

When I was younger I always thought one of the, if not the number one, most important goal in my life would be to find perfect or ideal romantic love. Since man first discovered how to etch drawings into the walls of caves tens of thousands of years before the dawn of writing this has been a primary theme of media and has remained so to this day. It seems only natural considering how integral the issue is to our existence. However, in my earlier relationships (with one exception) I never really felt that deep connection. When I finally found myself immersed in a loving relationship that lasted nearly two years, I really began to understand what all the hype was about.

Sadly the relationship did end. When that happened I experienced something I did not expect. For a significant period of time I was caught in an all encompassing emotional turmoil. At points I felt completely sure that I had given up the true love of my life and the person who I should have spent the rest of my days with. I felt hopeless, desperate and confused. I met someone new with whom I shared a great connection and amazing potential, yet somehow I found myself still grasping at straws for that which I had lost. In the end I let the girl who held so much potential slip away in favor of giving another shot to the girl who I knew in my heart all along was not going to work. As one would probably suspect, it ended badly a second time, this time ending the friendship as well.

When my head finally cleared after all this I realized something important. I realized that romantic love is a chemical roller-coaster. It takes control of a person and throws them in a luge directed at the end result of procreation. It is the product of billions of years of evolution and is a powerful force to this end. It can make a person lose their rationality and goals. Even in that amazing instance when two people find perfect love together, at least one will always crash their sled into that brick wall of loss when separated by circumstance or death.

I know this all might be starting to sound cynical but I am not by any means advocating giving up on romantic love. I still actively seek it and have great faith in what it can do overall for a person’s spirit. What I am warning against is a sole reliance on it as a cornerstone of your life as it once was for me. If we can learn anything from the likes of Siddhartha Gautama and many more since, it is that the only truly reliable and lasting love is the love and acceptances of everything as one and of yourself. If you set out to love everything and everyone, even those with whom romantic love has failed, this love and happiness can be relied upon without fear of loss or an invasive emotional roller-coaster. Although it might not be as natural as the chemical drive to reproduction, many examples have show us that by making these our goals we become truly empowered, happy, and resistant to the chaos of life.

Perspectives: A Series (Vol. 2- Death)

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This second group of responses, submitted from a variety of individuals I personally know and respect, touch upon a common theme of death in various ways. These experiences have led to the growth and molding of perspectives about the environment around them, the individuals surrounding them, and their own selves. I hope you’ll enjoy reading these as much as I did. Maybe it will give you perspective in your own lives in some way…

Note: If you have not yet read the Introduction to this Perspectives Series, feel free to do so prior to continuing on. You can also read the first batch, which focuses on life.


Practicing in Pediatric Oncology

Spish, splish, splish. The waves gently hit the dock as I stare at the light’s reflection in the harbour, random thoughts floating through my mind. “I should drop off my dry-cleaning. Is newspaper compostable?” My eyes wander to the starry night sky and my thoughts turn to the brave young ones I have known and loved the last six years.

I have been a part of many lives; birthday parties, bar mitzvahs, graduations, and I have been a part of many deaths. Many of my most poignant memories are the death of patients who were dear to me.

My very first primary patient was a sweet young woman only one year younger than myself. I cared for her 18 months, then, when she was gone I joined her family in a prayer circle around her bed and took her body to the morgue. I held a screaming mother in my arms while the code team attempted to resuscitate her beloved son, her husband looking on and wringing his son’s blanket in his hands. I have seen the death of great potential; one young man we treated, I am sure, could have changed the world if he had the chance. I recited The Lord’s Prayer with a patient’s family as the minister blessed her one last time before the breathing tube was removed from her beleaguered body. I have wept with parents as they watched the life slowly draining from their daughter as the tumour in her brain grew.

Our society doesn’t deal well with death. Particularly the death of a child. Most people that I encounter have come to view death as a failure-failure as a parent to do enough, failure as a physician to prevent death, failure as a researcher to invent a solution.

I view things differently. When my patients die, I know I have given them the love in my heart, I have cared for them to the best of my ability, and I, like them, am limited. We are all subject to the human curse of fragility; each of us has one life to live whether it lasts one day or 100 years. And we, the living, are responsible to carry the spirit of those who have gone. We must change the world, we must fight the good fight. We must, because there will be a day when “He will wipe every tear from their eyes, and there will be no more death or sorrow or crying or pain. All these things are gone forever.” Rev. 21:4

Landmarks

Landmarks.  I’m the type of person who knows my way around via geographic features such as trees, buildings, fences, or even random lampposts.  If I’ve been to a place once, I can lead anyone there the second time with no map or compass.   The interesting thing about landmarks is that I remember them for a reason.  Each one sticks to my memory because of a unique characteristic in its color, shape, complexity, or even simplicity.

I notice this tendency of remembering landmarks in my personal life.  During the day, I often find myself racing past landmarks of my past 22 years.  There are the good and the bad, and then there are others I still can’t decide what I should label them.  The one I find myself most frequently revisiting is the one that stands on the intersection of April 24, 2004 and my road to Heaven.

My Dad passed away at this place, and as one would expect, the chunk of life since then has never been the same.  I used to be so angry that I could do absolutely nothing in my power to see or hang out with him.  We used to spend most of our time playing basketball on our driveway or playing golf at the crack of dawn on Saturdays.  To this day, I miss him so much and wish he could come back to see that I’ve graduated high school and college.  I wish he could come back to see how much I have grown as a person.

I always used to debate whether this landmark represented good or missed opportunities due to the lack of a father figure.  More often than not, I thought the latter.  I would always observe this place as a bystander, and run away from it to find “better” landmarks.  However, I would always find myself back at the same place again, staring at the rusty basketball hoop outside and the empty golf course around it.  It was until a few years ago that I developed enough courage to open the door and walk inside.  On the walls inside were hundreds of pictures of me and Dad playing around and having a great time.  There were also pictures that showed how he influenced me into being the person I am today.  As I walked out of the house, I noticed that the outside of the house still looked old and gloomy.  However, because I knew what was inside, I wasn’t scared of the place anymore.

Now, I kind of enjoy going back to this place.  I don’t feel that I’ve missed out on life because he left early.  I feel that as much as I would have enjoyed still having him here today, I acknowledge that this landmark itself has influenced me into becoming who I am today.  Maybe I would have been too spoiled if he were still here.  Maybe not, but why debate these things when it’s already happened?  In some ways, I feel that although he left early, his love continues on through memories and through what this landmark represents every time I return to it.

Clarity in Confusion

When brought to the point of near death after a parasitical infection in Guatemala and subsequent complications after returning home to Florida, I was reminded of the fact that I am quite helpless.  I had lost 35 pounds from my already skinny frame and pounding headaches coupled with extreme fatigue made my speech so slurred my mom had trouble understanding what I was saying.  The doctors didn’t know what to do as they had already tried multiple rounds of antibiotics to no success.  My health insurance only covered me abroad and dropped me as soon as I returned to the US, which compounded the situation even further as I had been sick for over 3 months.It was during this time that I came to understand that we were never meant to sustain ourselves, for it is not in our power.  Whether we like to admit it or not, we are all rather helpless creatures who will eventually die.  We go to great lengths to avoid the topic of death, yet all is done in foolishness.  Seasons of pain and suffering wake us up to the real world…to the overarching questions of purpose and truth…almost like a subconscious realm beneath the surface of wasteful days filled with entertainment, idleness, and even work.

I think it was at this point of brokenness, both physically and spiritually, I had my first honest cry for “Thy Kingdom come” and “Thy will be done.”  In the following three months I did a vegetables and water only diet followed by a one week fast of only water and amazingly my health was restored.  I would never want to go through those 6 months ever again, but I still look back and regard that season of life as the most precious and vital for my own growth.  It was then, near death and in weakness, that I found life and strength.   I had the opportunity to get a glimpse of the things that will fade away and the things that will really matter at the end of the road.   I found that death only becomes feared when an individual holds something in this world more precious than what he shall find in the next.

Anticipation or Apathy?

I have never experienced something like death, yet I dread it because I haven’t tasted it. I could never grasp the loss of a life. The extent of my knowledge on death is from what I hear and see around me. I see death as a mysticism that I will never understand. A force that can fortify me or break me depending on how I perceive it. My family history has made it this way for me, because I’ve seen their brokenness and their helplessness as a child. It makes me wonder whether it represents what is to come… how broken and helpless I will be. And even more daunting, how much faith will I have to keep on keeping on?

It’s the anticipation of experiencing something I have never experienced. And by extension, I suppose a loss that seems so daunting. I know the day will come when I or someone I love, dies or has a brush with death. I wouldn’t know how to act.

The end of eras, and relationships, friendships and things like that… are still deaths to me in some sense. The only deaths I’m familiar with at least. I guess this would be because I’m a poetic and dramatic soul. And I see the smallest happenings of life as something grand and magnificent. Am I the only one? Death to me is not locked in yet. I imagine that once one has truly experienced the death of a person or even a pet, one has already locked in a feeling about it and formed a strong opinion about it. My ideas of death are….in the air… yet to be formed. A limbo of some sort…

Broken Half

A part of me has died. Dead. You were that part. I, the other part, am slowly dying too and I don’t know what to do now. What happens when death is complete? At one point we loved each other. And while I don’t want to believe that there is this concept of “the one,” I can’t help but think otherwise. I don’t want to find another “one.” You were the one. No, to me, you still are the one. But yet, if you were, we’d still be in love. We’d still have everything we had. I saw you with another girl the other day. Is she your “one”? Does she make you feel the way you felt? Do you spend your days making her feel the same way you feel about her? My heartbeat seems to dull with every passing day.

It’s getting to be autumn soon. I’m glad. The weather will slowly begin to reflect the temperature of my heart. And then winter, which is most fitting. They say with every death is a rebirth. I’m trying to cling to this, as some sort of hope. If only hope. And until then, I assume this is how it feels to have lost someone. Maybe that’s insensitive to those who have actually lost someone. I don’t know. It sure feels like it. I had a tough time deciding between trying to figure out whether this is about love or about death. For now, I’ll choose death. And maybe later, just maybe… it’ll be life.

Next Post: Perspectives: A Series (Vol. 3- Love)

Perspectives: A Series (Vol. 1- Life)

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This first group of responses, submitted by a variety of individuals I personally know and respect, focus on thoughts and experiences in their life that have led them to think a certain way. These experiences have led to the growth and molding of perspectives about the environment around them, the individuals surrounding them, and their own selves. I hope you’ll enjoy reading these as much as I did. Maybe it will give you perspective in your own lives in some way…

Note: If you have not yet read the Introduction to this Perspectives Series, feel free to do so prior to continuing on.


Remembering “the Beautiful Game”

Sometimes when something is so much a part of your life, it becomes routine and you tend to take it for granted. well, i WAS once a soccer player and soccer WAS my LIFE, for real. ok, yes i do still play (and coach), but I am speaking of being a competitive player and playing on a team that feels the same way about the game as I once did – playing with passion and heart, playing with a greater purpose.

Let me just cut to the chase – I played soccer in college for arguably the greatest soccer program in the country, Messiah College. No, we did not win a national championship (in my four year tenure) and yes we lost on occasion, but there was just a special feeling that came over me when i wore MESSIAH across my chest. It was not that we, as players, were the greatest of players; but two things that stand out in my mind (although I could go on and on) that allowed us to rise to our highest potential: 1) our individual mental toughness, commitment, and confidence was unmovable and 2) our team chemistry and personal encouragement was unique. I will give you this one example: 20 x 200′s. Running at pace is never fun – now, 20 200′s? that seems impossible. Mental toughness – absolutely. Ironically enough, that is what we lived for. Let me tell you though, what a GREAT feeling it was to run them with 15 other girls who were encouraging you every step of the way, pushing each other beyond what you personally thought you could accomplish. Unbelievable in my mind.

OK, so maybe the inspiration for writing was just the fact that I miss playing soccer at Messiah, I miss the grueling training and the repetitive drills, I miss lacing up my boots and walking under the covered bridge, I miss the inspirational pre-game speeches, I miss it all. You know what makes my day though, is when I have the opportunity to get together with old teammates and talk about those great times, those “remember when…” times. Yeah, I know, my life is pretty lam-o. But what can I say, such an instance just recently made my day. I wish there were more of those.

Let me just close with this great illustration that we all loved. Eric Liddell, a track Olympian, quoted in the movie “Chariots of Fire,” I believe God made me for a purpose, but he also made me fast. And when I run I feel His pleasure.” So the same was with playing for such a great team. There is no doubt about it, I felt His pleasure when i laced up my boots for Messiah. Those were great days and it was a great feeling to wake up knowing that it was just a great day to play. Did I take that opportunity for granted? Of course I did. Only now have I come to realize what a privilege it truly was to play the game I love, with girls I love, and for a God I love.

Leading the Blue

Whenever I think about them, I remember these hardships like it was just yesterday. My teenage years, I was brought up wrapped up in a culture where the harder you were, the cooler you were. Like everyone else around me, I wanted to be the coolest. It was not that I wanted to be the baddest or the most cold hearted, but it was that I wanted to be on the top of that food chain of a culture that completely swallowed me up. To be the biggest fish in the sea, you got to be capable of doing what all the other fish in the sea are not willing to do or don’t have it in them to do.

I have done some things on the street that were not good things, but because I wanted to be a good person at heart, I never did anything personally myself out of order to people that did not have it coming to them. I led a [street organization] that was meant to protect the community though I have to admit that at times those that were in it did terrorize some in the community. I kept certain drugs from coming into the community even if it meant going to war with other [street organization], but at the same time I over flooded it with another drug just because it was considered safer. At the end of it all, I was forced to live in solitude, away from my family and all those I considered my family.

At the end of that time of solitude, I realized that the things I did were wrong even though at the time I thought I was doing everyone a favor. I realized forming a [street organization] with one purpose centering on causing violence against “bad” [street organizations] was wrong because I knew that over time, some will do harm to society overall rather than helping it. I knew I went overboard in some of the things that I did, although I did them to prove a point.  Then I realized I was a victim of the way our society’s culture has formed that we all live through and are engulfed in as part of system. I was a engulfed in this thinking that the things I did in the past were right because a culture said it was right, but really these things were bad.

My name is [name withheld], and I started and led a [street organization] with others who I considered “family” that once controlled parts of different vast areas. We started this enterprise with right intentions, but these intentions stemmed from a desire to be at the top of a specific culture that taught us certain things. The more badass you are, the more respected you are. I wanted to be the most respected, and in the end this resulted in bad things coming out of the [street organization].

I hope and pray that others will use their minds to combat being engulfed by the things that certain cultures put into their minds, the way it did to me.

We all go through life struggles in one form or another; some are worse than others. Sometimes we deserve what we go through no matter how bad it was. At other times we did nothing to deserve it. In some special cases, we might have brought troubles upon ourselves but it was not all done on our own, but we were just victims of an ongoing crisis of a culture gone spoiled.

All Bases Covered

Death, Love, Life?  I’ll try to answer all three, intentionally in this order.

I know little about death, in fact I think I behave irrationally in response to the notion that someday my body will cease to function. The success rate of death has so far stood at 100%, yet I still spend my time right next to the shore building a sand castle that will disappear.  I buttress my resume with what I think are supposed to be impressive accomplishments, I yearn to own possessions that will eventually wither away and I hope to develop relationships that will eventually end. Perhaps my human response is one where I know if in the grand scheme of things, my life is meaningless at least I can find meaning by comparing myself to others within the finite sliver of time that I live in. For moments, I can find comfort in doing certain things well, but I know my life is stained with imperfection, ultimately that of death.

But, I don’t think that is the full story. Love finds me a solution to what would otherwise be a miserable existence. Love unwinds our own patterns and behavior that tell us because we die soon, we need to worry about ourselves. When somebody gives up something freely of their own for my sake I realize in fact this love is also life-giving.

My faith seems to confuse some people and even offend others. But I think I like it because it shows reality for what it is, a harsh world where brokenness is evident and ultimately death reigns. I think also though this boils down to love, about man laying down his life for another to build the life of another person. Faith tells me not to just do this because this is a stringent rule or regulation, but because God Himself became the example for us. I wish I could say I was incredibly loving, that my life was an example for others to follow and I certainly try to strive to be more loving.  I know through small acts of love, I can change things little by little. Alas, I realize there is only so much to do. But in the same way I see lives changed by small acts of love, I hope in the greatest act of love by a God that tells me death really is not the final end.

Divided in Baltimore: A Lesson on Culture and Privilege

“You live where?” A fellow student asked me incredulously, eyes wide open and mouth ajar.   Such reactions were common among my peers at the private Quaker school I attended on scholarship.  To my wealthy classmates, the African-American working-class neighborhood of Pen Lucy in Baltimore City was a place where their maids lived, where we did community service at a local soup kitchen, or where scenes of Homicide: Life on the Street were filmed.  Every day on my way to school I crossed two worlds: from my black, blue-collar neighborhood of Pen Lucy plagued by drugs and gangs, to the white upper-crust enclave of Guilford and Friends School. As a white minority in my neighborhood and a socio-economic anomaly at school, I was accustomed to inhabiting the middle spaces. Belonging fully to neither the culture of my neighborhood nor my school has made me sensitive towards issues of race and identity; particularly the fluidity of race in a multi-cultural context.

I am the daughter of a pastor of a multi-ethnic urban church whose congregation encompasses people of diverse socio-economic backgrounds. Our church is deeply committed to the promotion of racial reconciliation and social justice in the city, a mission which in some ways harkens back to the radical liberation theology of Latin America in the sixties. Beyond the doors of our culturally mixed church services in Pen Lucy lies the segregated city of Baltimore where the working-class and wealthy, blacks and whites may be neighbors but their neighborhoods are separated by one-way streets, blue police lights, and private security patrols. Straddling two disparate worlds I became well-versed in the delicate bartering of my own social identity.

Though I now recognize the privilege of being the child of two highly-educated, loving parents as a child it seemed to me I was forbidden all sorts of delicious things. I was fed whole-grain bread and green vegetables while my neighborhood friends got to eat Wonderbread and chicken boxes; I stayed at home to be taught by my mom while others got to go to public school; my friends sported brand-new $100 Jordans and I got teased for my thrift-store kicks.

Little by little more differences surfaced between my family and the community. Our family got to go to the beach on vacation; the neighborhood kids often lived with their grandparents were relegated to using the local pool whose bottom was littered with shards of glass; we lived in a large single-family home and had a piano; the neighborhood kids lived in row-houses and often knocked on our door asking to play the piano; my hard-working dad, despite a busy church schedule always supported his children by attending school and sports functions; my neighborhood peers often didn’t even know their fathers.

I am now a twenty-five year old entering a PhD in History, a young woman whose life path  is testimony to the privilege of  a healthy home environment which fostered a  love of learning. I don’t think I am deserving of these things—to get paid to study for five years— but rather was born into them and now feel indebted to give back. I feel a visceral responsibility to be a productive, contributing member of society in some way or another and hope to do that through higher education. I want to be able to address these issues of cultural and racial identity that have been thrown at me throughout my life. Through historical investigation I hope to humbly explore the legacy of race, slavery, and cultural conquest. For me, this is not as much about an exploration of the past as it is an understanding of the future and my own place in the messiness of history.

Kitchen (Un)Confidential

My Korean parents immigrated to America 2 years before I was born so I could have a non-zero percent chance of becoming the future President. But more than that, they were chasing your typical American dream. Just to provide context about my upbringing, my father is a Christian minister and my mom is a registered nurse in oncology. They came to America with $500, 4 suitcases, my 2 older siblings and no English.

My parents approach to child rearing was perfect grades to get into the perfect college, both which I readily accomplished not only because I was capable, but because I did not know any better at the time. I grew up in an extremely Christian-focused, strict environment, even relative to other Asian kids. When pretty girls would call my house to talk about the great time she had last night for help on their chemistry lab reports, my dad would tell them I wasn’t home and to never call again.

Life is so interesting in that it is stupidly easy to “live” life when everything is laid out in front of you: when you do the things you are expected to do. When I got to college, I discovered that I had no clue what to do. The pressure of choosing a future combined with my general immaturity and personal freedom led me to make several regretful decisions over the next 5 years. I can’t explain a lot of the pain I caused myself and others. If I recounted all the things I did during that time of my life, most people would just call me an idiot. I think one major problem we all encounter is that we try to have an explanation for everything – that there is some important lesson or concept we need uphold. I’ve learned it is important to let things be and understand the situation. I could cry about my past, but the reality was I was just unhappy. When people aren’t happy, they do stupid shit. It is human nature.

At one point, I had already been kicked out of college twice, and was well on to my third strike. I did not want to disappoint my family and friends so I worked hard and managed to stay afloat. I was still miserable though, and the pressure of final exams pushed me over the edge. I dropped out of college. I didn’t send an official letter or anything. I just didn’t show up for any of my final exams. I thought my stellar zero point GPA would be enough to let my college know I wasn’t coming back The funny thing is, I didn’t quit because I couldn’t handle the pressure. I quit because I discovered what I was really meant to do. Cook.

Instead of studying, I slacked off and discovered Chef Thomas Keller. I read about his life, and I was captivated. Instead of going to my first final exam, I went to a local Barnes & Noble to buy his cookbook. I read it cover to cover in one day, and one particular quote changed my life. “If you’re a really great cook, you can travel back in time.” I always wanted to be a time traveler,  but more importantly, I believed I could do it.

Some would say that it was opportune timing, but more importantly, nothing ever felt so right. I felt like I was alive for the first time in my life. I just want to say how important it is not to only have an open mind, but an open heart. Dream big. Pursue the things that make you happy. Anything you pursue with your whole heart is important. Don’t let anyone make you think otherwise.

It isn’t easy. In fact, it’s extremely dangerous to give up “security” to pursue what may seem like an unachievable dream. One extremely frustrating aspect of my life change is that people ask me questions like “When are you going to be on the Food Network?” or “When can I eat at your restaurant?” Seemingly innocuous inquiries, but it is frustrating because that is not my motivation. I don’t cook so I can have my own TV show or restaurant. I cook because I LOVE TO DO IT. Discover your goals, dreams, and motivation. Forget everything and everyone else. When you let your life become molded by the expectations of others, it no longer belongs to you.

Next Post: Perspectives: A Series (Vol. 2- Death)

Perspectives: A Series (Introduction)

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“Perspective is the bridle and rudder of painting.”
-Notebooks, Leonardo da Vinci

It is pretty evident that we all perceive things differently. Take for example, this image. What did you initially see? A young lady or an old woman? One designation of a perspective is “a way of regarding situations, facts, etc, and judging their relative importance.” I feel that this personal ‘frame of reference’ of sorts allows us to both perceive and understand everything around us (i.e. our environment). For some time, I have been both amazed and puzzled at this notion of varying perspectives of individuals. At its simplest form, the most palpable perspective is my own. And even then, it’s an ever changing, constantly molding, easily influenced one.

I have been very blessed to have come across numerous individuals up to this point in my life. Some have encouraged me positively, and others have challenged me but all have led to both my growth and the point and perspective I have today. This led me to come up with an interesting idea/project. I decided that I would write a group of various and unique individuals, who I feel have all affected me in one way or other positively, and asked each one to give a short perspective on a lesson they learned or an experience through which they grew. Each individual was asked to relate their perspective to life, death, and/or love (all forms: romantic, platonic, etc.) and conversationally share their experience in written form and send it to me. It was agreed upon that everyone would remain anonymous and I would simply present the perspective as is. Receiving these written pieces, I was absolutely blown away. The diversity of the group of these individuals is so vast and while I have known each individual for some time, each perspective I read was like getting to know them all over again for the very first time. This was exactly what I was hoping for. I felt that by bringing together these perspectives, it could serve as a unique experience for each reader to draw something from each written piece. Maybe even change perspectives…

Over the next few posts, I will be presenting these perspective pieces a few at a time, grouped into volumes: life, death, and love. You will get the opportunity to hear from a former collegiate powerhouse soccer player,  an individual who left a prestigious university to pursue a culinary career, a leader of a Crips gang just released from a long prison sentence,a Med student finishing up preparing to be a physician in internal medicine, a former NYC investment banker matriculating into a top ranked Law program, a university graduate who then joined the Marines to serve our country in the war in Iraq,  and other amazing individuals with perspectives on life, death, and/or love. The thing that strikes me most about these individuals is that these “descriptions” do not completely define who they are nor do they limit them into a specific mold of what others should expect them to be like. The experiences that go with these descriptions simply give a little bit of perspective to who they were, who they are, and who they are going to be.

Next Post:    Perspectives: A Series (Vol. 1- Life)

Living through a million years of crying, until you’ve realized the art of dying.

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I stopped breathing last Thursday…

A great essay in today’s copy of The New Yorker titled Letting Go: What Should Medicine Do When It Can’t Save your Life by Atul Gawande (noted surgeon and journalist who wrote Complications) highlights the state of modern medicine and the delicate balance between staving off death through aggressive interventions and improving the state of living of the days left for a terminal patient. This conundrum is one to note, especially as it relates to the growing interest in health-care costs and spending. I feel that it is a difficult subject, as the rising cost of health care is attributed in large part to the terminally ill. Gawande mentions the fact in his essay: “Twenty-five per cent of all Medicare spending is for the five per cent of patients who are in their final year of life, and most of that money goes for care in their last couple of months which is of little apparent benefit.”

Gawande is correct in pointing out that this national awareness about the topic centers on the unfortunate question of which side should “win” in addressing these expensive decisions. Is it the insurers and the taxpayers undertaking the bill, or the patient fighting for his or her life?

In conversing with numerous individuals my age, the topic is often simply brushed off. Obviously, the I.C.U in hospitals includes patients comprised of a more geriatric makeup. It’s more of a representation of life. It is safe to assume that as we all age, it is expected that we’ll start to break down and our organs will fail. Even with modern breakthroughs and ubiquitous phrases such as “age-defying/anti-aging” or “rejuvenation” or “forever young,” the mortality rate for all of us, as much as we choose to accept it or not, is 100%. We all die. I don’t mean to be pessimistic. On the contrary, I feel that I believe in the merits behind living out the actual days of our lives; a quality over quantity of sorts. Now you try to say this to someone confined to their deathbed, and the viewpoint changes. One that I can boldly and fortunately (yes, fortunately) say that I have felt. Gawande goes on to say:

Spending one’s final days in an I.C.U. because of terminal illness is for most people a kind of failure. You lie on a ventilator, your every organ shutting down, your mind teetering on delirium and permanently beyond realizing that you will never leave this borrowed, fluorescent place. The end comes with no chance for you to have said goodbye or “It’s O.K.” or “I’m sorry” or “I love you.”

People have concerns besides simply prolonging their lives. Surveys of patients with terminal illness find that their top priorities include, in addition to avoiding suffering, being with family, having the touch of others, being mentally aware, and not becoming a burden to others. Our system of technological medical care has utterly failed to meet these needs, and the cost of this failure is measured in far more than dollars. The hard question we face, then, is not how we can afford this system’s expense. It is how we can build a health-care system that will actually help dying patients achieve what’s most important to them at the end of their lives.

I stopped breathing last Thursday. It was supposed to be a routine surgical procedure, albeit one that would require general anesthesia. I was to have my portacath removed from my chest after 5 long years of using it, dating back to my last start of chemotherapy. In my usual stoic fashion, I let my parents and my pastor know that i’d be undergoing this procedure, and assured them that it was a quick and easy procedure. As I drifted off into sedation on the surgical table, I found comfort in at least being surrounded by numerous individuals, albeit in the form of a medical team consisting of surgeons and anesthesiologists. There really is something about drifting off, surrounded by other human beings, that is actually comforting.

On a quick side note, I found some sort of comfort in the Baltimore Sun story about the Johns Hopkins Research student who was stabbed to death last week, in that at least the dying young man did not have to be alone.

A Charles Village resident, who would not give his name, said he witnessed the attack and ran outside to comfort the victim. “I made it back and held his hand, and I told him that everything was going to be OK,” the man said. He said, ‘Help me,’ and then I held his hand until he expired. I didn’t want him to be alone. Nobody wants to die alone.“

A little while into my surgical procedure, as the anesthesia was setting in, something rare occurred. Something so rare that the Hopkins anesthesiologists decided to do a special case study on it since you see it once in a lifetime, even though you read about it in medical textbooks and lectures. As I reacted to the anesthesia, I stopped breathing. In the medical world, they call this rare, life-threatening condition Malignant Hyperthermia. ((This condition is not the same as hyperthermia that is due to medical emergencies such as heat stroke.)) In terms of incidence, the occurrence of MH has been estimated to be as rare as one in 65,000 administrations of general anesthesia. Luckily the medical staff reacted quickly to the situation and were able to get more help brought into the surgical room to help pry my jaw open(which had shut tightly due to the muscular rigidity) and put a breathing tube in to resume my breathing.

The fall-out is where I really want to address this topic of my entry. I ended up in the I.C.U (Intensive Care Unit) for 24+ hours and during that time, while I felt completely fine, they had me confined to a hospital bed with all sorts of tubes and lines and wires for the rigorous testing that followed. During this time, I came to a point where I went absolutely nuts and wanted to rip everything off and run out of the ward. Now, I’m not exactly a stranger to the coffin-like state of being confined to a hospital bed for long periods of time. (During my first diagnosis as a pediatric oncology patient at age 17, I spent  four months inpatient confined to a hospital bed and again spent a little over two months when I relapsed at age 22.) So naturally, as I sat in that bed last week for hours, I was able to think about various “what ifs” and came to think about this so called “new difficulty for mankind” of how to die.

In the I.C.U unit, dubbed by a critical care physician as a “warehouse for the dying,”  I was surrounded by all sorts of end-stage individuals. Even on the medical rounds that the medical interns were led on, I was the only patient that was up and coherent. This principle of uncertainty definitely was highlighted. In his essay, Gawande speaks about ars moriendi(the art of dying) and further goes on to speak about  illness and uncertainty stating that “these days, swift catastrophic illness is the exception; for most people, death comes only after long medical struggle with an incurable condition—advanced cancer, progressive organ failure (usually the heart, kidney, or liver), or the multiple debilities of very old age. In all such cases, death is certain, but the timing isn’t. So everyone struggles with this uncertainty—with how, and when, to accept that the battle is lost.”

I like to think that if I were to end up becoming ill again, and needing to re-enter into the depths of the taxing and debilitating experiences surrounding experimental chemotherapy, I would no doubt go through it, if at least for the sake of my parents. But if I were to think solely about my own self, I’m not sure I’d choose the uncertainty of a laborious treatment over some sort of hospice care or spending an allotted time with family and loved ones. Gawande actually brings up an interesting point about hospice care:

Like many people, I had believed that hospice care hastens death, because patients forgo hospital treatments and are allowed high-dose narcotics to combat pain. But studies suggest otherwise. In one, researchers followed 4,493 Medicare patients with either terminal cancer or congestive heart failure. They found no difference in survival time between hospice and non-hospice patients with breast cancer, prostate cancer, and colon cancer. Curiously, hospice care seemed to extend survival for some patients; those with pancreatic cancer gained an average of three weeks, those with lung cancer gained six weeks, and those with congestive heart failure gained three months. The lesson seems almost Zen: you live longer only when you stop trying to live longer.

Of course, all this is actually quite odd. I suppose one could argue that there is an unfairness to contemplating ars noriendi as a mere 25 year old. But it goes beyond that. As everything in life, of course there are numerous factors, but much like the nurse in the article who states “Ninety-nine per cent [of those in hospice care] understand they’re dying, but one hundred per cent hope they’re not,” there is still that human element of fight; a negotiation of the ars moriendi.  I think the glaring struggle is the one that exists between suffering and the “unstoppable momentum of medical treatment.”

Sitting in that hospital bed, a part of me wanted to outright reject waiting for the hospital protocol to release me and just rip out my IV’s and cardiac wires and just walk right out. The job of my attending doctor was to do everything in her power to make sure nothing was left uncovered, even if that meant the trade off was my discomfort. And as much as I wish I could blame her or be against it, I could obviously understand why she was doing what she was doing.

Gawande speaks about the human impulse in the face of illness:

This is a modern tragedy, replayed millions of times over. When there is no way of knowing exactly how long our skeins will run—and when we imagine ourselves to have much more time than we do—our every impulse is to fight, to die with chemo in our veins or a tube in our throats or fresh sutures in our flesh. The fact that we may be shortening or worsening the time we have left hardly seems to register. We imagine that we can wait until the doctors tell us that there is nothing more they can do. But rarely is there nothing more that doctors can do. They can give toxic drugs of unknown efficacy, operate to try to remove part of the tumor, put in a feeding tube if a person can’t eat: there’s always something. We want these choices. We don’t want anyone—certainly not bureaucrats or the marketplace—to limit them. But that doesn’t mean we are eager to make the choices ourselves. Instead, most often, we make no choice at all. We fall back on the default, and the default is: Do Something. Is there any way out of this?

I assume that I can never speak for another person in the situation of making a choice, but I believe that oftentimes, the choices these patients(as well as myself) make are not choices made for just themselves. They oftentimes include the factors related to family and loved ones. Of course this isn’t in every situation. I suppose it’d be much simpler to make a decision entirely upon oneself. I know it’d make things much easier for myself.

As a patient, I do understand the health care repercussions  and arguments of the high costs of terminal illness. I understand the viewpoints of some individuals who have said directly to my face that they shouldn’t be paying taxes to pay for some random hospital patients they don’t know who are taking up millions of dollars to stay on life support even though they are brain dead. I understand it. As a patient myself, I do think that would be something I would consider; Whether the burden of my illness should be put upon others. I suppose it’s too simple to say it’s too complicated. What should the conversation be between a patient and a physician?

Gawande goes on to speak about his conversation with Dr. Susan Block, a palliative-care specialist who is nationally recognized in training doctors and others about managing end-of-life issues with both patients and their families:

“You have to understand,” Block told me. “A family meeting is a procedure, and it requires no less skill than performing an operation.”

One basic mistake is conceptual. For doctors, the primary purpose of a discussion about terminal illness is to determine what people want—whether they want chemo or not, whether they want to be resuscitated or not, whether they want hospice or not. They focus on laying out the facts and the options. But that’s a mistake, Block said.

“A large part of the task is helping people negotiate the overwhelming anxiety—anxiety about death, anxiety about suffering, anxiety about loved ones, anxiety about finances,” she explained. “There are many worries and real terrors.” No one conversation can address them all. Arriving at an acceptance of one’s mortality and a clear understanding of the limits and the possibilities of medicine is a process, not an epiphany.

There are others who do argue about the role of physicians being clear cut. I’m really glad Gawande brings up this point and relates it to what was supposed to be a part of the new health-reform act:

Given how prolonged some of these conversations have to be, many people argue that the key problem has been the financial incentives: we pay doctors to give chemotherapy and to do surgery, but not to take the time required to sort out when doing so is unwise. This certainly is a factor. (The new health-reform act was to have added Medicare coverage for these conversations, until it was deemed funding for “death panels” and stripped out of the legislation.) But the issue isn’t merely a matter of financing. It arises from a still unresolved argument about what the function of medicine really is—what, in other words, we should and should not be paying for doctors to do.

At the end of it all, I don’t expect physicians to be perfect and know all the right answers and right prognosis. After all, we are all human. But I don’t think it’s too much to ask physicians to understand that their responsibility, in medicine is indeed to deal with human beings as they are. In these cases, you really don’t always have the opportunity to learn from your mistakes. A mistake or wrong decision can often mean your life. And not everyone has prior experience to draw from. And even if they do, that means nothing. In the end, I can safely say that I know i don’t want hospital stays or I.C.Us but it doesn’t mean that my 10 years as a pediatric oncology patient makes me experienced or knowledgeable enough to know how to avoid them.

I suppose the biggest lesson I’ve learned is not to focus on death as the targeted enemy. In the end, if death is your enemy, your enemy will always win this war. The focus is upon not just the simple statement of the “days you have left” but rather what these days consist of. The relationships. Your family. Your friends. Loved ones. Your faith. Whatever it may be for you, is where that focus should lie. And slowly you see death’s label as “enemy” fading away.

What I’ve Learned: Jae Jin, 25, Baltimore, MD

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Jae Jin, 25, Baltimore

>I have a deep respect for social graces. How one should pass both the salt and pepper together. How not to yell across a room. Opening doors. Pulling out chairs. Arising from your seat when necessary, whether it’s a dinner table or a crowded bus. It is a lost language and I thank my stepfather for showing me these things. And no, they are not abstract at all.

>A sense of style is something I like to think that I have. I’ve actually probably been complimented for my style as much as i’ve been criticized for it. I think that’s proof enough, since there’s a big difference between fashion and style. Fashion comes and goes, while style is quite individualistic.

>I can’t wait till I grow out of talking like I know everything about something, when I really don’t. I like to think i’m growing out of this, but this could just mean i’m back to square one.

>Family can be filled with irony. Without the strong foundation of a family, it’s hard to be a balanced individual. But there’s no such thing as a perfect family. Actually I imagine that the family was strong because of all the struggles and flaws that both occurred and existed in each member of it.

>One of the many things that my illness has taught me is a degree of death. It’s about losing something, and whenever you lose something, it’s a step toward death. So if you can accept this loss, you can accept the fact that there is going to be the ‘biggest’ loss. Once you are able to accept that loss, you can pretty much accept anything. And then that translates into relationships. I give myself a break, and I give everyone around me a break as well.

>I truly believe that the root of almost all of my problems comes from my mother. I like to think that all men inherit both their temper and pride in large part, if not completely, from their mothers. Mothers are that important. I love and respect no one more than I do my mother.

>Many people around me have higher life expectancies than I do. Many of these people don’t even realize that they haven’t begun to live.

>As I get older, I find that in the right company, alcohol actually does taste better, regardless of its quality.

>Discipline has its merits. I used to get into push-up position and get hit on the ass with a baseball bat… by my mother.

>I feel that one of the most life-changing, thought-provoking experiences I have ever had was to throw up bile. Bile looks different than what many people actually vomit, when they do. Something told me it was not a common experience. There’s something about seeing one’s own bile that gives you perspective; teaches you about the frailty of life.

>I am not envious of the rich and the famous. Struggles are what made you who you are today what will make you who you’ve become when you leave this earth.

>Adrenaline is an amazing thing. I once had a surgical procedure done without going under general anesthesia, as normally directed. Pain was present, but adrenaline had my back.

>When I was just 5 years old, my mother decided to spend some money to get me piano lessons with this tyrannic, chubby, Korean lady with a high pitched voice. Mind you, while we were poor I still couldn’t understand why my shirt was priced $1.00 from a place called Goodwill, and a piano lesson was priced at $10 an hour. She would place sheet music in front of me, and I would just go listen to the song on cassette tape and act like i was “reading” the music. I couldn’t understand why she was trying to teach me how to read something when I could hear it in my head and re-play it the same way. I lasted 4 lessons, before the teacher found out(i played a completely different song), and got mad at me and left, refusing to teach me. My mom was so angry at me, but that was the exact moment that I knew music would forever be an important part of my life.

>I have yet to master the art of listening. Maybe if I would just shut the hell up every once in a while. I suppose that my mastering this art will directly correlate with my getting married.

>Living to be 100 is not something i plan to do, nor desire. There are way too many people i’d have to say goodbye to. Then again, i’m not in control of how old I grow, so i guess i’ll just suck it up. I’m just a quarter of the way there, so it seems far enough away to have to worry about it.

>I feel like i’ve learned so much through my own life as well as the lives around me. I’m hoping you feel the same way.

Possessions

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Slowly moving along the path of life. Content in fallen and Godless fashion. A typical work day; a gathering of friends; a holiday or a vacation; a new endeavor. And suddenly it comes. A pang of discomfort that stops me in my tracks. Ignites my thoughts with the worst possible scenarios, continuing to play out in my mind. Maybe a notice of bereavement. Maybe an unavoidable casualty. Maybe a tragedy of sorts. And these, in turn, ignite my emotions, if only for a moment. Maybe a day. And all these arrogated joys and toys I own, rest still on an empty floor. Scattered about like remnants of a cataclysmic catastrophe. Like a tornado through a nursery. And I stop, humbled, knowing that these very possessions should not possess my heart. As my heart is intended to be possessed by something far more.

-j.jin 2010.

A Bird Doesn’t Sing Because It Has An Answer, It Sings Because It Has A Song.

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Back when I was in High School, the only music I really listened to was rap and sappy R&B ballads. During that time, I enjoyed singing, but nothing more than singing loudly in the shower and being told to shut up by my parents. My stepfather, wanting to make fun of me at every possible moment, would howl like a dog every time I would sing. I’m pretty sure that if I had continued to only listen to sappy R&B ballads and rap, I’d be looked at by people today the same way the American Idol judges look at contestants who come in and sing a completely off-key, horrendous rendition of a popular song.

But instead, I ended up going to college, and branching out into other genres of music. I began listening to rock, country, folk, opera, you name it. I began studying (yes… studying) the lyricism of Bob Dylan. I began studying the vocalization of Pavarotti. I kept branching out. I kept exploring, kept shaping, kept forming, kept cultivating a new perspective on music.

For thousands of years followers of the Christian faith, like musicians, have recognized the need to keep exploring what it means to live in harmony with God and each other. This Christian faith tradition is composed of change and growth and transformation. Jesus falls into this process by calling those around him to rethink faith, and the Bible, and even what hope and love are, basically everything. He invited all these people into the endless process of working out how to live as this higher power (God) created us to live.

I feel that this challenge for Christians is to live a life filled with passion and conviction, yet remaining open and flexible… being completely cognizant of the fact that this life is not the last ‘song that is sung’ so to speak.

As we speak, this world is shifting and changing. God doesn’t change, yet the times are changing. We are learning and growing, and our so called Christian faith is animate only if it is changing, transforming, and letting go of all those things that have gotten in the way of Jesus. And the process won’t stop. I consider myself to be a part of this tradition of individuals representing this ongoing process of reformation. I feel that we need to continue to be reforming the way the Christian faith is lived out, defined, and understood by all those around us.

Many individuals have brought forth arguments stating that Jesus is a problem. The problem is not Jesus; the problem is all that comes along with Jesus.

For many individuals, when they hear the word “Christian” they think of all different images that have nothing to do with who he is or how he taught us how to live. As a Christian, I feel that this needs to change.

I recall reading once that when it comes to faith, everybody has it. People say that some individuals have faith, and others do not. It went on to say that everybody is following somebody. That what often happens is that individuals with specific beliefs or ideas about a higher power end up backed into a corner, defending their faith against the presumed rationality of other individuals, almost as if to say that they have faith and beliefs and others don’t. They further went on to say that this is not true by bringing up an example of how certain individuals believe in a creator. Some individuals believe that a higher power (creator) made us, and had plans and purposes for their creation. Other individuals believe that there is no greater meaning to life, no master plan, and that our existence is a result of completely random chance. But in the end this juxtaposition is not between perspectives of individuals with faith and without faith. One could go as far as to say that the individual, who believes that we are here by random chance and that there is no greater meaning to life, has even more beliefs than the individual who believes that there is a creator.

I once was taking part in a discussion about my faith at work, and one individual expressed their displeasure about Christians with spiritual convictions being considered closed-minded. At the very core of the Christian faith, it’s interesting to note that there is the understanding and assumption that this life isn’t all there is. There is a faith in that there is more to life than just the material things that one can sense (see, touch, hear, etc.). It would seem that for those who are opposed to the Christian world-view that there is “more” are in essence bringing up a good question of which is more close-minded. I suppose then that the atheist (one who does not believe that a God exists) has a remarkable amount of faith.

In the end, we all do follow others around us. We make decisions daily of what matters to us, of what holds value in our lives, of how we carry out our relationships, and what we do with our very lives. These decisions we make daily stem from all the beliefs we hold that line up with our existence. The beliefs had to have come from somewhere. If someone will refuse to believe that we were formed by a higher power, can they at least refuse that we were formed by this conglomeration of people, relationships, and different aspects of our lives?

Some individuals I know will tell me that they are not influenced by any other individuals or any religion or thought… that they think for themselves. This is an admirable perspective to have.  However, I’d challenge that notion that this perspective they have did indeed come from… somewhere. I like to think that in this way, we all have faith in something or somebody.

I suppose I wanted to write about this more so for my dearest friends who do not share the same perspective about faith or about God… hoping that they can understand my perspective and know that I respect their perspectives. I do not assume to push upon them my perspective as being the “right one” or the “only one.” I can only speak for myself.  As a Christian, I aim to live in the particular way that Jesus taught those around him to live. It’s not about religion. It’s simply an honest notion that all of us are living a particular ‘way.’

It just so happens to mean that I hold convictions that I aim to uphold. These convictions include generosity, compassion, and forgiveness, pursuing peace, being honest, cultivating and cherishing relationships around me (both with those who share my beliefs as well as those who do not).

Jesus isn’t about religion. I’ll be honest. I’m fed up with a lot of how religion has centered upon assuming that they know all the answers… that they can answer all questions. I’ve met individuals who talk about agreeing to follow and believe a God when they have their questions and doubts answered. But I’ll say it straight up: If I, or the church, or a religion could answer all the questions you have, we’d be God. So this Christian idea of an invitation being extended to all, is simply an invitation to follow Jesus along with all the doubts and questions, and knowing that they are looking outside of themselves for guidance. You need to understand that the Christian experience is all about questioning God. I don’t mean sitting there like a belligerent drunk and arrogantly questioning all things you don’t know(and that’s a lot), but honest, vulnerable questioning that comes from this constant struggle and ongoing change in an individual.

I’ll say it straight up. The Christian faith is going to be mysterious. This faith is about things that ultimately cannot be put into worlds. If we do ultimately put God into words, we’ve made God something that God is not. I know some individuals may not be okay with the statement that “being a Christian is more about celebrating mystery rather than conquering it.” And that’s okay. At the end of the day, I think that it is less and less about talking or reading about it. It’s more and more about the experience of the life you live. I know that, personally, I get up every day and am awed at the fact that I get to live this life that I do. Maybe some of you do too. I won’t lie. I’ve seen a lot done in the name of God or Christianity that I’m fairly sure has nothing to do with it all. I’ve had moments where I’ve gotten close to quitting it all, much in the way that you’d quit a club at school. But it’s not about religion. It’s not about a club. It’s not about knowing and understanding everything about it, prior to “joining.” There are no dues to pay. This is where this central concept of grace comes in.  It’s simply about accepting your life as grace and living it out.

Music has always been a big part of me, and much in the same way that my taste in music has not only been refined, but redefined, my perspectives in life have also changed in this way. Even as a singer, its not simply just the songs I sing. It’s how I sing them. Whether it be singing or living. Sing. Live. Continue to explore, shape, form, and cultivate your perspective on your life, that’s guided by a belief. Whether that belief is in God or in yourself, I suppose that’s for you to figure out and decide.

The journey is more important than the end or the start

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When I was a child and the only place I wanted to be was anywhere else than where I was, my mother would tell me that as I grew up, this sentiment would disappear. I’m not quite sure that this sentiment has changed, but rather the busyness of life tends to keep your mind off of it. Now that I am 25 years old, I’m tempted to think that I’m still nothing but a child. It’s a disease called restlessness that begins to manifest itself in my very bones. It’s not so much that the here and now is insufficient or unsatisfactory. It is more a feeling of left wanting. A feeling that you don’t quite belong in this place. The voice beckons and echos in your mind, and it slowly drives you crazy because you know that you may be the only one in the entire world hearing that voice.  I’m determined to figure this all out, to rediscover that very sentiment I held as a child… hoping I’ll have the very mindset of unlimited possibilities. A kind of second childhood that probably befalls more men than care to admit. For me, there’s a force stronger than anything ‘we’ can know, and I haven’t really had the time to develop the means to think. Perhaps you have feelings, and then words, and then thoughts, and you’re left knowing the journey had finally began.