declaration of dependence

It’s odd how we pray when times are dire, but lack it during the fruitful times.
It’s odd how we seek others during crisis, but live our days independently during bliss.

Why are we creatures of independency?  And when we actually do gather, it’s either just to quick plastic pleasure regarding the daily menutia or it’s because we finally are broken down to a point where we beg for help.
What is wrong in declaring that we need others?  Not just for survival, but for life. 

We need neighbors.  We need friends.  We need our Father.
Not just in the sorrow, but in the joy.

red eyes

“What are you looking for?”
This is the question that Jesus asked two disciples of John the Baptist.  There are many ways of how this was worded, but I like this way.

New Years is coming.  2010.  It’s hard to accept that the 20th year of my life is coming closer to me.  Mentally it’s crazy, but emotionally, I’m not all that phased.
When I hear the word “New Years,” the first word that I usually hear from others is “resolution.”  Lists of plans of how one can be a person or live a healthier lifestyle.  They all have good intentions, but sadly, most of these ideals and resolutions crumble to ashes and are blown away by the movement of old habits and the worldly patterns such as work and other priorities.  I remember this one woman at my church talking about plans to lose weight.  She wanted to start early, but she admitted in a humorous manner that it’s probably going to fail in the end.

I ask myself why?  Why is there a need to do new years resolutions?  If you see a flaw in your pattern, can’t you start any other time of the year to fix it?  I guess it’s symbolic.  New year:  new life.  But in truth, every breath is new life.

And then I go deeper into these questions and thoughts.  By declaring the need for change shows there’s a void.  But are these resolutions truly the answer to this void?  We form exercise plans to aid either our health reasons or our disastisfaction of our physical shape.  We give up buying baseball cards to end an addiction.  We write post-it notes to write to friends make sure that we stay connected.  But are these problems seperate issues, or are they mere symptoms of a more underlying problem?

Then what is this void?  I’ve asked myself this question many times and end up with the same answer: a lack of a foundation with God.  To those who don’t know me very well, you might [or might not] think I’m quite a religious man because of the constant refrences to God and allusions to the Bible.  You might think I’m being overly zealous by proposing this as the problem.  However, I beg to differ.  My relationship with God is far from what I want it to be, thus, I propose the problem.

For a long time, I’ve always understood God’s existence.  Sometimes I would argue for it.  It was there cognatively in my brain, but not in my heart—firmly, at least.  This seems to be a problem with many aspects of my life.  I understand many things, but to embrace something in my heart; for my actions to be more than a logical response… that’s where it gets tough.  It’s tough when the mind get’s too strong that things merely becomes logical and analytical.  That’s where I somewhat am with God.  I understand God’s existence, but I don’t know him.  Understanding but not comprehension.

This Sunday, I was hit with another gust of wind.  Girls.  After being morbidly distraught, I thought again and wondered if I was pursuing girls just for the sake of filling the void.

Upon asking that question, I was reminded of the sermon I listened to by Pastor Steve Rodeheaver gave us that morning.  He talked about John 1.

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.
Through him all things were made; without him nothing was made that has been made.  In him was life, and that life was the light of men.
The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us.  We have seen the glory, the glory of the One and Only, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth.

Pastor Steve started talking about verse 4.  “In him was life…”  Often times we take that verse to be that life was given to Jesus.  On the contrary, it’s through Jesus that life is given.  To use syllogism and to make things more amplified, through the Word was life.  God’s word/Jesus are the conduit through which life is given.

Pastor Steve continued onto Chapter 4 of John—the story of the Samaritan woman.  Jesus asks the samaritan woman for some water, where the conversation then evolves to discussing living water.  Jesus offers the woman living water while the woman still doesn’t get it.  Jesus then asks her to bring her husband.  After saying she doesn’t have a husband, Jesus reveals to her that he understands:  she’s had five husbands and the man she’s living with is not her husband.
Pastor Steve asks why you thinks he had so many wives.  A kid in the back joked and said “she was desperate.”  Even though he meant something else, it is true—she was desperate.  Every one of those men probably promised her something comforting and good.  However, in the end, either she had the worst luck ever and all of them died… or she divorced them.
Jesus not only revealed herself to her… he revealed himself as well.  Among that, he offered life.  Through him was life.  After revelation, the woman left her water jug and ran to the village, saying that she had met the Messiah.

In the end, it is through understanding Christ that we understand God.  God infleshed himself into Jesus so that we can understand who God is.  Through Jesus’s actions… through the Word, we are given life.

What was the samaritan woman looking for?  What am I looking for?
I don’t think I want to conceed to the idea that this whole girl thing is merely a search to fill the void.  I am no womanizer who merely uses women to satisfy my needs.  This yearn is a search for a friend as well.  But if this desire for a friend devours the search for truth, then maybe I am lost.  And I can’t conceed to the idea that “I’ll turn my life around if I find the right companion.”  No.  I have already admitted that my heart goes to the girl before God.

What am I looking for?  What are you looking for?
New years approaching, and what are you looking for?  I am not minimizing people’s new years resolutions.  There is a place for that.  But beyond the changes you want on the surface, what is the true void in your life?  With those red eyes of desperation, what are you truly looking for?

reflections on the past semester: storm

Today, I walked through a busy crowd and sniffed.  While my intention of sniffing was merely reactionary so that I take in oxygen, I got more than just air.
A friend.
I got a friend in a whiff of air.  I smelled her.  She was there, but I swear she’s probably back at home up in Orange County.  She was there, in that crowd, along with all the memories that she carries.  It was in that whiff of air that I was reminded not only how senses bring back (mostly) pleasant memories, but how they also seem to recapitulate the idea of themes.

It seems that life is divided into themes.  Eras.  Chapters.  [I swear, the longer I live, the more I feel like lives are equatable to stories]
This friend doesnt have her own chapter, though, she has a prominent [and positive] role in the latest.  I find that this last semester’s chapter can only be entitled one thing:  storm.  It isn’t so much that this last semester I experienced great trials for the first time.  Rather, it’s the first time I acknowledged their existence and understood what it means to carry a burden.

This semester, I bit into something bigger than I could chew.  Seven classes and three private lessons.  On paper, that’s only 16 units.  Calculated, its 27 hours of classes, plus 15 hours of practice.  I guess to some, that isn’t that bad.  I know the guy who lives next door to me —JHill—is considering in triple majoring (Bio-Chem, and Spanish).  This path lead me to staying up till 3A, heading back to my dorm, then waking up at 7:30A.  I remember once, I got back at around 5A, and decided to just take a nap on my roommate’s chair instead of sleeping.  That way, my mind wouldn’t be so drained.

The wind does not just blow in the area of academics, but as well in my personal life.  I’ve said this many times, and I’ll say it again.  Girls shall be the end of me.
I’ll just leave it there.

To capture the idea of “storm” in literal terms, Loma had its own violent storm.  December 7th, the gateway of madness for me.  This monday, I had to sing and have one of my compositions performed at the student recital.  Getting people to rehearse for my composition was super hectic.  While these students were more than competent musicians, they were also super busy, thus it was hard to locate a time to have a full rehearsal. 
So that monday, my piece “Winter Night” was performed.  Though with flaws, the piece went very well.  Three minutes after my piece, all the lights shut down and we relocate to a different area.  It was quite windy that day, but I was expecting such winds would cause a blackout.

After the recital, I walk out and the winds were monumnetous.  It was so fun, feeing the resistance on my face.  Wind is nothing new to me, but it’s always a wonderful feeling.

I return to my dorm and the only lights emitting are from the reserve power.  My friends try to do homework, but as I pull out my guitar, the attention span died quickly.  My friend Derrick and I began playing some Coldplay and Bon Iver tunes to lighten the mood—and, for other reasons…
As reserve power died out, chaos started building up.  To begin with, the wind caused four windows to shatter.  Also, all the RAs and RDs were gone for a Christmas party, so many ideas were thrown around:  run around Klassen, attack Young.  However, much of it was merely talk.  However, that didn’t stop the chaos from within the building.  With flashlights as the only source of light, many people decided to scare others for their own comical relief.  With all the madness, I decided to sleep.

An hour later, I awoke to some music coming from the lounge.  I walked to the sound and saw some of my friends just playing and singing worship music.  It was in this moment that I realized two things:

1. Never take light for granted.
2. There are three ways to respond to the storm:
   *Add to the madness and inflict chaos on others
   *Ignore the storm and pretend it doesnt exist
   *Worship God, even in the midst of the calamity.

While this was all meaningful during the time of worship, as my life transitioned from the tangible storm to the figurative storm, these aphorisms faded.  Confusion and strife filled my lungs once more.  There were times when I didn’t know—and still don’t truly know—whether the path I’m on is the one I’m called for.  There were times when the ones I cared about began taking dark paths and I had no control over it.  There were times when I felt like the world was falling on my shoulders, I sought God, but I wasn’t sure if he heard me.  There were times when the girl I cared about so much began to drift, like all my other friends I come close with.  There were times when the girl I cared about made me believe that she was interested in someone else.  There were times when my darkest fears were the only images being played in my head.  There were times when I controlled the script of my imaginations and the story ended up in tragedy.  And the irony:  all this stress came crashing down during the advent seasons—a time when we wait for the greatest gift to arrive.

Some of these fears, I had control of, but most of them were based off the ones I had no control over.  I have no control over deadlines.  I have no control over other peoples actions.  I have no control over other peoples feelings.  A man I admire once said this:

“Storms will come and storms will go, but our response to those storms are what we are responsible for. … You can’t control what other people are going to do, you can’t control what’s going to happen, but you can control the way you approach the situation”

While that is another aphorism for me to remember within the winds, it’s another piece of advice that I deem true.
He hasn’t given up on me yet.  Why should I?

arrival

Finals.  Performances.  Preparations.  All-nighters.  Rehearsals.  Obligations.

All this noise that we make for ourselves.  They are all important, don’t get me wrong.  But if we run so fast that we see that Christmas break is merely a downtime to recover, relax, and rebond with others… 
In the grand scheme of things, if we do these tasks; if we hold these tasks more important than the real goal…

Arrival.
He’s arrived.

In the midst of all the recovery and rekindling, I must not forget. 
It is a time of celebration!
In the midst of celebrating my accomplishments of last semester, I must not forget.

Oh come let us adore him….

giving time

Man.  It’s been a month plus since I’ve written?  Madness.
It isn’t that I don’t have anything to say.  On the contrary, I have too much to say.  That, and I have little time to write thoughts.
That’s not true.
I just don’t give myself time.

This semester has been quite taxing.  I used to remember in high school, when I would say that there is rarely any time for me to practice music because I have a busy schedule.  In retrospect, I laugh.  I mock my old thought.  There was always ways to economize my time.

I’ve reached a point, this semester, where I’m burning too much of the candle.  Seven classes, three private lessons, eighteen hours of practice, plus job position as a TA.  It’s a lot.  Not too much, but a lot.  It’s bad enough by itself, but life has a funny way of throwing emotional jabs, adding to the weight.  It gets to a point where all I can cry is “Lord, slow me down!”

A slower pace.  I think we all can use it.
Sometimes we go too fast.  Sometimes I go too fast.  When we run, indeed, we get a lot of work done, but we miss out in the life around us.  I remember a couple weeks ago, I was super stressed.  I had to attend this concert—which would eat a huge chunk out of my time to do sleep and practice—and I had to perform one of my pieces at a friend’s junior recital (problem being, we hadn’t done a full rehearsal since the prior semester and our last performance of the piece was terrible).  There was more whip cream on top of the situation—it just evades me at the moment.
Point being, I was stressed. 
That friday, I was getting blows from the left and right constantly.  I remember walking to the music building stressed and pissed, and my friend Mark Freed commented how lovely the sunset was.  My response wasn’t a joyous or sympathetic one.  Rather, it was a self-centered and problematic one.  “I wish I had time to enjoy it.”

I wish I had time to enjoy it.  By saying that, I am recognizing that there is beauty and goodness in the sunset.  In the same sentence, I am claiming that I do not have time to look and accept the goodness.
I find it a fallacy to say that one does not have time to accept goodness.

God’s beauty is all around us.  His creation isn’t just for aesthetics.  While sunsets may be beautiful and landscapes may be breathtaking, there’s more to creation than just visual pleasure.  Just as the rainbow was a promise to Noah, God’s creation is a promise to us.  A promise that not only is God bigger than our troubled hearts, but that He is with us in our troubled times.  A promise that all will be made well.

But how can we see the sunset fade in the horizon if we try to speed our lives too fast?  I’m not saying to stop all our works and focus on nature.  Not at all.  I still go to Loma and still am taking many classes and still need to accomplish the goals my professors set before me.  But if we could just stop.  Stop and pause to see the bigger picture.  To see that our struggles and worries are part of something bigger that we can’t control on our own mere strength, then maybe our burden wouldn’t be as heavy as we make it out to be.  Maybe.

While my thoughts are rarely profound, I do hope to keep writing throughout the school year.
I just need to give myself time…

heating chicken noodle soup

I have been struggling with many things lately.  Mostly ideas in the abstract.
What is wrong with relationships today?  Why is it hard for people to relate with each other?  Where has communication gone wrong?
Of course, I’m not the first to ask these questions and I doubt that this blog will be the last regarding them.   Nevertheless, as I ask those questions, I always seem to come back to two words:  empathy and sympathy.  Both words come from the same root—pathos—yet their approach can make such a difference.

Let’s strip the words down to it’s core.  By definition, empathy means to intellectually relate with another’s feelings, actions, or thoughts.  Sympathy, on the other hand, means to agree in feeling to another’s feelings, actions, or thoughts.

So difference?
One is to understand intellectually while one is to feel.
Does that make much of a difference?
Yes.  It does.

I feel like many people use empathy and sympathy synonymously, yet there’s a distinct line between the two.  To intellectually understand someone’s pain means nothing to the victim.  We all are capabale of analyzing the pain of a friend.  Indeed, we can even give advice to the victim, but how can they receive it?  How can they receive such advice that is served on a dry cold platter? 
In discussion, it’s one thing to be right.  But if your recepient can not receive truth, your validity and accuracy means nothing.

There’s a friend that I’ve constantly debated against.  We’ve gone through a plethora of topics.  Religion, music, love, politics, art.  However, I feel as I continue to talk, no progress is made.  All the words and advice I say one day fall apart and the next day I’m back to square one.

I used to blame him.  I used to say that he was so stubborn to agree with the facts. 
But there reveals the problem.
My search for truth was more prevalent than my search to be a friend. 
Empathy was there.  I clearly understood what his problems were.  I tried to offer him some good advice.  However, my ideas could not be served because I did not take the time and stand in his shoes and feel how he felt.  Sympathy lacked.

When one merely discusses topics through intellect, they hold the other person in contempt.  They see that their views are right and anything the opposing side has to say is wrong.  Many times, they are quite valid in seeing this way. 
However, the human heart is not a piece of machinery.  Mending a heart isn’t as simple as replacing a faulty gear with a working one.  It’s much more intricate.  We can analyze it all we want, but until we step down from our world of intellect and just sit down with our friend, hearts will never be healed.

When Mary’s brother Lazarus died, she cried to Jesus.  Jesus did not explain that in the end, we all return to dust.  He did not quote scripture to help Mary through her pain.  Instead, he sat down next to her and wept.  Our Lord wept.  The shortest verse in the Bible, yet one with much potency.

We cannot win hearts through our minds alone.  Indeed, our minds help give us ideas at how to approach things.  But our intellect can not carry all the weight.  It is through our sympathy.  It is through lowering ourselves to our friend’s level and just sitting with them in whatever state of mind they might be in.

Cold chicken noodle soup is a paradox.  So is trying to convince a friend in need with mere intellect.
Best to heat it up by showing care.

i’d rather dance with you

I was talking to a friend tonight. 
This kid is someone I admire a lot.  She holds many strong and honorable attributes.  The only thing is, many times we just don’t connect.  It isn’t that we don’t see eye-to-eye or we are on negative terms.  Rather, it is that our conversations often run a bit stagnant — rarely a constant flow.  A possibility could be because our friendship is relatively new.  I’d like to hope that that is merely the case.

At this point, many people give up on friendships.  Heck.  I wouldn’t be surprised if I would if I found this person rambunctious, for lack of better word.  But I wonder if that’s such a good idea.  To just give up on someone because you don’t click initially.

There was one person who I met in beginning martial arts.  I first met him when I was paired up with him to do front kicks.  My initial thoughts of him were… I don’t know.  He was a little weird hahah.  He reached out, though.  I remember kind of talking to him at my 10th grade ASB Ball.  He started to IM me via AIM.  I didn’t really know how to respond to this kid initially.  I barely knew him after all.  However, I’m glad Jevin didn’t give up, because we became really good friends.

Now I don’t know if my friendship with this person will be as strong as mine with Jevin’s, but my past with Jevin gives me a reason not to let go.  There is no reason to let go.  Worst case is that our conversations remain stagnant.  But unless there is no hostility, I don’t see why anyone should let go of relationships and bonds.

Jon Foreman gave insight on his view of what friendship is.

I think that’s what a relationship is… not figuring soemone out, putting them in a box and calling that a friendship.  But it’s a dance really, where you’re continually trying to figure somebody out and they’re continually to learn who you are.

It is a dance.  Friendship is a dance.   Some people just connect really well and their motions synchronize flawlessly immediately.  However, in most cases, when you start out, you and your partner are bound to move in opposite directions, step off beat, or crunch the others’ toes.  It happens, but that does not mean you just sit down after your first mistake. 

Now, I’m no great dancer — I barely meet the adequate line for ballroom dancing.  However, just by observation, I can see that dancing flows easier when the two know each other well.  They know their weak points, their tendencies for transitions, and so on. 

But that comes in time.

Maybe that’s what inhibits people from connecting today.  Time.  In this consumerist society, who has time to waste with a person that might not become a good friend at all?  Time is money, afterall, isn’t it?  Time is short.  Those with an hourly wage definitley comprehend this pressure.

But life is more than money.  Time was never money.  (Uh oh… Jon Foreman again)
To extend ourselves to another is more important than getting 8 more dollars to buy something frivolous.  To bond with a friendship can last a lifetime.  That’s something time has no touch on.  Toes might get bruised, but in time, who knows how beautiful the two’s movements might end up creating.

I danced with a friend tonight.
I stepped off beat a couple times, but I think I’m understanding her better.

mer.

there’s a lot to write.  there’s a lot of ideas.  there’s a lot of “saved drafts.”
but i would like to do them justice by giving it time.
mer.
they will be published.  rest assured :]

more than mere memory

There is comfort in routine.  Uncertainty can many times be frightening, depending on the conext.  Thus, routine ensures the idea that things will go as planned.  There are definintely proponents to this idea, but I’m glad that something tugged me away from it today.

After taking eating lunch outside, routine asked me to go and work on my piano skills — seeing how rusty they are.  However, I looked at the ocean that we Lomalites sometimes take for granted and I paused and decided to extend my break a little more.  I walked down the stairs, past the golden gym, and stood on top of the fitness building, looking aimlessly around. 

There was ease in those moments.

I began remembering how things used to be.  I looked down on the field and remembered seeing Jackie picking up balls as her favorite golf class was ending.  I looked over at the benches and remembered cheering on Evan during one of his games.  I remembered how I was running around the gate at night after coming back from the library so I could play fugitive and I tripped and skinned my knee. 

So many memories.

I tried to remember how I felt when I first came to Loma.  A new boy who had nothing to lose by raising his hand in class.  No more conceptions of who I was/what box I should be placed in — at least not yet.  A new boy sitting in his room because he didn’t know how to approach his new hall mates.  A new boy who spent the whole semester trying to find who the heck that girl was that reached out to him during NSO.

So many memories.

It made me wonder:  why do we reminisce?  What gives us the urge to make us remember pivotal memories, be them good or bad (though usually the case of the former)?  Many people say it’s a mere yearn for what was good in our lives.  However, the realism in us tries to push it away.  “We live in the now” our side cries out.  “The past is the past.  Those good feelings are over.  It’s time to move on.” 
Yes. 
We can’t live in the past.  But something inside is trying to tell us something.

Is it a mere defense mechanism, a homeostatic response to make us feel good?  I think that’s closer to the point, but I would definitely reword it.  I don’t see it as a mere chemical reaction.  It can’t be.

Maybe we reminisce because something inside of us is trying to say that there is still hope.  There is still good.
Many times in our lives, we get caught up in the monotony of routine. 

On, off.  Back and forth.  Tick tock.  Days pass by.  Pay day.  Buy food.  Do the dishes.  Pay the bills.  Loans.  Expenses.  Debt.  Suicide bombing.  Genocide.  War threat.  Friend dies by gang violence. 

After a while, all we see are the negative attributes of life.  After all, it’s always sorrow that hits the headlines.  Heavy stories make for heavy purchases.  Negative stories come in bulk.
Nevertheless, the positive events still exist.  But they come in small progressions.  Does that mean they are outweighed by the negative stories?  Not at all!  But good is not as easy to see as bad.  It takes a bit of looking to see what truly is good.

But when do we have time to look?  When do we give ourselves time to stop what we’re doing and see the good in things?  With such schedules and routines that we give ourselves — and many times rightfully so — when do we have time to see the good in this world?

So goodness reaches to us at even closer level.
Our memories.

When we reminisce, it isn’t so we can feel good about the past and try to remember the glory days.  No.  Not at all.  The realism in us is right to say that the past is the past.  It isn’t about reliving our old experiences. 

It’s about hope. 
Hope that new memories can form.  
Hope that there still is good in this world. 
Hope that despite our barricades, our snares, our issues in society… despite all the problems that arise around us and within us… there is evidence; there is proof; there is hope that the good we experienced in our lifetime is not over.

stories of the ocean

I’d love to learn how to surf.  In fact, I find it odd that I don’t know how to surf.
I go to a campus that was rated second best college for surfing.  Many of my friends last year taught themselves how to surf — my roommate included.  One of my heroes loves surfing.  This list could go on.

I find that surfing can teach one a lot of things.  A surfer is faced to deal with water in all its conditions.  Water is calm.  Water is ferocious.  Water is movable.  Water moves others.  Water can not be broken.  Water breaks others.

The ocean is a force to be reckoned with, yet there is no equation that fully controls its powers.  Of course, there are patterns one can learn, but the ocean can never fully be controlled.  Surfers know this.  Maybe that’s why their lives are different.

While life may not adjust in a cup the way water does, but the ocean has many parallels with life.  Life fluctuates and changes in a manner of seconds.  One can never control the way life throws us joy and pain.

Yet we try.

We try so hard to make our lives fit in a perfect box.  We try to so hard to make our plans fit in a perfect timeline without any room for error.  But things happen.  Life throws waves at us.  Life’s current pulls us a different direction than the one we are heading for. 

Things just don’t go the way we want them to, sometimes.  Today, was one of those days.  I was asked to perform a couple pieces with my Dad and Josh and rehearsing just didn’t go the way I wanted it.  It was so last minute that we ran out of time.  Here, I had to play three songs with Josh and my Dad:  two that were half-baked and the last wasn’t even touched.  I’ve played these pieces before, but through different mediums.  I always used a bass rather than an acoustic, so that meant I needed to change things.  But I was out of time.  The show had to go on.

On the ride to the event, I was royally pissed at the way things were working out.  These songs were not ready to be performed and all of us knew it.  Then I actually thought about one of the songs.  “We Ride”  by Fiction Family.  It’s a song about surfing.  It’s a song about living.  Heck, it’s a song about my situation.

Life throws harsh blows.  This isn’t one of them, but it was definitley a wave that knocked me off my board.  But what am I going to do?  Do I stay on the beach and never touch the ocean again?  Or do I get my board and roll with the waves that hit me?  Waves will come in life, but that’s no excuse to cop out.  We can’t control these waves.  We can’t put up boundaries to prevent the sea’s blows.   We can go home and seperate ourselves from the ocean.  We can decide to let the ocean swallow us whole.  Or we can ride.  Ride the wave.  Ride the problems of life and have fun.

Yes.  I would love to learn how to surf.  I’m sure the ocean has many more stories that I’d be eager to learn.