PI09 — Prologue [hundreds.]

“I don’t believe man was meant to fly for 17 hours through 11 different timezones”
–Jonathan S. conversation with Megan F.

I woke up unwillingly today.  It was 8 o’clock AM, received seven and a half hours of sleep—which is more than the average school day—yet my body was still tired.  It wasn’t that I was depressed about the day’s events.  No.  Not at all.  I was very happy to go back to the Philippines—one of my homelands.  I guess it was just the previous day’s events that had my energy low.

The night before, my Dad and I scrambled.  There were so many things thrown at us that we were not expecting to do.  Of course there was packing (I was done by Saturday, though, so that wasn’t much of a problem), and then cleaning the house for our relatives who gratefully volunteered to water our lawn/backyard.
Not bad, right?  Not yet.
Around 6PM, we received a phone call from my aunt Momiji.  My grandfather was supposed to drive us up to LAX the following morning.  However, this phone call just killed that plan.  My aunt called, telling us that my grandfather got a cold from working on the frontyard late the previous night.  At age 86, my aunt didn’t want him to drive us, just to play it safe on his health.
Understandable.  Only problem was… whos going to drive us tomorrow?  We checked shuttle services.  Cost?  $225.  Sorry… this trip to the Philippines was taxing enough on our budget.  My Dad decided to drive to our church to see if anyone there would be willing to help us.  It’s a good thing he got lost, because he wouldn’t have ended up at the Paguio’s doorstep.  Gratefully, Mr. Paguio was willing to drive us up, even with such late notice.  That was… a big worry off our back.  Now to worry about… other things (worth omitting )

Back to the present.  Despite the stressful prelude to my trip, the excitement of the trip was still present.  It has been 13 years since I last visited the Philippines.  Things have surely changed.  Not just in the Philippines, but I am not able to see my homeland through mature eyes.  I wondered, though… what could be done in merely nine days?

Mr. Paguio and Jarel arrived at my house around 8:50.  The ride up north was a good one.  Jarel and I talked about… a lot of things—mostly revolving around music.  Wishlists, sound equipment, how synthesizers work… it’s always good talking with Jarel.  Only problem is that I couldn’t shift my body in my seat, so my eye the whole time was forced right to communicate with Jarel.  Gave me a slight headache on the airtrip… but it was worth the chat.

 

My first flight was on Northwest 81, from LAX to Narita, Japan.  I was a bit disappointed.  Not necessarily in the flight, or that we were landing in Japan.  Rather… we were flying over the Pacific, and only one of the numbers on my flight corresponded with “the numbers”… as in the numbers from Lost.  4, 8, 15, 16, 23, 42.  I shot a text to Jackie regarding this, but she didn’t seem to comprehend what the heck I was talking about until after I got back from the Philippines.  Waste of money -.-

The flight to Japan good.  Food was relatively good.  I was able to listen to some good tunes… until my laptop died.  Downsides were… the movies sucked.  There were three movies, only two that I remember.  “He’s Just Not Into You” and “Hotel for Dogs.”  If you’ve never seen/heard of the movies, the titles speak for themselves.  In fact, I don’t think I really needed headphones to understand what the movies were about.  It just was… plastic.  I guess some people can relate to it… iono.  It just seems like that that’s the world, yet there are more/better things to write about.  I just finished The Chosen on the plane and to see those movies just paled in comparison.  That’s one man’s opinion.  (Tangent:  The Chosen was a great book, and you can bet that there’ll be another blog regarding it)

Nearing the last quarter of our flight, the woman next to me decided to talk a bit.  Then my Dad got into the discussion, which turned into a pretty interesting conversation.  Her name was Sue and she lived in northern Washington—a part where she states is basically the middle of nowhere.  Her life is an interesting one.  Initially, she pursued spanish in college, thinking she would do missions work down in Mexico.  It turned out that that led to her father to setting up missions works in the southeastern pacific—I forget how  
Now she has her house open to foreign exchange students to live in—mostly from Japan—hence the reason why she was on our flight.  One of her previous kids from Japan invited her to JP.  Through prayer, she received a ticket for a very low price (400 was it?).  Shocking stuff.
Sue felt that Japan is the country that God has lead her, and I wouldn’t disagree.  Japan seems to be prevalent not through her job, but she even married a half-Japanese man.  However, that was the area she needed prayer with.  It was weird… we barely knew this woman, yet she gave her concern.  There were events in her husband’s life that was bringing him to a state of confusion in life.  There are more details, but it probably wouldn’t be polite to share.  We prayed for her and she reciprocated.

It’s just interesting.  We bonded with one person’s life.  I don’t think I would’ve done it on my own, seeing how I can be turtle-like regarding socializing with new people.  But because we reached out, we warmed a soul.  One of… how many on that plane?  There were hundreds I’d say.  There are so many lives out there that are in our grasp, and if we reach, we can make their day. 

In economics, it’s called a multiplier effect.  One action creates a chain reaction to the whole population.  We are all connected, and if we do just one good deed, who knows how that will respond to the general populace.

It reminds me of the Japanese movie “Nobody Knows”—though to a much less depressing state.  There are millions of people out there… people concealed in their livingspaces.  But nobody truly knows what lies beyond those concrete walls.  Nobody truly knows the hurt that each individual bears.  Everyone has hurt.  So why not reach out?  There are a million answers to that question, but I’m not sure if any bear true sustinance.
There were hundreds of lives on that plane.
I don’t know what kind of impact we made on Sue’s life, but indirectly, she helped me realize (or re-realize) the importance of opening up.  I hope the best regarding Sue and her husband.

 

We landed in Narita… I can’t remember what time.  It was hard enough to add four hours to the Pacific Standard Time and flip the Meridian to find out Japanese time.  Light was still out.  Heck.  It felt like we were chasing the sun the whole time, since when we left, there was light out.

My Dad searched the airport to get my grandmother (on my Dad’s side) otabe.  Meanwhile, I looked around.  It was a very interesting airport.  The entire airport was constructed in a way that the sound died as it travelled.  It didn’t matter how many people were in the airport, relative silence was present.
The airport art was interesting in itself, as well.  The way the couches were arranged… the paint on these random glass sheets… the use of wood.  Cool stuff.
Speaking of cool stuff, they had very interesting rooms.  I don’t remember encountering any airport with “Shower rooms.”  I remember in SFO and LAX, they had those air glide driers, which were nifty… but shower rooms?  If that wasn’t sweet enough, they had a playroom for kids.  Not good enough?  Try an “Oxygen Room.”  Yeah.  You read correctly.  “Oxygen room.”  I am still befuddled to what that does…
There were quite a few sex magazines in the convenience stores.  I guess I’m not too surprised… it just isn’t something you see in every airport.  Oh wells…

 

Northwest Flight 1 — From Narita to Manila.  This flight was probably the most pressing.  Only four hours, but I was so tired that I didn’t even bother putting headphones in for “Yes Man” (which seemed like a funny movie).  I’m not sure how it’s possible for anyone to get sleep on a plane.

 

The plane landed in Manila around 11PM.  I took one whiff and the familiar smell arrived in my nostrils.  The smell of moisture and diesel.   My Dad and I left the airport and although it was dark, the blast of heat caught me by surprise.  Not just that, it was raining, but the presence of heat was still there.  Very odd, but I got used to it.
Josh got a haircut.  A hair chopping.  I was next -.-
We arrived at Kamuning, and despite that it was 12AM, Dad and I had 4 meals already today… well… you know Filipinos.  “Eat!  Eat!”  So Dad I had another serving of food.

Then I hit the hay.  Exhausted… it was 3PM in San Diego -.-

a dying breed; a dying necessity

Last night, I went to sleep a little earlier than usual so I could start the new day early.  As I began to drift into another story, I heard a voice from outside.  Many times I can hear rowdy drunks talking loud late at night outside, shouting in an unintelligible manner.  This time it was a bit different.  Instead of many people, there was just one guy talking on the phone.  Intelligence level:  equatable to the drunks.

Apparently, this guy was ripped off by another man, and was going to get his friends to get back at him if he received more betrayal.  I think that’s what was happening.  In all honesty, I only heard three words constantly.  “Nigger,” “shit,” and “fuck.”

I remember someone once telling me that saying vulgar words makes you less intelligible.  When I first hear this, I found it ridiculous.  Of course it isn’t about intelligence.  When one is angry or frustrated, ideas are not constructed in a strong fashion.  Many times, it just takes a simple shout to understnad where one is coming from.  However, what this friend of mine meant regarding intelligence goes beyond the personal status of the speaker.  It affects the culture as well.

Fall semester of freshman year, our Introduction to Listening class was required to read three books on art:  Walking on Water by Madeline L’Engle, Letter’s to a Young Poet by Rainer Maria Rilke, and My Name is Asher Lev by Chaim Potok.  I used to laugh, saying how I read more books in a music class than any other class that semester, but I am definitely glad I read each of them.  The one that spoke out the most was L’Engle’s book on art.
In the second chapter, “Icons of the True,” L’Engle discusses many things, including langauge.  L’Engle emphasizes the importance of words, not just on a caste level, but on a personal level. 

“Because I am a storyteller, I live by words… and that involves language, for me the English language, that wonderfully rich, complex, and ofttimes confusing tongue.  When language is limited, I am thereby dimished, too.”

Vocabulary and language help us think.  They give us names for both concrete and tangible items.  Without names, all we would have is descriptions of items.  A very Nietzschen approach, but a very slow and sometimes confusing approach. 
L’Engle continues by saying it is in times of war when language is stiffled.  The despotisms seem to attack the writers during times of martial law.  And in the end, it is the writers that liberate a country.  While an outright extremist, Thomas Paine’s “Common Sense” brought social awareness to the atrocities at hand.  Harriet Beecher Stow’s Uncle Tom’s Cabin brought awareness to slavery.  Through language, we are aware.  We are liberated. 

“When our vocabulary becomes exhausted, our freedom dwindles—we cannot think; we do not recognize danger; injustice strikes us no more than ‘the way things are.’”

“Where language is weak, theology is weakened.”

She goes on to elaborate on her idea, but I think enough is conveyed on this blog.  Language is important.  Language gives meaning to actions, ideas, and objects around us.

However, language is fading.  It is diminshing in all aspects.  L’Engle says she lived in a century of war, and this is the product of the past events.  Here, we live in a generation where vulgar words are synonymous for just about anything.  Where if you add “fucking” to any verb, it can mean a positive or negative action, depending on the context.  I don’t get it.  One word bringing forth polar meanings. 
Vulgar words are considered taboo, yet… they aren’t.  They’re used in everyday language.  Angst is one thing, but for it to be added alongside everyday language is depressing.  Boondock Saints.  Haha.  I don’t remember seeing a movie where the f word was used so often.  It was comical.  I think that was its intent.  But, it is a clean portrayal of how people act.
Pop feeds it.  Pop culture feeds off this death of vocabulary.  Chris Crocker.  Ozzy Osbourne.  In turn, we feed off it.  If simplicity is what we want, then simple minds is what we will get.

Who are we at war with?  Is this a mere product of the past, or is war still raging in our blood?

I am not asking for us to pick up our dictionaries and learn new words everyday.  I’m not asking to speak with a thesauraus, changing every common word that comes out of our mouth with a more intellectual one.  I merely ask to look before we leap.  I wrote a blog about this two years ago.  Words are powerful.  Words can hurt or heal.  I remember last January when I used one wrong word in a letter to a dear friend where our friendship hit a blip.  One word.  I meant one thing and it was expressed a completely different way.
The more knowledge we retain regarding the words we use, the less conflicts we have to encounter.  Less misunderstandings.

If language is equated with culture, I see no reason to let it go for the sake of simplicity.

assorted quotes

I ran into these quotes earlier today (or tomorrow… whenever this post may actually get published).  Most of them are by Mr. Foreman.  Some by fictional characters, others not.  I just hoped it might be some food for thought for people other than myself

When you are dealing with adversity or the let downs that come across your path, but you also know that that’s where you’re supposed to be, then all the terrible things that come along have a place in it. As opposed to when you know you’re not where you’re supposed to be. Then, even the good things in life can seem meaningless.
—Foreman

 

You’ve just spent too much time running away to realize what you may be running toward
—Brother Campbell

 

Today is all that we will ever have in this life. If we spend our time obsessing with the future or regretting the past then we will never live. Tomorrow will always be tomorrow and yesterday cannot be changed. The wise man seeks God int he now and brings both his regrets and fears before him.
—Foreman

 

There is much we cannot understand.  But lack of comprehension neither negates nor eliminates it
—L’Engle

 

I think that’s what a relationship is…not figuring someone 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 continuing to learn who you are.
—Foreman

the want versus the movement

i want to be pure again.

it’s too bad that the action and the desire aren’t synonymous.
it’s too bad that the mental state outside the fire isn’t equatable to the one inside the fire.

between how it is and how it should be…

deep in the rock

This summer, I’ve spent quite a few nights watching movies online.  My tendency right now has seemed to lie with Japanese movies—more specifically, Studio Ghibli.  It’s been great watching these movies, soaking in the stories.  Story. 
Stories can inspire.  Inspire to do what depends on what the story contains, but nevertheless, they do inspire.  After all, stories are not plastic.  They are reflections of the heart.  Even if the story is a lie, the intent of the lie is reflected from the heart.  But I digress… and probably shouldn’t continue the digression, seeing how it’d be a good blog for another time.

One of the movies that has touched me is “Whisper of the Heart.”  It’s the only Studio Ghibli movie I’ve seen that wasn’t made by Miyazaki.  I also rewatched it on a pretty special day, so that might be why it has more meaning to me.  The story is a romantic one, but beyond that, it’s also about life.  The main character, Shizuku, reaches a point where she wonders what she wants in life.  A person that she admires already knows what he wants to be, yet she’s just a girl who spends time going to school, reading books, but no real aim in life. 
Shizuku explains this problem to a nice elderly man she met earlier, Nishi-san.  In response, he shows her a rock with a crack.  Deep inside, theres a crystal.  But the crystal itself isn’t worth as much as the smaller pieces of beryl found inside the crystal.  He says that there are probably even more precious gems within the beryl that we cannot even see.  While there are precious jewels inside the rock, at face value, the rock is still a rock.  It takes refinement and polishing to get to the desired jem.

I believe that each of us has a gift.  Inside every rock, God has instilled a gem of some sort.  It may not be an specific occupation like Shizuku’s passion for writing.  Some have the gift of hospitality.  Not necessarily a money roller, but still a gift.  Inside each of us, there’s some gift that’s in need of digging.

Many get stuck at the state whether or not they have a gem.  I guess I could be at that stage.  Right now, what gets me is that I have so many passions for different facets of life.  Digging and polishing an emerald takes a lifetime, but I have this appreciation for other gems.  Right now, this gem I’m trying to dig out is under music composition.  However, I love philosophy.  I remember when math and science intrigued me as well—and indeed they still do.
What direction?
Which gem do I dig out?  Right now, it seems music should be my focus, yet composition doesnt seem to be sustainable as a job.  Beyond monetary stability, what about my other passions in life?  Should they fall by the wayside?

And then Shizuku asked Nishi-san a very important question.  What happens if I dig and find nothing but a colored rock deep inside?

Oh the questions and analogies.
The answer can’t be merely conceptualized.  It needs to be pursued.  Just which direction?