Crazy talk

I had Pastor Seth pray for me for the first time in my four years at Harvest. It was definitely not something that I wanted to do 100% from my own will but I did feel that I was meant to ask him.

Today's sermon on Jesus loves faith captured my attention. It wasn't because of the focus on the passage of Matthew 8:5-13 itself but rather the overarching basis that God prefers the faithful and rewards those who earnestly seek him (Hebrews 11:6). And that raised the question, do I earnestly seek God?

The answer, obviously, is no, I do not. All throughout this past year I have the need and tug at pull at my heart that God was calling out to me, searching my soul and imploring me to take the fall with Him. "Why don't you completely trust me, my daughter? What can the world offer you that I cannot? Why are you so afraid?" And that last question is always the one that resonates deeply within me. Why am I so afraid? What am I afraid of? What do I think giving my life up to God entails? What do I think will happen once I completely let go of the bungee cord that keeps me grounded to the edge of the cliff instead of letting go once and for all and soaring with God after he catches me (Pastor Seth's vision)?

I know that yes, He offers so much and that He will suffice for my every need and desire. But I still cannot push away this seemingly daunting burden in my heart that giving myself up to God will lead to dire and undesirable consequences... That I will stop having to live my life the way I want to, that I will have to give up doing things that I want to, that I will have to push away people that I want near, that I must totally undergo an irreversible transformation, and not in the best way.

No, I know what I'm afraid of. I'm afraid that I will become like everyone else. That I will be one of those people grouped into that category of crazy Christians that I had always avoided becoming. What will my friends think? How will my family react? I know everyone in church isn't the same way at all and that doing things like reading the Bible everyday and praying and spending time with God are often the most important things to establishing a close relationship with Him, and that these things aren't even visible at all to the public. Yet a part of me still struggles in reconciling my innate repulsion at becoming one of "those people" and my persistent desire to become a more faithful follower.

God has shown me particularly these past few months, however, that the things conducted in one's private life is not always revealed in their public lives-- whether good or bad. So if I think that dedicating more time to God and letting go of my material and superficial comforts is something that will completely change the way people see me or my personality, then I'm wrong. God has built me a certain way to reach out to certain people; he has constructed my life in a way so that he can use me (if he wishes) to carry out his will. The good parts (whatever there may be) will remain and the bad parts he will flush out. So there is only good that will come from this because God is good and nothing he does is for naught.

What will it take to let go of that rope and jump off? I've always entertained the thought of going bungee jumping but it's one of those things that seem so far in the distance-- I don't have time right now; I don't know where I could go jumping; it costs too much; there are other things to do before indulging in that, etc. But God's bungee jumping site is always there and he always beckons us to come, free of charge, to try it out. Because once we try it, we realize how amazing the experience is. I want to jump off. I want to fall off and let God catch me. If we have God, what is there to fear?

And it starts...again

So I've been back all of four days now and already tensions flare in my family OTL (<-- man keeling over on hands/knees. Look carefully).

My father's temper is a force to be reckoned with (or, at all costs, evaded, but that hardly ever happens), and one never knows when it will go off. Today, it went off for the most mundane of reasons. For my father, everything he does has a logic to it, even if that logic is wholly based in irrationality and spontaneity of the moment. And though I understood why he got upset this time, the fact of the matter is, he is just plain and simple in the wrong.

It's ironic because currently I just finished reading a historical novel about Henry VII and his involvement with his 4th and 5th wives-- how he treated them, mistreated them, discarded them, decapitated them all at his whim and folly. And the more I read the book, the more I could find similar traits in my father. Henry VII was most likely crazy, however, nearing the end of his lifetime, and perhaps that gives some indication of the state of my father's mentality (or lackthereof). It also offers immense insight into why he acts the way he is-- he thinks he is a king, entitled to whatever he wants, rooted in his past of always getting what he wants and never being denied, much like that of dear ole Henry's.

I used to think I was immune to whatever happened in my family. That no matter the struggle, I could detach myself from it emotionally, or at least prevent myself from become too emotionally wielded by the moment because I could see and understand why things happen the way they do. I could understand the sequence of thoughts that provoked my father's words and actions. Yet, lately, when I see how unnecessarily enraged my father becomes, how much more magnified it appears than in years past, and when I speak with my mother and feel her heart breaking under all the pressures and weight of having to deal with this every moment of her life, when I hear her quiet surrender of hope for change... I, too, become weary and I, too, begin to question whether change will come.

Whenever things broke out in my family, I would always turn to God, believing fully that He would listen and that He would change things. As I grow older, though, and become more accustomed to merely waiting out my father's anger, to suppressing the anger that consequently builds in my heart as a reaction to this witness of injustice and tyranny, I desire less and less to plead with God, as I have done for the past twenty or so years. My vision for a changed future becomes ever the more darker and blurred and my hopes of a new life for my family starts to dwindle. Will change really come? Can God change my father and my family? Maybe for other fathers, for other families, they were built of a foundation meant for change, of a malleable substance more sensitive to the moldings of our God than my father or family is built and made of. Perhaps, change for my family will never mean what it does for those who have experienced miracles and happy endings-- what if change just means a tailoring of everyone else's will to my father's, each and every second he wills it? What if that is all the change that our family can aspire to?

I know that's not true. I know God works miracles and just like Christ saved and redeemed us, so too will he save and redeem my family. The small seed of doubt never fails, however, to loom dangerously overhead fertile fields of faith...ready to be sowed by Satan when darkness hits... And I think more than fearing for a lack of change in my family, I fear for the presence of change-- negative change-- in my spiritual foundations and faith in God. Never have I ever felt so helpless and meaningless than I do in these moments. And the only times I ever question whether the Lord is lord over my family is during these times of difficulty, when the difficulties seem to never cease and it seems that they never will.

I need to pray... I always do. And why is it that it is only when I'm slapped so hard in the face and pricked in the heart by reality that I realize it... And subsequently ignore it after some time passes? I'm so selfish. My selfishness overtakes my spiritual duties to my family. Because if no one else in my family but me believes God can change all things-- and if I should be the one to lose that faith-- then who else is left?

Ender's game in action

In my class, we talked about the desensitizing aspects of such a technologically advanced "war" that America is waging right now on terrorism. In order to combat the new recruits' fear of engaging with the enemy, video games are now the new tool. It lets the soldiers experience war and combat before the fact and allows them practice with using the newer firearms and weapons that they would use out in the battlefields.

I just can't help thinking that this is completely like Ender's Game. When Orson Scott Card wrote that book, I'm not sure if he surmised that the ways of war would later be based on video game practice, but it seems to me that that is now what it has become. And then what are the implications of sensationalizing war in the context of mere video games? Does that not remove the soldiers' from their immediate experiences in the field? Doesn't this permit the blind, instinctive shooting of anything that moves, not realizing the true consequences?

It is true that instinct is necessary for survival on a war ground, but is instinct necessarily equated with a trigger-ready finger? Wouldn't this just teach basal instinctive skills than tactical survival strategies, which in the end results in "collateral damage" rooted in the perpetual fear of the battleground combined with the "kill them all" strategy of games like "Halo"? And if one, in the midst of battle, feels that s/he is in the middle of a video game, what does that say about the experience of war-- that it is surreal or that it is made surreal because of its link to video games? And if a soldier simultaneously is in fighting mode yet feels removed from the reality of the situation, doesn't that make war more dangerous as it weakens the idea of consequence and fatalities?

Yet even video games cannot prepare them for the true realities of war, as soldiers suffer from the guilty sentiments of killing innocent victims. Games are just that-- games. But war is not a game-- it is a combative engagement with the enemy that requires yes, the instinct to kill, but also the instinct to think fast and to strategize. War isn't fun, it's devastation all around as those who kill are forced to deal with their own emotional consequences and mental blocks of having killed other human beings, whether they are the enemy or not. When war becomes "normal"-- when the experience of taking another person's life is normalized-- that is where the real danger begins. Why would anyone want to constantly live in a war zone? And in so doing, what does that imply about the nature of the video game and its own implications in the desensitization of destruction?

The pregnant male

In 2008, much sensation ensued at the news of Thomas Beatie, the world's first pregnant male. A transgender and legally male, Thomas Beatie became the first male to conceive, having kept his female reproductive organs in the hopes of one day bearing children. When his wife was found to be infertile, Beatie decided to have the child (and two more) himself.

Thomas Beatie, however, is not the only pregnant male; Lee Mingwei is, too. According to the website malepregnancy.com, created in 2001, Lee Mingwei is not a transgender but male by birth who has the ability to carry children in his abdomen area. In fact, however, this entire website, with such detailed information and an entire range of evidence to support the claim of a pregnant Lee, including a documentary featuring the pregnant male is an art project conceived by artists Lee Mingwei and Virgil Wong.

It can be assumed that the basis of this project is to challenge the notion of "What does it mean to be female? What does it mean to be male?", as Lee states several times throughout the excerpt of the featured documentary. Lee is countering the societal claims of a woman as the childbearer, challenging the idea that it is the woman's duty to give birth and that men can do it, too. It leads one to ponder the issues presented by societal norms of gender roles, obligations, and expectations and the pressures of responding and reacting to these confined categories.

One could applaud Lee and Wong for undertaking such a controversial project that forces the viewer to reflect on these issues, yet, in watching the documentary and going through the site, I couldn't help but think that this project, as much as it wants to challenge the viewer's notion of norms, actually reinforces it, as well. For instance, consider the project in its simplest terms: a pregnant male. Though this sensation does shake the foundations of long accepted biological and sociological understanding, it also presents another contentious layer-- that of the dominant, all capable male. In taking a strictly female ability and transferring it to the powers of a man, it undermines the woman's uniqueness and own social importance, especially if in social terms, the ability to bear children is the defining difference between a male and a female. It lends the idea that women are no longer necessary for life and that men can have the total dominance and power not only in leading life, but creating it, as well.

In this way, Lee strengthens our ideas of what is socially acceptable by putting such an emphasis on the sensationalism of such a phenomena: a pregnant male. In constantly highlighting the uniqueness of the situation, it reminds us yet again that of course women are the childbearers. This point is especially discernible when, during a checkup with the doctor, he jokes, "Do women feel like this, too? Or is it because I'm a man?", which yet again focuses the attention on the natural capabilities of the woman as childbearer-- i.e. because woman is made by nature to carry a child, she is also made by nature to endure the hardships that go with it; thus, should a man be placed in that same position, because he lacks the natural capabilities to adjust to a pregnant lifestyle, he would have a hard time; as such, it is only natural that women are those who bear children.

As I am exposed to more things that attempt to be controversial or present things out of the norm, I keep realizing that the effect has two sides: one is the instant, reactionary effect whereupon the viewer at the moment of the encounter is shocked, awed, inspired, repulsed, etc and does come to question (although perhaps to a small degree) what we consider to be the norm; the second is the same reactionary effect of shock, awe, inspiration, repulsion, etc that does the opposite-- it reinforces and strengthens our existing notions of the normal and acceptable. The latter reaction usually follows the former.

Why is this? Why is it that a work of art that is "controversial" actually reinforces our current ideals than revolutionizes or shakes the foundations of our perception of the "right?" Maybe it's because so much emphasis is put on the uniqueness of the situation, so much sensationalism exudes from the controversial topic itself that the artwork becomes instead an embodiment of the "surreal, different, unacceptable". Because of the deeply infused contentious nature of the subject, the art does not place itself in the world of the "normal" as being "normal" but places itself in the world of the "normal" as being "abnormal" and therefore "socially unacceptable". But then this hypothesis poses the counter question of whether presenting something out of the norm as normal undermines its abnormality and thus, its importance in generating discussion and change. Personally, I don't think that the latter would pose too many problems. It can go either way: either convince the viewer of the normality of the abnormal situation and change their views on what "normal" is or incur a reaction similar to that of the first hypothesis, where we perceive as being portrayed as normal yet we know it is not and thus continue to support our existing notions of the norms.

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Taken from Arts, Ink

Dinner thoughts

Katie called me to dinner with something on her mind, it was clear. Under the guise of the words "catching up" was a subtle hidden overlay of a deeper agenda-- she wanted to talk about something specific.

Not having talked to her one-on-one for a while, this intimate dinner was a warm welcome. We caught up on various aspects of our lives, brief gossip (if one calls it that), and other chitchat. And then she asked me this-- "So...why are you getting baptized?" And there it was, that one thing she had meant to talk about all along.

She continued: "Because it seems really random to me, especially with everything you had said at the beginning of the semester, about how you felt about church and stuff... So why are you doing this all of a sudden?" *sigh* It was a question that was not unexpected, though no one had really asked me about it. Everyone else just responded with "Oh? Okay" or "Congratulations" etc. Leave it to Katie to be the one to ask.

Then I had to explain myself. But it was a good question. Why am I getting baptized? What's the point? Jesus said we don't even need to be physically, literally cleansed with baptismal waters as long as we were baptized with the Holy Spirit in our faith and acceptance of Him. So what's the point? Why partake in this highly ceremonious ritual of a spectacle?

Hmm. I guess... I had been thinking of baptism for a while-- ever since Fall of last year. Should I do it? Not do it? Is it worth it? Is this what I want to do or am I just conforming to the standards?-- these were all questions that constantly ran through my mind on this subject. Fall '09 came and went, with little good emotional results, it seemed, so there went that opportunity. I was in Paris for five months, thereby missing the next chance at baptism. And of course, there was this past Fall-- what was my excuse for missing that month?

Bitterness. In this case, with Katie, I had to distinguish my bitterness at the church and its members between bitterness at God and his faithfulness. To me-- and hopefully, to everyone-- the two are mutually exclusive, although to some degree, related, I would imagine. However, the fact that I was highly discontent with Harvest and some of its more contentious practices being as it was, that did not mean that I faltered in my faith with God because of that. Well, I mean, not to a hideous degree. During that time, I began to realize the difference between the eternal kingdom of God and the mortally flawed institution of the church; and I came to accept that no matter how holy the church should be, it will never be completely as such, for it is made up of human beings who are, by nature, bound to make mistakes and be flawed. I may not always love the church, but my love for God remains nonetheless. And why shouldn't I want to tell the world? It's nothing shameful to speak of my beliefs-- if I can continually talk about how much I love chocolate and how it serves me well, then why not about God?

How fitting that this baptism will take place in spring. A time of renewal, rebirth, remembrance-- pretty symbolic for a religious rite of passage.

Beauty in sadness

We see the beauty in happy things-- but there is beauty in sadness, too. A photo essay by Yves Marchand and Romaine Meffre captures the haunting beauty in Detroit's demise, as featured in this Time article.

This is Detroit Central Station. I've often stared at it as I passed by it in train rides and car trips, wanting to photograph it. There was something so inexplicably attractive about this building-- the essence of a grandeur that no longer exists, the ever-standing reminder of a lost era.

We see the beautiful in happiness, which is why we tend to ignore the beauty that exists in sadness, as well. An aching, haunting, mesmerizing kind of beauty that captures our hearts and makes them long-- for what, we don't know. But the more we seek the sunny side of things, the more we eschew the darker aspects of life. The more we shun sadness, the less we notice of it. We care not for crumbling buildings and broken windows-- we want high towering buildings of shiny stainless steel and bold reflective windows; we do not gaze upon rusting metals of old desk chairs and falling fluorescent lights-- we always cry out for more comfortable cushioned chairs, gleaming white boards stretching across walls; we would not attend a tour of a Spanish Gothic theater, caving in on itself, built at the height of the twenties-- we would rather watch football games from the newly built skyboxes of plastic and metal, placing ourselves well above the rest of the world.

We do not care for sadness. We do not care for eras lost. We do not care for the impoverished, the helpless, the struggling. We turn our heads from obviously crumbling, unsustainable infrastructures, children without proper education, cities without safety and stability. And as we do this-- as we try so hard to ignore all that is wrong with the world-- all that we see to be ugly, all that we think can never be beautiful-- we ignore those who desperately need attention and help. We do not care for them. Because we would prefer to view the beautiful things in life.

But here it is: there is beauty in sadness. So look deeply, think carefully, and act-- because if this is what Detroit is like in its "ugliness", then imagine how it once was and could be again, in all of its beautiful splendor.

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Taken from Arts, Ink

Oh, Tiger...

Just a thought: why does Tiger Woods have to apologize for his actions? Granted, he's not the most awesome, faithful man on the planet, but he's not alone. Why should he, a celebrity athlete, have to excuse himself for the mistakes and actions he commits in private? Because he's a public figure? Does being a public figure come with the automatic consent of that person to conform to certain societal standards and beliefs? That when Tiger makes a wrong move that society deems inappropriate, he would have to publicly ask for forgiveness when normal people who do much worse than him are not expected to abide by that same standard?

Of course, what Tiger did is totally not cool and he is not considered to be the nicest person on the planet. But... He's not the President, right? We didn't elect him to be in a certain position. He holds no explicit social contract with the world. So how come he has to endure his mistakes publicly and be forced to apologize to a world made up of a lot of people who could care less?

Maybe he is a role model for children. Maybe not. Even so, children have to learn sometime, don't they? That mythical, constructed heroes are just mere projections of great PR, and that even heroes often times fall. I guess that a formal apology would demonstrate the wrongness of Tiger's actions... But since what he did was so blatantly and loudly made public, doesn't that also show that it's not too bad to do these things-- to cheat, to lie-- since all you have to do in the end is apologize?

No one does anything for Valentine's, anyway, right?

Stupid holidays. Apart from the religious ones, what do they mean, anyway? Even religious holidays have lost their true significance. Jesus wasn't born on Christmas, guys-- we all know this. Christmas is, for the most part, just another commodified business industry. Thanksgiving? Let's all give thanks and eat a bunch of turkey to knock ourselves out. Passover? Totally passed over-- no one but the Jews celebrate it-- it's hardly recognized in our society. And Valentine's Day. What a joke. No one does anything anymore for it. Or maybe they do-- just buy a dozen roses, a box of chocolates and everyone is home free.

Or is that how it is? A guy in my Comm class today actually asked another girl about her Michael Kors watch, saying, "I want to get something like that for my girlfriend for Valentine's Day? Can I see yours?"

At that, all the girls kind of slacked their jaws. Seriously? He's getting his girlfriend a designer jewelry piece for Valentine's Day? Let me say this again-- some man is buying designer jewelry for his girlfriend as a Valentine's gift. WHO DOES THAT? WHO CELEBRATES VALENTINE'S DAY?!

Fine, all right. I'll admit it: I'm jealous. I'm not a person who likes to swoon, who likes to romanticize things, go all out and-- fine. I'll admit it, too: I do like those things. I do like the making a fancy dinner for two and setting up a candle-lit, table clothed covered meal. I like buying presents for each other on ridiculously commercialized holidays for couples. I like riding in gondolas on a moonlit river with the gondolier singing in the back (this would only be for a very brief period of time).

I'm just a little bit disappointed. I definitely don't want some uber romantic guy who tries to make me gag at every opportunity... Yet that's not to say I want someone who completely doesn't care, either. I guess when I talk about things like time management or priorities, I mean the seemingly little things like this that would, in actuality, mean a whole lot to me. Even if I don't say it. Especially if I don't say it. I'm not going to tell someone, "Oh, you should totally do something for Valentine's Day with me" because that's just rude and presumptuous and selfish. I'd like them to come up with these ideas on their own. Ideas like throwing a 21st birthday bash where people go crazy, where they send flowers randomly to let me know they're thinking of me (only very occasionally-- all the time would be icky), where they do take the time to think and realize how much I would enjoy even going for a stupid ten minute romantic walk.

I care. I may not say it, I may say that I don't, but I care. It's not the fact that someone can't or won't go, it's that they can't seem to recognize that it could mean even the smallest bit to me. What's up with that?

*sigh* How can I really be upset? I can't. Do I have the right? I cannot expect or assume that others will feel and think as I do. I cannot even state with certainty that these emotions that I experience are justified. It is highly possible that I'm being too selfish, self-obsessed, self-serving, self-promoting, self-righteous. If I want, I could just go find someone like that. Do I want to...? I just want the things, the people I do have to change. But how unfair is that? So unfair.

It's okay. It's really not a big deal. I mean... No one does anything for Valentine's, anyway, right?

The media is a double-edged sword

The media is a double-edged sword. On the one hand created by the people for the people, particularly in this nation's political revolution, it is also an outlet for the dissemination of tyrants and profit-seekers. Yet, isn't what the media gives us what it thinks we want? As much as it was conceived to be a public service, what is a public service but something the public wants for itself? Yet, by doing us this service of feeding us the latest news on Tiger and the whereabouts of Paris Hilton's lost chihuahua, is the media actually providing a disservice?

But maybe that's unfair. After all, we can't say that we all want to hear about celebrity news or the watered down versions of the war in Afghanistan. We can't say that none of us are interested in international affairs and that's the reason for which foreign news coverage has decreased by almost half in the past decade. I am certain there are many out there who desire to know about all of the things this world has to offer; equally certain that there are many who do not. Then, who is to blame? Is there any one specific person or entity?

Journalists have a hard job. That job is to report, "objectively", on every situation at hand. What does it mean to be "objective"? That we provide all different viewpoints? That we quote any relevant parties? Is there such a thing as objectivity? Some reporters believe that, no, there is no such thing: once a journalist decide to report on something and not on another thing, then in that moment, that journalist has stopped being objective. After all, what makes one story more worthy of being reported than another? Why is one quotation inserted while another is ignored? How come Person A gets to be interviewed yet not Person B?

And after considering this argument, I would have to say that they are right: there is no objectivity. In fact, the journalistic ideal of objectivity may even be harmful to journalism itself; journalists strive to maintain the appearance of being objective that they subsequently attempt to incorporate as many point as possible, people as necessary, quotations to be credible, etc, that the true story is lost underneath all of the weight of "objectivity". As readers, what are we really being told-- that Haiti needs the money or that the US doesn't believe Haiti deserves the money? What is with this portrayal of Haiti as an entirely corrupt, immature nation that needs outside guidance for providing stability to its people? Especially when the real problem has been rooted in centuries of neglect and sometimes even hindrance by the outside world? And is this story objective? The way it begins is not like a journalistic, "objective" report but rather a fictional, dramatic novel. What is this saying about journalism? What is this saying about objectivity? Is this written in a way that shows distance and removed reporting?

Journalism doesn't have to attain the ideal of objectivity-- in fact, what is an ideal but that which cannot be attained, only striven for? Maybe they should just be honest. Corporate, governmental, external influences/power notwithstanding, the sole responsibility of a journalist is not to be objective, but truthful-- in any and every way that may hurt. The responsibility, first and foremost, of a journalist, is to deliver accurate news and give power to the unheard and oft-ignored, not to serve the powermasters of profit. I must acknowledge that the "truth" to everyone may be biased-- however, we are already in a biased news environment-- pundits from the left and right, Fox News, CNN-- what are these but biased, partisan news figures and outlets? And the matter of truthful reporting is hard, particularly in situations where little information is available to anyone and reporters must dig somewhere for the facts, from which they then have to build a concrete idea or story to inform the people. Being a journalist is HARD. Yet that is the responsibility that comes with it-- full of freedoms and blessings, burdens and hardships. Being a journalist is like being a soldier or a doctor-- they take one for the people. When those who are to protect the meek become pawns of the strong, where are their priorities going and whom are the serving?

Not all journalists have to be like Mika Brzezinski and throw away their news scripts. And not all of us should discredit the importance of those who report on celebrity news-- they shape our culture and define the trends of our times. It must only be recognized that "proper" reporting is a hard one-- not only because telling the truth is hard, but also because knowing what the people want is sometimes even harder still, because that is what drives a lot of the content we see today.

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Taken from Arts, Ink

Iconic heroes, mythical figures

As far back as we have records, heroes have existed. It's not just all about Superman, but about Hercules, Aeschylus, Odysseus. It's about Joseph and Jesus and Abraham and Mohammed. About Babe Ruth, Jackie Robinson, Neil Armstrong, Martin Luther King, Jr. In the 21st century, it's about Arnold Shwarzenegger, Barack Obama, soldiers in the Middle East, Tiger Woods. Etc etc etc. Heroes are everywhere. With them comes this great image about them that is cast far and wide, projecting a perspective of awe and admiration, fear and respect, intimacy and personality.

Back up... Tiger Woods? He who has had countless mistresses and who apparently has a sham of a marriage that was alleged to have been a mere media ploy? Hmm...

I'm not one who is interested in celebrity news. Like anyone else, I will admit that yeah, maybe it can be kind of interesting, but typically I don't even glance at Perez or read the People magazine cover in the grocery line. I'm just not that into it. But taking a class on journalism has made me become aware of something: the media is a powerful, powerful tool. And Tiger Woods is someone who knows just how to use it.

The thing with Tiger is that everyone is up in arms about him right now. But why? Because he was Tiger, the untouchable, the unbreakable, undefeatable. Oh la la, and lookie here, now he's the baddd mannn Mommy always warned us about. Mmm... maybe. People are always drawn to drama, especially celebrity drama, so the hubbub about the straying hubby isn't all that surprising. What is surprising, however, is how long this scandal has been kept wrapped up. According to my instructor, a journalist herself, the news of Tiger's busy hands has mostly likely been long known. He has so many journalists on his tail everyday, there were countless rumors about certain bars and rooms he frequented for questionable purposes. But no one ever reported it. Why? Because Tiger had essentially built up an empire controlling the sports media-- if anyone ever wanted to be in Tiger's circle, they would never write anything bad about him. Once an enemy, always on the blacklist for life. And because Tiger was such a big name and thus drew in tons of revenue, no high-aspiring sports journalist would ever report anything negative about the heroic Tiger Woods. He had developed a myth about him that created around him an untouchable aura. His PR team was gooood.

Achilles didn't have a PR Team, neither did Jesus. Jackie Robinson rose to fame on his own and Martin Luther King was a preacher. Yet, these people all became heroes and mythical figures (in the sense of their power, not that they never existed) and still retain some power in the media today. Achilles is in countless translations and editions of The Iliad, Jesus has the Bible, Babe and Jackie still lived in a time where media was used to broadcast sports and thus spread their names to the national listeners of baseball. Martin Luther King, Jr.'s sermons and speeches were reported in newspapers and televised. Perhaps they didn't all have a PR team that possessed the same kind of imperial hold over media, but the fact is that they live today because of and through the media. This is how powerful the concept of media, especially mass media, is. Isn't it crazy to think about the fact that people who work in and with the media have such a tremendous power over its audience? How every choice they make determines the scope of the knowledge received and understood by the public? It's a double-edged sword, the media...

(To be continued next week...)

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Taken from Arts, Ink

Wish upon a falling star

On November 17 at around 4AM, I witnessed a meteor shower for the first time. Every November, the Leonid Meteor Shower occurs, scattering hundreds of stars among the skies for eager, waiting eyes to see. At 3:30AM, my friends and I bundled ourselves up with layers of clothes to combat the cold and trekked over to the Arb to lie down on the grassy fields and stare up at the skies, waiting in anticipation for the streaks of fire that would burn across the ashen sky.

As the ten of us sprawled on the grass and listened to music streaming from a friend's iPod Touch, I lay in silence, looking up at the sky sprinkled with constellations that I typically can never see nor notice, and that, I am sure, most people can never see nor notice. It's funny that stars are constantly surrounding us and they are consistently present in our lives, without fail, due to the sciences of nature and the solar system, yet a lot of us hardly realize or recognize these brightly shining spots in our lives.

Art is not always considered to be things of beauty, especially with the realization that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but after seeing these blazing balls of flame tearing across the night sky, it made me wonder if the one thing that is always beautiful would be nature. People can vary on their views of physical beauty, of "artistic beauty", but I feel that it is cultural-wide, this notion of nature as beauty. Maybe the one thing that is always beautiful in our eyes is that which we can never escape. Nature always encompasses us, our small human selves, in this great expanse of the world, and whenever we are approached by the awesomeness of the natural, we encounter the sublime and we tremble and we are affected by something so intangible and inexpressible, but something we recognize to be beautiful.

Indeed, that early, dark morning, with the entire, never-ending skyline looming above us as we lay, each linked to the other in testament to our friendship and the closeness of our emotional ties with each other, as we 'oohed and ahhed' over the various constellations and the fast-moving snippets of meteors entering our atmosphere, I was yet again struck by the beauty of it all. The beauty of the stars, the sky, the trees, the grass, but perhaps most importantly, I was struck by the beauty of the mere moment. This precious hour when people who love each other and enjoy each other's companies gather together to partake in a moment that is once-in-a-lifetime and so breathtakingly beautiful. Maybe it will happen again next year, maybe not. But this year, it happened, and painted such an amazing picture in my memory, one that I am sure to never forget.

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Taken from Arts, Ink

Nothing more, nothing less.

We get so caught up in our own lives, in the events that pass us by, in the people who surround us. We become so focused on our work, the latest trends, the current affairs. We lose sight of so many important things, the ones unseen, the scenery that remains constant even as we move incessantly. We forget to appreciate the quiet. We forget to truly look and reflect-- about ourselves, about the world, about life, in general. We forget too easily that it's not all about the grades or the money or the reputation. It's always about something more than that, some unspeakable greatness that is found in the smallest of things.

This video is just another reminder of how greatness surrounds us every day. How can something so simple, like fish in an aquarium be so astounding? This is what they mean by the Sublime in History of Art-- a scene that reminds us of just how small we are. And indeed, as onlookers are deeply silhouetted by the blue green of the water tank, we are forced yet again to acknowledge how small we are. In comparison to the vastness of the sea, the millions and billions of fish and other species in the world, we are but a mere 6 billion humans.

Because we are human, oftentimes, I think we forget that we are just humans. We have the capacity to think, to feel, to plan, to act, to judge. So, we think we are so great, so immortal and invincible. We believe we are the most intelligent beings, we believe we are right, we believe no one else could possibly know better than us. We feel we have the right to control everything, to hold power over others. But when it finally hits us that we are nothing more than human, the word than connotes a meaning much less than "powerful". It strikes us that yes, we are humans...and nothing more, nothing less. Nothing more, nothing less.

Under the comment section on Youtube, there was one who criticized this video and those who considered it to be beautiful:

"Horrible. It's never that crowded in the open sea. Poor animals. And all that only because they want to hear us humans saying things like you are here on youtube.

This is not beautiful, it is brutal."

This comment does bring up a plethora of questions, one of which asks, "What is beauty?" and the other which asks, "Can something be morally deranged and artistic at the same time?" This commentator seems to imply that because the entrapment and display of natural beings is a brutal practice, this scene cannot be considered "beautiful". That its artistic value is lost because it is tainted by some idea of right or wrong. Alas, beauty is in the eye of the beholder, is it not? Something that is brutal to one person has every capacity to be considered beautiful to another. Not to sound completely void of morality, but this seems to be fact. Photographs and paintings depicting the havoc wreaked by war are still considered to be art, to retain its sense of creative expression, even if they are portraying or were created in deplorable circumstances. Art, I don't believe, is necessarily bound by a humanistic sense of ethics; in fact, art is precisely that which cannot be defined or contained by human understanding-- artists will say that they do not create for the purpose of profit but that they create because they are driven by this innate drive to express something they cannot label or comprehend.

However, I'm really glad that this person showed us the other perspective of a scene many would call breathtaking and magnificent. There are so many sides to art, so many ways that it influences us daily and we do not even take notice of it. Art does a lot to move the public, yet we have become so interested in technology, the sciences of movement-- faster, stronger, better-- we have become blind to the art that surrounds us each day.

This video holds a lot of appeal for viewers because we become immersed in the scene. We become surrounded by the water that holds the sharks and the fish, we are enveloped by this sense of calm and tranquility, struck by awe and amazement at the beauty that faces us. We are just another human being in the aquarium, drinking in the magnificence that slows everything down. It's like we're in water-- we feel loose and at ease, we feel slowed down but not in a cumbersome way. And as we watch, mesmerized, it hits us that, wow... there's so much more out there than we fully appreciate or realize.

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Taken from Arts, Ink

Freaking Pride!

For me, guarding my heart means that I become cynical. Or, more precisely, that I act cynical. But in the process of acting, a lot of times, I become cynical. Not literally cynical, but…emotionally cynical. My guarded heart becomes just another horrible cheesy cliché about hardened, protective hearts that can't open up or let go or let others in. It continues the process of blocking others out, of keeping my thoughts and true emotions in, of shaking it of any … any possibilities of hurt, sadness, betrayal, pain, suffering. I just don't trust people.

I've come to the solid realization that I am just way too damn proud and insecure. How paradoxical. And by "solid realization", I mean that it's something I want to fix; I actually want to do something about it.

Shall I explain?

I'm proud because I'm insecure. I won't show my true emotions because I'm afraid of being judged. I don't admit or point out my flaws because I am afraid that they will be things that whoever I'm with won't handle-- that they will drive them away. I am afraid that someone won't love me if they knew just how fucked up I am. So to keep them, I keep up appearances. I don't like to lose, I don't like to seem weak, so I continually act and pretend in ways that establish my superiority and strength. That's why I won't admit I miss someone, that I would like them to visit, that I do want to see them, that I'm mad they won't come see me, that I'm frustrated that they won't spend time with me. It's why I won't admit that I'm mad, either, because I'm afraid that being mad over a thing like that will make me seem too clingy and needy, too hotheaded, temperamental. That I will seem like such a small person.

And then I use my own wrongful actions as excuses for why I can't or won' t open up to them: "Oh, if I can't even talk to them about something like this, how can I approach them about deeper issues?" in addition to the fact that I just am too afraid to open up because I'm still afraid of judgment. And I don't want pity and I don't need solutions. Sometimes, I just want an ear to listen to me and a ready shoulder to lean on and someone to wipe away my tears. I want someone who will not judge. I want to know that I can trust them to be open-minded, that they will still love and respect me even after knowing all of my faults.

This is most likely why I continually felt (and to some degree, still do feel) so inferior to and disrespected by certain people. Perhaps due to my own insecurities or their projected personal opinions concerning our respective majors, I felt that they did not respect me as an intelligent person of worth. No matter what they said, no matter how much they praised me (seemingly patronizingly), I couldn't shake off this feeling that they did not mean it. I think I let it consume me too much because, like Ruth said, anger is a lot easier to handle than hurt.

Now, I want to change. I want to/need to stop being this person. Granted, it is good to be cautious, to make sure my heart doesn't fly too far away, that my hopes don't outrun me, but…it is also good to learn how to be more human, more humble, more accepted, more accepting, more risky. I need to learn how to risk my heart, to endure hurt, in order to grow. Jesus came down for us and he held nothing back. If we're supposed to live our lives like him, then it makes sense for me to learn how to let go. I need to let go of my pride, my selfishness, my self-centeredness, my insecurities. Because sometimes it's hell, to live like this.

If I'm going to be in a relationship, I might as well give it all I've got. I wasn't always this lazy person who half-asses things. Typically, I give it all I've got. Why shouldn't I do the same, especially for relationships? Romantic and otherwise. God knows it's going to be hard to bite down and just reveal all of my atrocities to the world, but how else am I going to break down my stubborn spirit?

What I want:

I know you don't tell me things I don't already know, but I wish you told me things that I want to hear. For once.

The majority is not always right.

As humans, we have the tendency to follow the actions of others. Whether those actions are good or bad, right or wrong, naturally, we begin to assume that whatever most of the people are doing is what we ourselves should be doing as well. While this clearly has negative effects, it could be said that it possesses positive ones, as well, especially in those cases where the majority is doing right and good. However, this instinct to follow the many, more often than not, leads to the loss of critical thinking and judgment. We no longer know for certain why we do that which we do, for what reasons, what purposes, if this or that is truly what we believe or want to do, or whether our actions and beliefs are defined only by the desire and burden to follow the majority, rather than our own personal beliefs.

In church, it's so easy to get caught up in the majority. After all, if everyone else is doing it and saying it's God's Will, how can anyone else say otherwise? It must be right, it must be true; this must be what I'm meant to do, what I'm supposed to do; this must be how I'm supposed to be, how I'm supposed to feel; I must do this regardless because they say it is written, they say it's God's desire; it's in the Scripture, how could it be wrong?, they know what they're talking about, I don't; I should strive for that spiritual level; I should enact all these applications to my life to be just like them, to serve God, to be like this or that, to feel like that or this, to want something or another, to hunger like him or her, to serve like that person or this person, etc etc etc etc etc etc etc etc etc etc etc!

Is this right? How do we know?

The thing with that is that we never know. One person will always say one thing, another will say another, the next a new thing; it's the same with churches. Churches, as much as they're meant to be holy, are just as unholy and flawed as any other institution because they are run and maintained by people-- people, yes, who (hopefully) have good intentions and mean better, but who are, nonetheless, mere mortals so flawed and tainted by a myriad of things. There is always a majority of the people who do things and say things and believe things one way, and as a member, many times, we feel the obligation moreso than the desire to do and say and believe and be just like them.

But why? Is it because we truly believe that is how life should be led, how we should serve, what we should believe? Or is it because we are told that that is how we should be? And if the answer is the former, then can we say for certain that it wasn't influenced by the latter? Just how much do we reflect on the reasons for which we are a certain way and the purposes behind which we do certain things? How often do we truly believe in our hearts that the majority way is our way? Or do we fool and guilt ourselves into thinking it because that is all we have ever learned or known? Because we feel sacrilegious or un-Christian or ungodly to even imagine doing something different? And if the last is so, then why do we feel this way? Is it a perpetuation of that natural human desire to stay with the majority? Is it due to our exposure to a certain culture, a way of life and thinking? Is it because we feel compelled to believe that the church is always right and we must always be led by it?

Why are we so afraid to be independent? True, independence and 'rebellion' have become, as of late, a trend in our society-- this desire to be different, the want to be unique, the fad to go against the grain, etc. Nevertheless, apart from all that, in solely a personal and religious context... Why are we always compelled to believe that there is only one way to go about things? How come we are so afraid to call out and disagree? And when we feel differently, why do we subsequently feel ashamed? Are we brought up to believe that disagreeing with the church is heresy? Perhaps.

We fail, a lot of times, to realize that being of the same religion does not necessitate being of the same opinions. We as Christians hold the same core of beliefs and the same goals but that does not mean that there will not be differences. In the end, only God knows, so for the moment, it would be nice if everyone stopped pushing their own dogmas and beliefs as the only truth, the only way, blah blah blah. And if we're different, so what? Who among us will dare to say that we are more Christian than another? More faithful, more holy, more touched by God? Who among us has the right to say that? No one.

Therefore, if you're different, go you. Don't be afraid to be who God made you to be.

And don't ever forget that the majority is not always right.

MJ

Michael Jackson died nearly a week ago and everyone still keeps talking about him. Why is there so much hubbub surrounding the death of this man? Yes, he was the King of Pop, yes, he was a celebrity, yes, he was a controversial international figure. But he was also just a man.

Thousands of people die everyday and do we even turn our head to even acknowledge their deaths? Do we pay this much attention to the old man across the street who dies from old age? Or the 12-year old girl who passes away in her hospital bed after 5 years of chemotherapy and countless surgeries?

No.

So, why him? Why any of these celebrities? Yes, they had fame, they had money, they had issues of their own--yet, minus the first (because even un-famous people have money), they're just people. Ordinary people who deserve some respect and privacy, even or perhaps especially, in death.

By wondering about these conspiracies, by trying to analyze their method of death, their intent-- maybe it was poison, or perhaps suicide, maybe it was malnutrition, etc etc-- who are we trying to satisfy? Are we seeking justice for the dead or just more fodder for our daily gossip? Who CARES that he never adopted his children, that he paid the surrogate mother, that he included or did not include certain people in his will, etc etc etc???

It sickens me that we, as a society, become so interested in a person only when that person holds some infamy (not even just fame, but infamy), when they hold some kind of perverse appeal to us. We don't ever move our focus to much more important, more deep issues, more people in need of aid and saving-- not unless it becomes a trend, the latest fashion in a tidal wave of "do good, feel good" campaigns. Unless it's celebritized, advertised, mediatized. Unless we make it into the latest form of start gossip.

It's no wonder that nonprofit organizations have such a hard time getting their concerns out, reaching out to the masses of people. When the masses refuse to even hear the tinkling of a bell unless it means some juicy gossip or some cheap thrills they can live vicariously through in their otherwise mundane lives, it's hard to connect the greater issues and causes to humankind. Simply put, they just don't care. Critics fault campaigns like the ones run by Benetton or Product (RED), but if commodifying the social matter is the only way to get across the poignant message in this capitalized, superficialized, and polemicized society, then why wouldn't these organizations turn their vigilant human rights endeavors into corporate, entrepreneurial efforts?

There is no denying that Michael Jackson was a legend. He still is, because his music surpasses even his mortal life. He died. His family, estranged or not, legally adopted or not, in his will or not, is most likely grieving a loss. His fans are grieving a loss. He was big-- national-- global. But he was still just a man. Who said death was the great equalizer? Throughout history, we have seen countless differences in the way society treats the deceased based on their ethnicities, socioeconomic statuses, genders, ages, etc. In the 21st century, this new millenium, death is as equal as it ever was. That is to say, not at all.

Idiot.

I was an idiot to have thought that anything had changed.

I'm still waiting on my 1 John 5:14, God.

Veux- tu dire que ce que je te demande n'est pas à ton désir? Qu'est-ce que c'est que tu désire? Plusieurs fois, sans arret, je te dis les mêmes choses, je te crie les mêmes mots de douleur, et...tu me donnes quoi? Rien? Non...j'attends toujours ton miracle, j'attends toujours ta promesse jusqu'au bout...même si je meurs sans l'avoir vu.

Deception.

God will change it,

or so they say.

It seems as if we’ve been waiting

forever

and

no change

has come to pass, no difference

is visible.

And the scars– Oh! the scars…

They still remain as bloody wounds,

the salt from the tears stinging

these long,

deep

stretches

of heartache

and sorrow

clear

across our chests– visible

only to those who look very closely, so very closely.

Only to those who know enough to see.

That is to say, no one.

Au moment où on pense que tout a changé, on se rend compte que rien n’a changé.

All grown up?

On Friday, I had lunch with Mie and Soo. Of course, I was a bit dubious of the conversation; as much as the married woman and I had easily conversed in the past, what if it would be awkward because of the time passed? I dread those silences. But with Soo, and just naturally, the conversation flowed easily and I found myself enjoying their company.

We talked about various things: Mie's trip to Japan, her difficulty in obtaining a visa, her brief 10-day journey to Thailand with her husband's MBA class, our numerous excursions, classes, interesting stories. It is interesting to note that even with the age gap, the difference in life experiences, and some cultural barriers, Mie still treated us, these barely 20-year old college students, as her equals. The test came, when I decided to ask her about her future marriage plans. Fairly recently married, would the just retired, jet-setting, once successful investment banker now in her 40's try to have children? Surprisingly, Mie answered with ease. "Yes," she responded, "We are trying". And we began to discuss the various options, talking about marriage and children in general.

In the midst of the conversation, in the back of my mind, I found myself marveling at this rarity: 2 college students discussing the aspects of married life with such a mature, amazing woman. The fact that she was so open and willing to talk about such topics was a testament to her level of respect for us. It made me wonder: Is this what it feels like to be an adult? Does this mean that I have "grown up"? What happened to the days when talking about sex was taboo, when talking to those older than us entailed solely politesse, when we considered even boys to be full of cooties? Now we've reached the age where sex is normal-- thought to be healthy and good, even, where age doesn't matter as much in friendships, where we seek opposite sex companionship. What is the sign of being "grown up"? When do we know that we have reached that point? Sure, we can grow old, but some of us never "grow up"-- and is that a bad thing? A good thing? I guess it would depend on what how someone defines "growing up".

I remember having the desire to never grow up, to never become an adult. Others around me wanted to so desperately turn 16, to turn 18, to turn 21, but I asked myself, "Why? Why would they want to be grown up?" Even at a young age, I knew. I knew that being a grown up wasn't going to be fun, liberating; it was going to be hard, full of responsibilities, rife with strife. I didn't want to grow up. Even still...I don't want to grow up. I joke that I have the mentality of a 5 year old half the time, but what is it about growing up that is so bad?

It is true: growing up is hard. Change, in any form, at any age, is hard. But that doesn't necessarily mean that it will be bad. Maybe the fear I had (and still have) about growing up is that...it means I've lost pleasure in the simple things. That I have only greater and more stressful life decisions to look forward to, that I will face increasing pressures and burdens, that I will grow old, without having enjoyed life. That I will become bogged down with the fears and expectations that come with being old. Yet, as I encountered that rainy Friday afternoon, over a meal of typical French brasserie food, growing up isn't always a bad thing. Earning the respect of others, enjoying the liberty to discuss previously forbidden topics, laughing over and earnestly discussing future options and plans-- with the entire realm of possibility open to us--no, being grown up isn't a bad thing.

Perhaps the important thing to learn as we grow up is that while we must grow out of our childishness, we must never grow out of our childlikeness. There's nothing wrong with snorting water out of our noses as we laugh over horrible math skills right after intensely discussing the merits of methods of conception. Or carrying around beaded purses in the shape of a cartoon pig's face while wearing gold Rolexes. Nothing at all. It merely means that one has grown up well.

Second thoughts...

I now only have three weeks remaining of what is to be a five month sojourn in France. With all the disappointment and the complaining I have done, it still must be said that I did quite enjoy my time in this country (it would be more appropriate to say "city" as I have for the most part only remained in Paris).

Yet, as the prospect of my return home looms ever closer, I begin to have second thoughts about leaving this City of Lights and Really Expensive Things. Thinking about it the other day, I realized what it would be like to have an actual cellphone again. A phone that is up-to-date, complete with contacts that I appreciate and call on a regular basis. Complete with a camera. A sliding phone. A shiny, LG Black Cherry Chocolate phone. And it struck me: It is so bizarre. It seems of another world, honestly. To imagine myself plunging back into the way my life used to be back home...is very difficult to do.

I am trying to reflect on how my stay in Paris has influenced me as a person thus far. How the final three weeks will add to my experiences and my life changes. Have I changed? In what way? How do I come out of this once in a lifetime moment? How different have I become? The questions are endless but all retain the same meaning: How have I changed? Because it is for certain, that I have changed. However, to put it all into words is another matter. A difficult endeavor-- probably one that will not be well articulated.

Paris, first and foremost, has changed me spiritually. Though in this moment, I feel a bit distant from God, perhaps just from lack of church consistency or other factors, I can with certainty say that it was the only thing God could have provided in my life to pull me out from my spiritual slump of Fall semester. After encountering countless miracles and counting my infinite blessings that constantly fulfill my life, I would be less than a fool to say that prayer has no power. God has shown me again and again and has shouted quietly into my heart countless times that He does listen. No matter how hopeless my heart feels, He fills it with gladness and hope. He fills me with faith by showing me that He is always faithful. If at all nothing else, Paris has taught me that-- a lesson I consider to be most important and which I hold most dear in my heart.

Secondly, it has given me a new perspective about the city itself. Yes, I was disappointed; yes, that disappointment has not yet fully dissipated. Nonetheless, the fact remains that despite all of its shortcomings, Paris is still a gorgeous city, so enriched with cultured and enlivened with character. It is an international city, full of international people. However, it must be noted that even with its status as the number one tourist destination, even with all of the students flocking from various countries to partake in this great, historic city, colonial/imperialistic prejudices and mindsets have not been fully shed. As much as Parisians rub elbows and bump hips with people from all over the world, a large majority of them still retain a superior, colonial European mentality. While I am sure that (hopefully) it is changing, the large majority still have a very long way to go in terms of understanding the cultural differences and recognizing the individuality of each country represented in their city.

Thirdly, being in Paris has ironically underscored my own place in my circle of friends back home. Initially worried about being forgotten and left behind during my absence, the constant communication with my friends has reinforced the indisputable fact that I mean as much to my friends as they mean to me. This was a worry that I had struggled with for a large part of my life, as I am a person who often cares more about other people than they do about me; I had continually felt unappreciated and disappointed in the level of concern directed toward me, even when I knew that people are each different in how they experience and express emotions. Yet, as egotistical as this may sound, hearing my friends constantly mention how important I was to the intimacy of our circle, how they missed me, how they often wished that I had been there with them during periods of happiness and sadness, laughter and anger, may have shut that door of insecurity behind me permanently. That is not to say that I will never have such feelings again in the future; merely that those worries do not leaden my heart or preoccupy my mind as they did previously. How ironic that it took distance to establish this consciousness of closeness. It must be said: I adore my friends. I really do. They are my second family and without them, my world would be a whole less joyful. I firmly believe that we have a special bond that will endure for a very long time. Well...maybe I should pray about that, just in case. Haha.

These three points may sum up the most important changes I have undergone during my stay in Paris. The three points that I can articulate the best. The three that matter most. There are more, certainly, yet they are hard to pinpoint exactly, much less put into words.

Writing this, I am wondering about what will happen when I return. Being in France was and still is like living a dream. A dream where reality is so far away and a mere passing thought. Where I don't have to worry about the things going on in my family, where I don't have to face things and people I don't want to face, where I don't have to constantly prepare myself for a battle of emotions, where I don't have to armor my heart against harsh words, bitterness, resentment, sadness. Where I don't have to think about any of those things. Because they are so far away.

Everything is, without a doubt, better. God has changed a lot in my life and in my heart. But it is true that the same situations exist, the same worries, the same sense of uncertainty. I wonder if I will be strong enough to go back to it all. To have to face it everyday. Will I be able to disengage myself as easily as I used to? Will it be harder since I have fallen out of practice? Or maybe France isn't all that different from the States, where I had perfected the art of distancing myself. Or maybe I am not supposed to disengage myself but plunge myself into the depths of every sort of problem that I had stifled.

I am worried. I am scared. I don't want to...I don't know...I don't want to...I don't want to be uncomfortable. I don't want to suffer. I don't want to see others suffer. I don't want to have to be the rock. I don't want to have to have all these responsibilities. Which is to say that I don't want to grow up, I don't want to live life. Because life will always have discomfort, suffering, support, and responsibilities. And in order to live, we must learn to bear all of it and become better men/women at the end of each struggle. We must rely on God to show us the way and to pull us through.

Does this mean that I am not living while I am in Paris? Or maybe just that I am living a different life, in a different manner? I am not without the discomfort, suffering, support, or responsibilities here; yes, they may be less pronounced, less profound, less mind-blowing, heart-staggering...But they exist, nonetheless. Yet this life is a temporary life, and the other is my life-- what God has designated for me to take on, to change, to heal, to learn from and consequently to teach. It is what he has blessed me with. I'll go back. I want to go back. I am scared. But I want to go back.

Still, I do wish I had maybe an extra week in Paris with nothing to do but walk all around. And taste all the macaroons. Perhaps too much to ask for in the moment, but in the future, it will come.