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.