the un-prodigal child(ren)

show of hands: who remembers the story about the prodigal son? i've heard it what feels like a gazillion times. even though gazillion isn't a real number. it's a beautiful depiction of God's love for us, about being lost and then found, amazing grace, etc. etc. etc.

as of late, my mom has described her feelings towards my brother as the father's from that story. even though the son walked away and fell apart, the father still waited for him. he still wanted his son back. she told me that, unless you're a parent, there's really no way to compare a connection like that. she explained that, in parenthood, all bets are off - you would do anything for them. and of course, the father rejoiced when he got his son back.

since i don't have a child, i don't know that i can relate. and since i haven't deserted my family, i can't relate to the prodigal son either. the person i've always understood on some level, however, is the faithful son. which probably shouldn't be the case, because he's not the point of the story. also, i'm pretty sure Jesus wanted us to know that we are all, on some level, prodigal sons. still, i couldn't help but feel that he was justified in his resentment of his brother. here he was, the faithful son, watching his brother who'd screwed up and made a big mess of his life and his father's life, receive the full inheritance back. i fully sympathize with his anger. he, the faithful son, had stayed behind to work and make something of himself. he, the faithful son, hadn't broken his father's heart. he, the faithful son, had treasured his inheritance and lived a life worthy of it. in addition, which isn't mentioned in the story, but he, the faithful son, had probably spent a good amount of his life piecing his father's heart back together. he'd probably try to show his father that there wasn't a need to be shattered, that one of his children wanted to please and honor him. and then his brother, who he had seen hurt his father so, came back and it was as if he'd never left. in fact, they even threw him a party!

i think that, at times, my parents wish that my brothers and i would show a little more compassion towards the one. that our first desire wouldn't be to slap his face off. i've tried, and i think my brothers have tried as well, but that compassion has become hard to find these days. really.

so in the midst of our discussion, we revisited that story. i said that we've run out of compassion in the same way that the faithful son had. that we strive to honor and obey, and that, in the deepest regions of ourselves, we can't understand why our parents are broken. we all know that, should anything happen to us, our parents would feel just the same, but it's difficult to watch what our sibling does to them and still try to find that same compassion. we wonder, as the son probably wondered, what gives our sibling the right? our parents loved us all the same, gave us all the same things, and treated us the same. so why does this one feel that he should have the right, the ability, the gall, to act the way he does? why should his meager (and sometimes downright pathetic) excuses for faithfulness be rewarded - rejoiced over, and ours accepted or assumed?

i suppose that we, like the son, rest in the knowledge that we're loved and rejoiced over the same, though it manifests itself in different ways. that perhaps, what the prodigal son didn't have, we still have, though it might be difficult to identify or even accept these things. and perhaps, just perhaps, the difference in all this is that the prodigal son displayed humility, something that the rest of us have yet to see.

all the same, it doesn't make it any less difficult for us, the un-prodigal, to understand our brother(s). that son wasn't greedy or even wrong. he might have just wanted to remind his father that, while the other one was doing the destroying, it wasn't easy or enjoyable to pick up the pieces.

an interesting thing happened to me at birth choice today.

prague, cz 2009-2010 ((romania, hungary, bulgaria, croatia))
world cup, south africa, summer 2010

and now. uganda, fall 2010??

could be.

when i was a baby, my parents used to pray for things like uganda.
i'm thinking that might be why the stability mechanism is broken.

the reason why we bought the bracelets.

"dwight, did i ever tell you why i left scranton? yeah, i didn't think i did. well, it was all about pam. yeah, i mean, she was with roy, and... i just couldn't take it. i mean, i lost it, dwight. i couldn't sleep. i couldn't concentrate on anything. and weird stuff like food had no taste. so my solution was to move away. it was awful. and it is something i wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. and that includes you."
-jim, the office



i'm all out of words, and i'm all out of tears. i'm done with forgiveness, shaking it off, moving on, and i'm even more done with blaming myself for how much it hurts. my only thought is... why delude ourselves with friendship, when being strangers is just as effective, and doesn't waste my time?

half-truths. omissions. white lies. sparing my feelings. it's all a nice way of saying the same terrible thing.

the ironic thing is that i'd actually felt bad for all the things i'd said that one time. i'd even considered myself unfair, thought maybe it was an overreaction. surely you remember, my epic meltdown. but looking back, i was spot-on, and then some. every word was well-deserved, and probably far kinder and more loving than it should have been.

i've considered the ways to articulate, or express, just how angry i am. with you, with me, and especially with the absence of any sort of apology. i'm angry about what was said and done, but even more so about how humiliated i was when i finally got the truth. that all my defenses crumbled, my foolishness was laid clearly before me. it had to come full circle, trickling down to me, as i stood beside you. i'm a failure, a liar, a wreck, a contradiction, on so many levels, but at least i told you who i was.

have you any idea how many people tried to tell me that you and i were mere manipulation? and how many times i said, with conviction, no, you don't understand. despite the insufferable flow from their mouth, they always tell me the truth, listen to me when i tell them to stop, confide in me and i in them, and support me when i really, truly need the help. despite all the things you see or in the case of most, don't see, they would never intentionally hurt me or lie to me.

i was so convinced, and it makes me want to crawl into a hole, or just stop trying with anyone, to learn that those people knew more than i did, despite my vehement defense. this is further compounded by the fact that you haven't apologized, for this or anything else. i have long pondered our philosophies on life; humility and confidence, honesty and reservation, how one finds validation. and while my route isn't the easiest, i'll take how i feel any day over making someone else feel this way.




as far as my future, please, i'm not that desperate.

my best friend.

and me too.

(p.s. the bracelets really say "don't settle for less" but it was between "settle" and my shot that says "for less." so pretty much i had to decide whether i wanted to represent us as having low standards or as prostitutes. low standards, it was. hah.)

why me.

today, i discovered a ladies home journal positioned very oddly in our powder room. right next to the sink. but the funny thing is that when i tried to move it, i discovered that it was stuck to the tile. i then saw that the adhesive was a white substance that looked a lot like milk or soap, and then some flakes of cereal. yes, flakes of honey bunches of oats. i quickly confronted my brother about eating (and spilling) his cereal in the bathroom. and not just that. why, after spilling it everywhere, he seemed to think simply covering it with a magazine was a perfectly sufficient way to clean it up. why does someone eat cereal in the bathroom? i wish i could tell you. i ask myself the same question.

at which point, he denied any knowledge of the cereal. i promptly labeled him as a liar, since i'd just seen him eating a bowl of cereal, i've seen him eat it in the bathroom before, there were unmistakable flakes all over, and... plus, he lies all the time. lying all the time equals liar. i told him to clean it up, and he told me what he thought of me, per the usual tradition these days. and clean it up, he did, with a dry paper towel, which was, essentially, no help at all. i discovered this later, and ended up cleaning the dried sugar myself. wow, i was under the impression that i was living with a 17 year-old. i'm pretty sure my 3 year-old kids in taiwan were even capable of cleaning something like that up. or just not eating cereal in the bathroom.

i suppose things would be different if every day weren't another version of the same thing.



the sound you are now hearing is miniature segments of my brain exploding.

just let go.

there's an old oak tree
we can swing and sway
we'll lock arms and legs, you're so far away
when i look at you, you're so far away
i'm so far away
if you could just let go
-mae


(i really, really, really love mae and i can't stop listening to this song. for realsies.)

home.

right now, the whole "home" concept is not what i thought it would be. nothing i've ever experienced before, either. but things rarely turn out the way you wish they would or expect them to.

so i suppose it's helpful that jon foreman's "i am still running" came on just when i needed to hear it.
build me a home, inside your scars
build me a home, inside your song
build me a home, inside your open arms
the only place i ever will belong

and as much as i've learned about this over the years, about how You provide home when i need it, i think i need to know this more than ever these days. i'm done with speaking and i'm done with arguing. i'm even done with searching for sympathy in the deepest regions of myself.

and i'm asking You, my Father, please don't forget me now. i need a home.

proud to be an american.

where working, tax-paying citizens can't get health care.
can you? because 22, working, mostly able-bodied, and as "citizen" as they come, i sure can't.

it's all wearing so very thin right now.

i keep trying to tell myself i'm not angry, but i so am.

still lazy, and still lame. i keep wanting to believe that maybe i expect too much, but i don't. i really, really don't. why am i so bad at being angry? i could understand it if it didn't bother me anymore, but it does. and i could understand it if i had a poor reason to be, but i don't. or even if it didn't hurt that much, but it does. no matter how many times i've tried to find a loophole in this whole being angry thing, i can't.

which, of course, isn't about just one thing, but about many things, some related and some not, which simply make me tired, angry, and consequently determined.

truly, i was excited to be back, and i like america okay, but i'm realizing how foolish it was to believe that there was anything to be anxious about here. absence makes the heart grow fonder, but it also makes you forget all the important stuff that drove you away in the first place.

and why all the same problems, re-disguised as something far more interesting or forgivable, aren't okay anymore.

prague is in january. and at last i will be away, relieved, past... whatever you call it. because i just can't stand it.
again.

manana.

i now know why the olympics only happen once every 4 years.

they severely eclipse one's ability to carry on the responsibilities of a grown-up, much less act like one.

though i've gotta say it's a beautiful thing to forget yourself for a few seconds while amazing people like lezak do seemingly impossible things... like chasing down the french. because they had it coming. you forget that it's only a game, that the world is still full of real problems, and that you still have a serious problem with the u.s. government. these things seem trivial while you bounce around the room, screaming for some guy who can't even hear you to GO FASTER!

i maintain that the world could do with more absence of dignity.

things which do not put me in a good mood.

when i was 18, some things happened, and after a whole incident that included a truck, i ended up hospitalized but alive.

the sad thing is that the people responsible have more or less told me to shake it off.

and in the grand scheme, some days, like today, have been exceptionally shitty. you see, even though this happened 4 years ago, i spend whole days unable to feel some of my toes. for those who don't know, this has nothing to do with my toes, and everything to do with some nerves and discs in my lower back.

and also, 4 years later, i get rejected by insurance companies, and sometimes, to add insult to injury (literally, hah!), this happens on the same day that my toes are numb.

there's no good way to shake that off.

today really could have been better.

the 4 x 100 swim was epic.

and also, i'm wondering if michael phelps is looking for a wife. i'd make a great mrs. phelps.

question.

has nobody in the western world heard of jay chou's secret? oh netflix, how you disappoint me.

androgyny, short hair, cultural beauty, and the severe repercussions of living in taiwan for a year

since i got back to america, people seem to enjoy making the same crack at me everywhere i go. "what do you think... doesn't joy look a little more asian?" this is promptly followed by a sharp sideways glare that i apparently do so well and sarcastic laughter.

ha. ha. ha. ha.
that's so original.

and up till this point, i didn't think i'd adopted any asian characteristics. firstly, because that's just stupid. secondly, because i'm unmistakably white. and thirdly... did i use the word stupid?

i mean, living in a culture doesn't mean you're going to start to look like the people around you, does it? not physically, anyway. yes, you might start to incorporate their fashion, their culinary tastes, and appreciate their art, but i never thought that one could actually physically, biologically metamorphose to fit one's surroundings.



behold, the glory of my celebrity look-alike collage. i honestly don't know how to feel about this. my initial reaction is that maybe i should be very, very insulted that i supposedly look like jay chou. i mean, i like jay chou's movies. i enjoy his music. i adored (and continue to look for) 不能說的秘密. hell, i respect jay chou. all this aside, however, it does not change the fact that he is a man and i am not.

apparently, i have attributes that are man-like in appearance. i'm not sure where to begin reconciling this. i think the easy thing to do is blame this on my hair, and not the rest of me. at least that saves therapy. in my defense, however, most taiwanese men are more than a little effeminate, and i believe that our friend jay here is no exception. ask chris!

next, i will say that i don't mind looking like whatever japanese pop artist/actress that is, or kelly hu for that matter. in fact, kelly came up as my closest celebrity match when i tried other photos. still shocking that they're both asian and i'm not!

i actually don't mind jesse mccartney that much, either, since i think one could argue that we look like we're related. i'm just sayin!

so, my friends, it seems that androgyny is in fact still alive and well, and my short hair has thrown me into that category. that's ok, i tell myself, because a lot of fantastic artists/actresses/musicians/cultural icons have rocked that look over the years. and also, apparently, i have incorporated the taiwanese cultural standard of beauty into my appearance. i guess i can't get annoyed with those people who say i look more asian anymore. damnit.





...but fuck that joan collins part.

emotional masochism?

a lot of strange things have happened with me and relationships over the years. when they're good (and most of the time they are) i love to hold onto those memories and feelings any way i can. i stash away letters, pictures, videos, mementos, and anything else that reminds me of how that relationship enrich(es/ed) my life.

but for some reason, when they turn sour, they can't just curdle and be done with it. it has to hurt in a really profound way. that's only happened a few times, sometimes for a good reason and sometimes for reasons i have never understood, but it has always been hard.

this is probably why i was surprised when i came across some pictures from high school. for one reason or another, i'd held onto them; put them away in boxes and select photo albums. as i went through my stuff and tried to figure out what to do with it today, i was struck by how many of those pictures i still had and how much i still wish everything hadn't changed. though i still tell myself that we've got a lot of time, and sometimes, time changes things.

and then there are other, less pleasant, aspects of holding onto such mementos. once upon a time, i went through a break-up that was the hardest thing i've ever had to do. and i've done difficult things. at the time, i couldn't even cope with organizing those memories, so i put all the letters, pictures, cd's, and gifts i'd ever received from him into a large brown envelope. i completely forgot about the envelope, as it was stashed inside a box, and then shoved into the deepest regions of my closet. today, my friends, i uncovered that envelope. looking through all the letters and pictures, i still didn't want to throw them away. i've realized that, over time, your mind starts to make those memories and letters and everything about another person into something else. perhaps it's because moving on is so hard, and maybe impossible if you don't. you have to find a way to make it worse than how you feel, and all the bad things you remember are directly proportional to how much you don't (or didn't) want to get out of bed. or maybe it's because you find new people to fill the gaps, and you forget about why you had those gaps in the first place; why that person was so important to you.

finding all these things was bittersweet for me. it showed me that all those memories weren't as i remembered them at all. and while it hurt a bit to see it all, seemingly frozen in time, immune from all the things that were eventually said and done, i was relieved to find that, in the end, there is nothing to regret.

the smothering immensity of america

it would not be inaccurate to say that i was ill-prepared for my re-integration into american society. i hadn't given the adjustment much thought, as i've believed myself ready to be home for a while now. i'd prepared myself to leave my children, to be awed by china, to be free in mongolia, to be bored in siberia, and to love moscow despite all the stigmas. after all my hard work and anticipation, i wasn't expecting life in america to be complicated at all, because, let's be honest, it had been 13 months and i was exuberantly ready for mexican food, sunny days, the pacific ocean, affordable starbucks, and my friends. let me first establish that, after having visited various corners of the globe, better weather does not exist outside of southern california. yes, i realize that this depends on your definition of "better," but let me tell you that you cannot count on the sun to shine more regularly and the weather to be more consistent outside of this lovely corner of the world. to return to this, my friends, i am grateful.

all that said, despite people speaking to/at me in english when i'm expecting another language. and despite how much i missed chipotle's vegetarian burritos. and even despite the deeply felt absence of my friends, it's everything i can do to keep my heart from exploding every few hours. not with joy, but because i can feel the anxiety of all things american; all things convenient and large, welling up inside me. at times, i have to slow down, close my eyes, concentrate on simply breathing - or maybe on the hypnotic flashing of the turn signal ahead of me - to simply comprehend the vastness of the very road on which i'm driving. 2 1/2 lanes, a divider, and 2 1/2 going the other way, my mind keeps repeating. i crossed less than that to get to my bus stop on the busiest road in banciao.

the truth of the matter is that i feel crushed by the almost excruciating convenience of modern america. by the fact that i can visit a place like target, one of many other places just like it, and buy myself a snack, tampons, a sweater, the office season 3, laundry detergent, a greeting card, a video game for my brother, and a plant for my mom, everything in one place is all too much to handle. i almost don't know what to do with the rest of my brain's capacity, because all these things required 10x more effort in taipei. i had to go to 7-11 for the snack, cosmed for the tampons, blockbuster for the office, net for a sweater, the little mom and pop shop down the street for my detergent, hess bookstore for the greeting card, ximending for the video game, and the flower market for the plant. thus, i would spend my saturday afternoon doing all the things that i can now easily accomplish in 30 minutes or less without driving more than a mile. and the reason it took my saturday afternoon was because my mornings were spent doing my weekly laundry, which now takes all of 10 seconds and doesn't take 72 hours to still be a little damp yet wearable.

the problem is that all my unused energy, all that void capacity, is being dominated by white noise. by an overwhelming lack of concentration. that i find myself unable to stay focused or on track. that my brain labors beneath the weight of variation and convenience around me, grasping at something to pay attention to, to focus on, to center myself upon, yet inexplicably dazed. i'm distracted by all the music, the signs, the language, the concepts that i understand because i grew up here. i speak the language. fundamentally, all this makes sense to me. but it all gets lost when i see the variations on oreo cookies sprawling before me. i get distracted and confused by how something as simple as an oreo cookie somehow becomes very complicated at the grocery store. do i want the plain ones? double stuff? reverse flavors? and what's all that colored stuff? oh, they make other flavored cookies now. and what size should i get? things get even more confusing when i realize that i also have the option of buying a generic brand. at my local 7-11 so many thousands of miles away, oreos came only one way: 12 cookies at 43NT. nothing special, just plain oreos. i've gotta say that i liked the simplicity of choices. either i wanted the cookies or i didn't, but i didn't feel tormented by options. now, as i look upon the vast array of everything including cookies, i can't remember what i was thinking or why i expected it to be harder than this. and yet i wonder why it is so hard, why america is so bent on testing my decision-making capabilities by putting so many choices in front of me.

more than once this week, i have gone into the cupboard or refrigerator, and simply been overwhelmed by a well-stocked food supply. i've gone to make myself some coffee, but haven't known where to start. my life was simpler, containing such fewer choices during my travels. but in those moments of unbearable plenty, i find i have to close the door and order something at a local restaurant, because there i can at least focus on a specific object, self-contained by its recipe and my blissful lack of control in how it's made.

i feel myself, at times, unable to speak, to think, or even to just be, my brain overstimulated by the sheer vastness of my surroundings. it's true, what they say about things being bigger in america. more cars, and they're all bigger than the ones i've seen since i left. my home street is probably 4 times as wide as my alley in taiwan, which sort of fit a cab if you were lucky. my backyard seems to contain more grass than the whole of taipei. and as for my house, well, i'm kind of blown away by the whole "2 1/2 bathrooms" concept.

i was surprised to find that the hardest part for me was church, where i go to meet my Father who, i have found, meets me in the most surprising and humble places. despite my inability to find a church, He always finds a way to speak to me, even when i'm discouraged or confused or in my loneliest of states. i found Him even when i didn't expect to find Him, atop rinjani in the cold. in the smallest moscow churches, by myself as i plodded along the wall. He romanced me, and reminded me that i am His. even whilst sitting down in the great temple of bangkok, wondering about truth and absolutes, i was certain that my Father heard my confusion and frustration, and He met me, where i was. i could hear Him in the depths of my spirit, and i prayed to my God, while others prayed to theirs. i didn't care, because my God is present everywhere, untamed and unlimited by the compartments to which we assign Him. in fact, it is in these seemingly meaningless nooks of His creation that i seem to hear His voice the loudest. in the utter brokenness of humanity and spirit that His beauty screams from the most deafening and ineffable heights. and yet, when i go to meet Him with others who are looking for Him as well, i can't even concentrate. everything is so big. the building, the message, the lights, the screens, the band, the music. and others around me feel Him and hear Him, and i have always and will always ask myself why i can't hear Him too. the truth is that i need to be prepared in spirit when i come before my God, and strangely, i haven't been able to silence my head or my heart enough to concentrate. perhaps i never was quite cut out for a large church.

i like to think that eventually, i'll get used to all this. that my being with synchronize with my surroundings, and that i will feel once again like i belong in america. whether or not that's what i'm meant to feel is questionable, but i'm trying to be patient.

synchronizing and feeling is perhaps too much to expect. so for right now, i'll just focus on breathing.

what's your mosaic?

i came across this concept on a friend's blog. it's a personality mosaic. i absolutely loved the idea.

here's how it works:
1. Type your answer to each of the questions below into Flickr Search.
2. Using only the first page of results, pick one image.
3. Copy and paste each of the URLs for the images into Big Huge Lab’s Mosaic Maker to create a mosaic of the picture answers.

the questions:
1. What is your first name?
2. What is your favorite food? right now?
3. What high school did you go to?
4. What is your favorite color?
5. Who is your celebrity crush?
6. What is your favourite drink?
7. What is your dream vacation?
8. What is your favourite dessert?
9. What do you want to be when you grow up?
10. What do you love most in life?
11. What is one word that describes you?
12. What is your flickr name? (since i don't have a flickr name, i typed in my blog name instead)


what does your mosaic say about you?

the shadow proves the sunshine

i knew it was going to be hard, but i wasn't prepared for this.

i'm in way over my head.

13 months later.

i'm back in the states, yet i haven't mastered the art of ordering food in english. this could take a while.

finding validation.

once upon a time, a guy broke up with me (or claimed to break up with me) out of apathy. because he simply didn't care enough about me... who i was and what i did wasn't enough to generate him caring... i believe "mediocrity" was the word he used for me... though i've worked so hard to purge the memory that i might be mistaken.

and for a while, once upon a time, i actually believed that there was some truth to all the things he said. i racked my brain trying to figure out all the things i'd done wrong. and as hard as i worked, i couldn't escape the realization that, no this wasn't a dream, someone actually said that to me.

ultimately, what it made me was angry, and that anger later led to determination. and probably some form of bitterness and apathy. i don't really know, but i worry more about looking ahead than back.

and suddenly, maybe today or yesterday or even a few weeks ago, i felt as though i woke up. as though this past year hit me all at once. my year of chinese and countless responsibilities, my beautiful children. of moving away and fitting in, of making friends with people i love deeply, from all sorts of different backgrounds and lifestyles. of seeing the great wall before i died and finally making it to russia, and making more friends along the way. and despite how awful he made me feel about a social circle at starbucks... because apparently i was supposed to think myself above all my friends there... how many times those friends have e-mailed me to cheer me on... encouraged me to think big and fight hard to achieve all the things i want.

methinks my year has been beyond spectacular. all my fears have slowly been vanquished by success and all the people i love have slowly helped me find all the pieces of myself. i've learned that deep, meaningful love is measured in more ways than one and manifests itself in countless others.

2 years in dating exile and i've learned a lot about what it means to find one's own validation.

yeah, that break-up was bullshit.