A Study in Membership: Part 03- The Hub

The question to conquer today- what qualifies as church?'

--It is going to take me a long time to write this one.

mother of God, i want so much.

i need a haircut.
i need to take deeper breaths.
i need to look more people in the eye.
i need to give away more books.
i need to forget reflections to grasp something solid.
i have mistaken wants for needs.
i need to learn not to do that.

"She is so nice!"

I am substitute teacher, but only for the past two months. In those two months I have become every student's favorite but not because I give out candy (which isn't allowed anyway) or let them use their smartphones, or not make them do the assigned work. I am their favorite because I am nice.

I'm nice?

While I am surprised by the comment, I do not believe it is said in jest. Students are perfectly serious when they compliment my niceness. I have had the chance to observe some of their other teachers...

Now, wait!

I know, I know, I am only a substitute teacher, and, like I said, have only been a substitute teacher for TWO MONTHS. The latter two months of what would be a college fall semester. I don't have the stress of lesson plans. I haven't had to plan lessons while I am sick, nursing children; trying to pay rent or a mortgage, or car repairs. I have not had to attend conferences or meetings. I have not had endless hours grading papers with indecipherable handwriting (worse if it's in neon gel pen!). I have not had to interact with ANY parents. I don't have to silently protest contracts. Nothing. I, as a substitute teacher, have nothing- no problems that stereotypically and truthfully run teachers' lives.

But, if in two months I astonish your students of four months with my niceness is something not wrong?

Everyone has off-days. Totes mcgotes. I get that. I do. I am person therefore I have off-days. You are a person therefore you have off-days, but surely your days can't be so off that you cannot be nice to your students.

I am convinced that adults never stop being children. Adults tell children to stop bulling each other. But do adults ever tell other adults to stop bullying adults? Do adults ever tell other adults to stop bullying children?

It is a lie to believe that bullying only happens to children, or that it's only children who bully other children.  I may not tease Susie about her pig tails anymore, but now her heels are too high and her hair too flat and fake.

What is wrong with me?

I don't understand how any school can promote anti-bullying but allow it to happen with its teachers.

Anytime I walk into a classroom I have had students approach me to ask, "Are you the sub?"

"Yep."

"Just so you know, this is a bad class." And they're not referring to the subject.

I simply look at the student and say, "We'll see." And they are never a bad class. They are just loud.

I've observed that most students associate silence with goodness and noise with badness which would be fine IF THE WORLD WERE THAT BLACK AND WHITE. Both silence and noise are detrimental depending on situation. Some students thrive on studying in puck-rock concerts, while others need places where talk is forbidden. And I understand how hard it is to provide both to a class of 15-30 students, but if you cannot cope with that requirement then you shouldn't be a teacher. Taking out your frustrations on your students is not the way to deal with your frustrations.

Taking out your frustrations on your spouse, or pet, or television, or vegetables, or boss, or peers- that is wrong.

Assuming that that one student who annoyed you once will annoy you all the time, forevermore, also wrong.

And let's be real here: if the worst thing your students do to you is annoy you, maybe you should teach in the projects where peoples issues depend more on life and death than attitude adjustments. I would like to see you solve their problems by yelling at them, or giving them detention, or sending them to the principal's office. Band-aid solutions do not work.

It is amazing how many 'silly', or 'off-topic' things students will say without intending to be 'silly' or 'off-topic'. If you, as a teacher, just ask your student to clarify his statement, he might actually have a point. It might make other students giggle, but it certainly got their attention in a way you couldn't. Students want you to take them seriously as much as you want them to take you seriously. It is a give and take; a two-way street. To suggest it is neither is to miss the point of education.

Sometimes the student isn't be 'silly' or 'off-topic' but is thinking out loud. Sometimes the student may have hit the ball too far left though he thought he hit center--he's not trying to distract you, he is thinking through what you are saying. And when you dismiss his thoughts as 'silly' or 'off-topic' you discourage how he processes things and you therefore discourage his opinion and his input. On a larger scale, you could be discouraging his input and opinion where it matters most: in politics, in economics, in relationships, in art, in science... (Maybe I should reread The Abolition of Man.)

We salute Einstein for being unable to pass elementary school maths but overcoming that, but that's because we know he ended up being Einstein. Will you not give your students the opportunity to be Einstein?

We all know that schools have flaws. Good God, schools are made by people who are flawed- of course our products will turn out flawed, but that does not justify meanness or anger. Anger is and can be justified. We should all be mad there isn't more being done to make better our education system. We should be mad that the ways in which we try to improve our education system are band-aid approaches.

But that isn't the students' faults.

And has it ever occurred to you that students annoy you just to see how mad you could get- that's worth a trip to the principal's office! Now they know ALL your buttons. Good you gave them that. Augh.





I understand it is naive of me to think this way. I understand that some students come with warning labels- some teachers do (there are websites dedicated to rating professors)! But if anti-bullying is supposed to stop children, adults, EVERYONE, from judging a book by its cover, then by being nice I choose also to ignore the reviews.

I do not know these students. I understand they have a reputation. I will let them show me who they are, thank you. They are not my enemy. They are people who want to see what metal I am made of. They want to know if I'll treat them with the respect I ask them to give me.

I wish students were not so dumbstruck by my niceness. I wish we were all nicer to each other. No one has to go to college or university for niceness so it can't be impossible to achieve.

I know the world isn't going to be nice to them, and "That's reality!" but when the world wasn't nice to me it was nice to know I had a few people I could turn to. I do think it's important to prepare students for the 'real world' but not to the point where I have to sacrifice 'niceness'. Once niceness is sacrificed, I've stopped being a student alongside them, and teachers need always to be students alongside them.

life and death in silence

i crave silence.
i eat it (sometimes with it).
i bathe in it (i could preserve water).
i breathe it in, and must breathe it out.
i live in it.
words are not damned here
but provoked to stampedes
or sentenced to death
but at least it was,
and may potentially continue to be.

silence,
death knell or midwife-
how may i help you?

A Study in Membership: Part 02- Guilt

Part 01 of this series was, admittedly, all over the place. I wrote it in about an hour with no prior planning, only a thought. However, Part 01 is not impossible to summarize.

1. I am humbly jaded for fear of arrogance and/or ignorance.
2. I don't understand what it means to belong to a community.
3. Community does not often go hand-in-hand with communing.
4. What is the purpose and intent of a church's physical location (if applicable)?
5. What is the general purpose of a Church member?, regardless of denomination or stature/class.

PERFECT

Numbers 1-5 intertwine. Frankly, they may be inseparable, or are indistinguishable.

But, I think, before I being, I need to clarify a few terms.

• church (lowercase 'c')- a building; an architectural structure; a room
• Church (uppercase 'C')- the body of Christ which is defined in Ephesians 4 (will usually have the article 'the' preceding it)
• visitor- a newcomer to church and has only attended a church once or twice; a person who is not yet a member of a church or the Church (the former refers to physicality; the latter refers to spirituality)
• member- official attendant/participant of a church or the Church
• Gentile- a non-Jewish person

note: These are not thorough terms, nor are they in any way extensive. you might find better definitions on Google. All other unclear terms will be provided with a link. Should you have any suggestions or questions please feel free to message or comment.

Anyway!

The church of which I was recently inducted as a member is non-denominational (it is not vastly different from the Baptist church I previously attended, but let's be real here it definitely wasn't a standard Baptist church). In order to become a member I was (loosely) required to attend a membership class. The class' purpose is stated as follows: "...You are a member of God's very own family...and you belong in God's household with every other Christian." Ephesians 2.19, The Living Bible

I learned from my pastor and Wikipedia :D that The Living Bible is "a loose paraphrase of the more literal translation of the Greek..." (I am telling you, if this were this many translations/interpretations of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice I'd stop reading it, too.)

This verse is not misapplied, but this use, I think, assumes much. I think my church's leadership assumes (and this is a broad assumption) I or any visitor must be visiting because I do not (have not, cannot, will not) belong elsewhere; but here I now can belong. Also, it is my biblical right and duty to belong, like it is my right and duty as a citizen of the USA to vote.

The context of this verse is an epistle, a letter from the apostle Paul to the Ephesians who are neither recently converted to Judaism nor are ethnically Hebrew, but have converted to the 'newest' religion of Christianity (no, it was not called 'Christianity at the time, not officially). Anyway, this is a huge deal! Jews hardly tolerated Samaritans (half-Jew, half-Gentile) how much more so full-Gentile who are converting to a spin-off version of Judaism! W-H-A-T?!

Essentially, the letter to the Ephesians is Paul's assurance (perhaps even reassurance) of the Ephesians new and equal place beside/with God's people; who, by default, because they believe in Christ's death and resurrection, have inherited the ethnic and religious history/foundation of Judaism.

Other than salvation, Christ's death and resurrection also made way for equality so technically, Gentiles are no longer Gentiles (thus neither are Samaritans 'half-breeds').

Broadly speaking, modern-day Christians, like the Ephesians are members not of the church, but of the Church. Individually, 'We also are being built together into a dwelling place for God by the spirit.' Ephesians 2.22 (Talk about your body being a temple, eh?!)

So, if I am individually inhabited by the Holy Spirit, and individually an important part of the body of Christ, I am, by default, a member of the Church. Because, you know, the Body of Christ and the Church are interchangeable.

A problem surfaces when people suggest that the Body of Christ is interchangeable with church. Which!- IMPORTANT!- I am not suggesting that is what my current church of membership is doing because that is an accusation one does not apply quickly (though it is often applied haphazardly).

Speaking of church!- I totes mcgotes did not attend one last Sunday!





My friend and I planned to attend a church not of my membership, just to switch things up a bit. But we didn't attend a church last Sunday because we mistook the starting time for an hour later. Oops. And I'll be totes mcgotes-honest: I did not want to attend church if I couldn't attend one not of my membership. I was not in the mood to socialize, I craved anonymity especially for the sake of this blog series. I wanted to compare two different churches' approach to membership.

Now, confession: I have previously visited the church my friend and I planned to attend, but it had been a while- I needed a refresher on their 'statement of beliefs'! But because we didn't attend, I found other fodder for thought: guilt.

We feel guilt after we have done something wrong. But then there is guilt for when we have done nothing wrong, but someone else thinks we have. Sometimes they are right, but in most cases (from what I have observed) they are wrong.






My alma mater 'forced' me to attend Sunday services, and chapel every MTWThF-morning which doesn't sound bad, but, I mean, when we were children and were forced to do something we hated doing it. This isn't different from being forced to bathe and brush our teeth- those are not things we were forced to 'enjoy'. We didn't need to be preached at to do those things...well, eventually, we did not need to be preached at for those things.

But being forced to go to church is, well, an uneasy topic for most people.

For me, I was not forced to go to church as a child. I just went; so it was really weird for me to have to go to church in college. And not even my home church, but I had to find one where I would fit. In my four at college, away from home, I never found a church I felt I could attend regularly. Now, mind you, emphasis on the word 'felt'.

None of these churches hurt people, or stole money, or anything like that, but I was blinded by the requirement of having to find a new church.

What do you mean I have to find a new church? What do you mean it should only take me two Sundays to find one I like? I've been at my home church for a decade! It's like trying to find a new spouse, after being recently widowed from a loving, and healthy fifty year marriage! And to continue that analogy, it has been ages since I've even considered what I look for in a spouse- what do I look for? The person I was fifty years ago has changed into who I am today!

What do I look for in a church? (There are books on this, you can google it. I have read none of them.)

Whatever it was I looked for, I didn't appreciate feeling guilty for not attending a service. I was in no way punished, but was looked down upon. Heavily.

I didn't understand why I needed to feel guilty for not attending a service. What if I had four papers I need to write that are due Monday? What if I went on a weekend trip? What if I was sick? What if I was going to attend but found a crying, hurting friend and helped her instead of attending church?

You're going to make me feel guilty for having priorities? Don't you want to me to graduate? Don't you want me to be empathetic toward others? Don't you want me to be healthy?

Okay, I'm ranting now.

But, the larger question, is church priority, or Church?

I understand that attending church is one way to worship God, but some people have made this one way the only way.

Tell me if I'm wrong, but there is no where written in the Bible that I have to attend church. No where. What I do need to do is tell others about Christ; to provide and help the un-helped; to love others- to do what everyone considers is good-person things to do.

Listen, I don't not want to attend church- like going to a library or bookstore and seeing others who are like me- that's what church is like: a place where I can find and meet and know people who are like me. Not likeminded, but like me.

This is something that everyone longs for- to connect to others, to make friends- why should something everyone desires innately be forced upon them?





Instead of attending church, me, my friend and her boyfriend went to Whole Foods and ate from their buffet. We sat there and talked and bonded...which is what we would've done had we attended church. I don't want to overgeneralize- I don't want to say that eating at Whole Foods is the same as attending church because it isn't always. But sometimes, it is.

That's probably what the next blog post will be about: what qualifies as church exactly?

the heartbeat

she took her pulse.

it said, "comeagain comeagain comeagain."

each beat encouraging the heart to

"comeagain comeagain comeagain."

goodbye, lost lovers! hello, new life!-

fodder for unborn mouths 

who will know a hunger deeper than ours;

for though closer to the end,

closer to answers

which are buried under questions

manure for vegetables to feed

an insatiable world.

"comeagain comeagain comeagain."

a lullaby for rest;

a trumpet for war--

"comeagain comeagain comeagain"

until Second Adam's heart beats no more.

we shall neither come 

nor leave to come again. 

"comeagain comeagain comeagain come..."

A Study in Membership: Part 01

Happy Thanksgiving!

I was just thinking about the things for which I am thankful when I realized, "I am a member of a church." 

I am not surprised that I am a member of a church. I am not surprised that churches have members (I mean, like official members). I am, however, surprised that I am a member of a church (yes, the tone in which that statement is said differs a great deal from its non-tone twin). 

Someone once described me as 'humbly jaded' because despite being jaded, I am open to new perspectives; in fact, I crave new perspectives, because I have hidden behind mine often enough to know what a- a donkey I can be. 

Admittedly, I should not be so surprised to be a member of a church. I was a member of my previous church. But that's just it. My previous church, I'd attended since I was in kindergarten. I became a member at thirteen (right?) and only left earlier this year for publicly-undisclosed reasons (reasons which have been privately-disclosed among trusted ears). 

Looking for a church these past, what, six-seven months (two of which were spent at a summer camp sans automobile), I found it difficult to belong because I have a complicated relationship with belonging.

Even before I was looking for a church, any time I visited one I was quick to judge it. Not for its theology, or for its lack of organ music, but for its appearance. It's physical, shallow appearance. Not because my home church was just so phenomenal--hardly. But I've always thought it odd how modern American churches insist community without, actually, you know, communing. 

Now, I am not an expert on modern American churches. I haven't even read a David Platt book. Augh. But I have only visited American churches. I have neither the funds nor vehicles to visit churches outside of America...outside of the tri-state area. 

Ferrealsies, though, what does it mean to greet and make new people feel welcome? How do I just accept them and make them feel a part of the community? Because I know when I'm a new person I don't really want you to greet me. I want you to let me sit back for a couple weeks and let me decide whether or not I want you to approach me. Approach me when I'm ready. When it's not my first day. When I have had a chance to swim through jades. When I've had a chance to stop judging you. When I've had a chance to settle in.

Maybe it's because I'm introverted.

I hear churches speak of community without reaching out to it. Or, reaching out to the immediate community.

Down the street from where I live there's a Mormon church which has never reached out to me or my household. A few miles away is a Presbyterian church which has never reached out to me. I am not suggesting these churches are not fulfilling what they purport to be their duty: I have visited neither and do not know the ministries in which they are involved. I am sure (or would like to be sure) that both reach out to their flock, and to the newcomers that do visit.

But what if, in certain cases, as a church, you can only reach out to those who choose to reach out to you? What I mean is, what if the American church isn't 'affecting' its closest neighbors because it has a skewed or exclusive perspective of 'international'. No, I know there are a bajillion blog posts written about helping at home before helping abroad. I've read those. I have been a part of those movements. I'm wondering if maybe that's not so bad. 

Just because a church starts in a certain area with the intent to help that certain area because that's God's thing doesn't mean that will happen. What if when I visit a church, like when I meet a person on the street, I was only meant to visit once, and my not coming back is not a tragedy, but a blessing. 

I am choosing to attend and be a member of a church that is fifteen minutes away, instead of one that is five minutes away. Am I the only one that thinks this is funny? Nothing is wrong with the church that's five minutes away, but where did I feel I could best serve; where did I feel most welcome, most safe? Fifteen minutes away- a church I'd never heard of before. 

Is their lack of publicity and my lack of acknowledging its existence a problem? 

No, but I think too often modern American churches make it a problem because we don't understand that, as a church, we can only reach out to so many people in a certain area. We can only positively (or negatively) impact a community as much as it is willing to allow impact. 

Perhaps the church five minutes away from me is consistently positively impacting a community thirty minutes away- a community it didn't expect to impact. 

And now, as an official member (I have a fancy certificate and everything) will I be okay with that? Will I be able to participate in that? Will I add or detract from my new home church. Will I be brave enough to say 'hello' to the veteran members? Will I now say 'hello' to new members who, too, might be humbly jaded? 

Churches may intend to affect their immediate surrounding area, but sometimes, that just isn't what God has in mind. I live fifteen minutes away from my church's surrounding area (that may not seem like very far away, but to some it is)- I can't imagine I was part of my church's plan.  But then, that's the beauty of it all, right? 

So, I'm a member of a church who's intentions, though stated clearly, are subject to divine intervention. Excuse me, I have to go figure out what that really means. If you want to see what I make of church membership, look out for Parts 02, 03, 04- maybe Parts determined indefinite. 

Holla. 

Happy Thanksgiving!

modern, right? ehehe,

without skin

i think like the rest of the reading world i have fallen in love with Stephen Collins' The Gigantic Beard that was Evil. it's incredibly hard not to love it. just like the back of the book says "totes surreal- like ferrealsies." really, that's what the back of the book said, and you can always trust what the back of the book says about the inside of a book.

duh.

i was so incredibly enthralled by this book i wrote a poem.

if you haven't read it you'll still understand my poem. if you have, however, read it, then, well, you'll understand my poem.

if you have my poem, thank you for keeping it.

ahem, here it is ::

i am here
but i am from there,
and i have taken there to here.
because i thought it looked very similar.
i thought it met the standard.

you are here
but you are from there.
a there different from mine.

my here [is] your there.
your here, my there.

also someone else's.

a matter of perspective, location, relation.
labeled, re-labeled; then ignored,
buried under sheets and dirt and plastic and stone.
to be discovered later by someone
who will think it's from there,
though it's been here
before someone was.

yes, someone who will bring there to here
though it already was.

i am here.

"There are no foreign lands. It is the traveler only who is foreign." -Robert Louis Stevenson

In Half- Half-Truths

this past week i've jotted down ideas that've possessed me with the intention of expanding those ideas here in my blog, but either (1) i haven't had time or (2) i didn't know how to expand those ideas. let's go wit (3) both of the above!

so, here we go.

I periodically listen to the radio theatre version of the Chronicles of Narnia (and i still cry every time I hear it.) I got around to listening to The Magician's Nephew and heard this part with new ears:

"Son of Adam," said Aslan, "you have sown well. And you, Narnians, let it b e your first care to guard this Tree, for it is your Shield. The Witch of whom I told you has fled far away into the North of the world; she will live on there, growing stronger in dark Magic. But while that Tree flourishes she will never come down into Narnia. She dare not come within a hundred miles of the Tree, for its smell, which is joy and life and health to you, is death and horror and despair to her."

Everyone was staring solemnly at the Tree when Aslan suddenly swung round his head (scattering golden gleams of light from his mane as he did so) and fixed his large eyes on the children. "What is it, children?" he said, for he caught them in the very act of whispering and nudging one another.

"Oh--Aslan, sir," said Digory, turning red, "I forgot to tell you. The Witch has already eaten one of those apples, one of the same kind that Tree grew from." He hadn't really said all he was thinking, but Polly at once said it for him. (Digory was always much more afraid than she of looking a fool.)

"So we thought, Aslan," she said, "that there must be some mistake, and she can't really mind the smell of those apples."

"Why do you think that, Daughter of Eve?" asked the Lion.

"Well, she ate one."

"Child," he replied, "that is why all the rest are now a horror to her. That is what happens to those who pluck and eat fruits at the wrong time and in the wrong way. The fruit is good, but they loathe if ever after."

"Oh, I see," said Polly. "And I suppose because she took it in the wrong way it won't work for her. I mean it won't make her always young and all that?"

"Alas," said Aslan, shaking his head. "It will. Things always work according to their nature. She has won her heart's desire; she has unwearying strength and endless days like a goddess. But length of days with an evil heart is only length of misery and already she begins to know it. All get what they want; they do not always like it."

"I--I nearly ate one myself, Aslan," said Digory. "Would I--"

"You would, child," said Aslan. "For the fruit always work--it must work--but it does not work happily for any who pluck it at their own will. If any Narnia, unbidden, had stolen an apple and planted it here to protect Narnia, it would have protected Narnia. But it would have done so by making Narnia into another strong and cruel empire like Charn, not the kindly land I meant it to be. And the Witch tempted you to do another thing, my son, did she not?"

"Yes, Aslan. She wanted me to take an apple home to my Mother."

"Understand, then, that it would have healed her; but not to your joy or hers. The day would have come when both you and she would have looked back and said it would have been to die in that illness."

And Digory could say nothing, for tears choked him and he gave up all hopes of saving his Mother's life; but at the same time he knew that the Lion knew what would have happened, and that there might be things more terrible even than losing someone you love by death. But now Aslan was speaking again, almost in a whisper:

"That is what would have happened, child, with a stolen apple. It is not what will happen now. What I give you now will bring joy. It will not, in your world, give endless life, but it will heal. Go. Pluck her an apple from the Tree." 

So, upon hearing this, I wondered, "If Adam and Eve had not given into the serpent's temptation...do you think, in time, God would've let them partake of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil?"

Because God knew Good and Evil. Knowing Good and Evil doesn't make one evil/bad/mischievous/suspicious.

Because Satan did tell a half-truth: they will be like God in knowing Good and Evil. They will be like God- as in, they themselves will be a pair of gods.

But just like how I can't be Amy or Susan or Avery or whoeverthehellIadmire I can only be me. I can aspire to be like God who is kind, and gentle and all-knowing, but yeah-. I can't be Amy or Susan or Avery. I can admire what they do and do what they do in my own way, but I will never be them.

And then I wonder...what would it have been like to know about Evil without being tempted to do Evil.





I have also been in the middle of reading Animal, Vegetable, Miracle by Barbara Kingsolver.

Now, mind you, I've just started this little food-kick of mine so my opinions on food production and sustainability; etc. are, well, dim, compared to bright-white light bulbs-opinions. So, feel free to correct me if I'm 'wrong' or something not-right.

Anyway, anyway, Ms. Kingsolver is on neither side when talking about large food companies like Monsanto, or those golden arches, but I have wondered... I understand you use real food- you just reshape it into something familiar and friendly coast to coast. Yeah, I know you get your potatoes from real potato farmers.

I understand that the preservatives you put in your food aren't too harmful.

And, I do eat at your restaurants. I am hardly one to deny someone treating me, or a quick french-fry-impulse-fulfillment. But...that's a lot of only one kind of potato.  And with the mass production of all that one-kind-of-potato, how's the soil doing?

But, are you only telling me half the truth?

I have no idea what the other half of that truth is, but what does that matter? I'm already receiving this half of the truth- I think it's enough to know it's a half-truth to be upset I'm not worth the whole-truth.

I don't mind the convenience of food because just like I would read for hours on end, I would love to spend hours cooking, perfecting that crockpot of mac & cheese but other things need to be done, like paying bills. I just-. Don't arm me with tools that only do a slightly good job, but put all the money in your pockets.

Ordering from the dollar menu will just help me put my money toward diabetes medicine.





And then I came across the 'Whiteness Project'.

Race is sticky. Stickier than bathing in honey, but like the picture above ^^

I am so glad you think all humans are equal, but did it ever occur to you that the majority of people don't think that? I am more than thankful that if/when you come across me you won't ask if I speak English well, but by denying that people do actually ask me that you are diminishing the problems I do face; the problems I wish I didn't face. You, oddly, become one of those problems.

"That doesn't happen to you. That shouldn't happen to you."

"Thank you. I know."

Are you doing anything to help it not-happen to me? 

And I am different. People are different. Cultures, and geographies, and food--all very different. 

It's not that I want to be treated differently; I don't wish to be different, not in that sense. I just want to be a human being, color-blind and stuff, but I can't. 

And because I can't I have to do something about it. 

I wish you didn't feel guilty for being white, but maybe now you can know what it's like to feel guilty for being not-white. 

And what is so wrong with feeling guilty, anyway?

Maybe it's just me, guilt is when you understand how hurting people feel--really, the people you hurt, consciously or unconsciously. When someone doesn't feel guilt that does not immediately imply innocence, just a lack of understanding. A lack of empathy or sympathy. A lack of justice. 

We are all fed a half-truth, suggesting that race and culture don't matter because they are all the same because we are all human. But that is not true at all. I think all these problems started because we tried to treat too many different people in the same way. 

I know lynching is illegal now, but lynching wasn't the only form of racism. If anything, racism today is far more passive aggressive and personal, as opposed to physical. But passive aggressive racism doesn't make the news. Ferguson does. So when we talk about Ferguson most people don't understand how something as extreme as this could happen because they don't know the millions of passive aggressive actions that took place beforehand.

I know stuff like that shouldn't happen, but knowing doesn't stop things from happening. 

And as for fulfilling racial quotas, do you think people of an obvious race appreciate only being hired for their skin color, so that it looks like the said company isn't racist? No, no. 

These are half-truths. We're all talking about the bandage without acknowledging the deep, bleeding wound the bandage is trying to heal. 

I'll be honest. I didn't need 'The Whiteness Project' to tell me how white people feel. I know how you feel. Everything you said is everything I have felt. You may feel colorless, like the chair in the room that's always been there, but that's not so different from feeling colored and the new chair in the room. 

People are people: everyone will always feel abused in one way or another, but your inability to empathize with how I am abused does not make me any less abused. 

from my journal, 21 August 2014:

"Now that I am aware of my hoity-toity-judgmentally-female-dog Christianity I can work on it and be a real little Christ. So, that’s exciting. (I wish I could introduce you to everyone I’ve met.)

...Presently, I cannot decide if my experience in the office has been a blessing or a ‘curse’ (as much as any curse a young, middle-class, first-world Asian American would experience) because I find that I am always in the unique position of viewing both (sometimes all) sides. That sounds arrogant—it sounds as though I’m implying I empathize with all sides. I am not implying that; I am saying rather that I am consistently put into situations that challenge my original perspective. I do not seem to be allowed to keep my first impressions. I am doomed to speculate over my first impressions, attempting to maintain a second, third, and fourth.

They (whoever ‘they’ really are) did not lie when they said, ‘The help know everything.’ “Why, Justine, do the help know everything?” “BECAUSE YOU DON’T BLEEPIN’ PAY ATTENTION TO THE HELP THAT’S WHY! AT THAT POINT WE ARE WALLS WITH ELECTRIC SOCKETS THAT YOU USE TO RECHARGE YOUR FIRST IMPRESSIONS.”

First impressions?

Yes, first impressions, because I have been wondering a lot lately about ignorance and ‘revelation’ (so to speak for lack of a better word) and I have concluded, or at least came up with this awesome sentence: “My lack of experience [in racism and/or prejudice] does not diminish the experience of tens, hundreds, thousands, millions.”

I have been protected most of my life to have experience little amounts of racism and prejudice: most racial comments directed at me are, “Oh! I thought you were younger. It’s because you’re Asian. Asian people are eternally youthful.” “You look so exotic.” “I didn’t think you could be from the Philippines; your English is too good for that.”

And if I age- if, when I’m thirty I start wrinkling- am I not really Asian?

‘Exotic’ is a word used to describe foods and atmospheres: I am of neither category.

I think you meant to say, ‘You speak English too well to be directly from the Philippines.’ Although, for the record, I have cousins born and raised in the Philippines who speak English without ‘an accent’. So. There."

Away (circa 2012)

I looked to my left and right, tempted to turn around although I know that I should not, so I hold onto my father’s hand tighter, my palms sweaty from anxiousness; the heat couldn’t have affected me for it wasn’t hot outside. The weather felt a perfect spring. As my father and I kept walking tears passed from my eyes to my face, both happy and sad; both with impatience and with patience. Finally, my father tugged at my arm, causing me to look up into his smiling face. He did nothing to wipe away my tears, merely watched every one that fell. His eyes asked, What are you thinking? I laughed uneasily and slightly embarrassed. He tugged at my arm again, so gently, that perhaps he wasn’t tugging at my arm at all, just swaying his arm as we walk.

My mouth opened of its own accord and I said, half asking, “I think I like that young man.” At this point, both my hands were wrapped around my father’s arm, expecting something to be said or done but not sure what. My entire body read ‘expectation’ although my mind could not read the words.

My father smiled. “I know. He is a very good young man.”

“Yes,” I agreed as quietly as I possibly could afraid that I would hear myself and agree more than I should. I blushed and giggled. “Yes. He is.” I repeated. I wanted to ask fifty three more questions that all revolved around my left hand but I said nothing, knowing that my mind already gives away much.

“You want to know if you will see him again.”

I nod my head shamelessly and skip ahead so that my father would not see me blush. “I know we’re walking away from him,” I called back as I began to walk backwards. “So I suppose that means I am not his; he is not mine-. But that makes me think of Lewis’ illustration of the cliff and the town*…but I also want you to know, Papa, that if you are leading me away-away I know that I must be okay with that. I just- well, I don’t know, Papa. I’m just talking, wishing and praying.”

He kissed the top of my head and placed my hand in the crook of his right arm. “I am leading you where you need to go.”

“Yes” I said, my childlikeness overpowering my adulthood. “I should just wait and see then, huh?”

He abruptly pulled me into a bear hug, lifting me off my feet and scaring me because of it. I punched him though nothing I could do would hurt him.

“You must also do! You must also do!” he screamed this in my ear, but I shoved him away, playfully irritated.

“What must I do, Papa?”

“What I ask.” He laughed, an excited look on his face; he pulled me to run with him. “Come,” he said. “This way! Are you ready for your next adventure?!”





*I'll find the direct quotation for you soon!

your turn

if you sat right across from me
i would have nothing to say to you
not because i have nothing to say;
but because it is your turn to speak.

you'll never meet a listener quite like me.

poor aim

i know i dodged a bullet

but then that means you dodged a bullet, too.

i do not want to be a bullet.

i want to be the target you missed. 

Commentary

Once I invited my best friend and her brother to come to church with me. Someone or other had told me that to invite friends to church is a good deed done unto everyone, and God. So, I invited them because I wanted to do a good deed. And, you know, she's my best friend, I want her to be a part of my life in that way. 

My family and I picked them up. They walked down their front steps and I thought, "They are too dressed up." I mean, I'm all about Sunday best, I guess, but I was only in fifth or sixth grade--I knew nothing about women's suits for preteens and that's what my friend wore. Her brother wore something similar. They were matching. They're not twins, but for a second I thought they were.

Church was church. I barely remember what went on. I remember I decided to sit in the third row, and I remember my best friend's brother kept asking when we were going to eat because he's hungry. I shrugged. 

Then we had communion. And my best friend's brother was like, "YES! FOOD!"

But it was only one small cup of grape juice, and one teeny tiny piece of matza bread. He downed both as though he'd never eaten and asked me, "Can I have more?" 

I did my best not to laugh. 

Then one of them dropped a book. 

I don't remember being embarrassed, but my parents were. My parents, before church began, asked, "Are you sure you want to sit in the third row? So close to the front?"

"Duh, we always sit there."

I think about the way people act in church. Then about the way people act outside of church. 

Sometimes in public places children will throw embarrassing fits- well, the children are fine, it's the parents who are embarrassed (well done, kid). And most onlookers will mumble, "Get your kid under control." or "What bad parents." or "That kid needs to be spanked." or "That kid is spoiled." 

Such unnecessary commentary. 

Sometimes in public places people trip over nothing. Onlookers will laugh and/or tease. Perhaps trip over nothing, too, cheeks burning red, eyes looking everywhere but passersby. 

Then behavior in church...

I am church kid, but I'm not a church kid. Let me put it this way: I did not grow up knowing 'Jesus' as the right answer to everything. I was unfamiliar with how to act in public situations, and though adults perceived me to be a quiet kid my parents knew otherwise. 

I laughed very loudly. 

I spoke loudly. 

I made faces loudly. 

I was just loud. 

I inspired many passersby and onlookers to comment on or about me. I inspire commentary. Some might say I deserve commentary. I mean, somebody's got'a tell me I'm doing something wrong. Yeah. Right. 

Today is the first Sunday of the month- most churches have communion on the first Sunday of the month. 

Another fun fact, I've been attending this church consistently for a couple months now--super new for me. (Note: this church is different from the one I mentioned above.) When I visit a new church I tend to be very skeptical. Not like, "Oh, is this church going to convince me to believe in God. Again?!" I am just skeptical by nature; analytical and jaded. I am really jaded. I am amazed at how jaded I am.

Today I partook of communion and reflected on the past communions in which I did not partake. I wondered why I didn't partake. 

In one church I visited several times over an extended period, the church had its congregation come up to one of two tables where rested the cups of juice and plates of bread. I did not partake because I was a visitor, and didn't want to stand in line with people I assumed would look at me funny. 

Augh.

Some communions in which I did not partake I hadn't spent enough time reflecting on my sins. Even though I was told ahead of time we'd have communion the following week, I didn't spend the following week reflecting on my sins. And I knew that to partake of communion with an impure heart would doubly damn me.

Right? 

Well, however I thought way back when, I missed the point of communion. 

Whatever communion means to you, it doesn't just mean the elements of the Last Supper. It's not just the bread and the wine. Nope. Now, I'm no linguist, but I don't think it's a coincidence that word 'communion' and 'community' have the same beginning 'com'- with; a sharing (dictionary.com). 

Whatever communion is to you, it is not taken in solitude. It is taken with others. And as much as any community relies on individuals, individuals too preoccupied with their role in the community are likely to overlook actually acting out that role. 

I am not saying that my not partaking in communion disrupted others, but I did prevent myself from, you know, communing. 

I was so worried with what an onlooker or passerby would think instead of reflecting upon what the elements of bread and wine represent. Worried I didn't spend enough time in self-loathing...I mean reflection.

I partook communion today more thankful for Christ's death and resurrection than I was worried about people's perception of me even if I tripped over myself, don't appear to be able to raise kids, dropped a book on the floor of a silent auditorium full of people, or asked if more juice and crackers were coming round. 

If a stranger's commentary shouldn't matter that much to me, how much less should the lies I tell myself matter? (So much less.)

Trust me, I am all about growth and criticism, but seriously, neither of those should ever encompass the God who made commentary and tripping over nothing possible. That's probably why I've never thought 'Jesus' was the right answer. It felt too broad, and no one ever cared to explain the details of that breadth. 'Jesus' is not the equivalent of 'abracadabra'. 

middle school

in my mind i execute
tasks with grace and fervor.
in my mind i dictate
decisions and opinions.
in my mind i manipulate
and i question
and i steal.

i suffer all the consequences i administer.

in my mind i am my only tenant.
i am the queen,
the president,
the government,
the people.

i do not share jurisdiction.

i oversee and judge.
i embrace and indulge.
i forbid and deny.
i am the only one here.

in my mind
i am the audience
the conductor,
and the performer.

i am the guest and the host.

i am my only tenant.

my eyes may not agree with my ears,
and my heart and my head wrestle endlessly
i am the only referee.

i have requested roommates,
but they have their own minds in which they
execute, dictate, manipulate, question, or steal.
minds in which they suffer the consequences they administer.

but sometimes
i visit the tip of my tongue to wave 'hello, would you like to hear what i have to say?'

unknown desires

my desires are not unmet.
they are unknown.
in the desert regions of my body
where i excavate for clues
to answers
to existential crises
i met with diamonds in the rough
i do not have the technology
to collect or
to polish.

i am afraid i will always have parts of me
unknown.
but i am not loathe to recruit help.
i should welcome another's hands
working alongside mine.

i am willing to trade secrets.

silhouettes

the boy with the bike and the girl with the book.

a dog accompanied the boy.

a scarf adorned the girl's neck.

he saw her face;

she did not see his.

two silhouettes under dim street lights

walking/biking together

hands busy with exercise and knowledge-

empty of another's grasp.

separated at the corner

never again to see the other's shadow.

the boy with the bike and the girl with the book

the dog that should've tugged at her scarf

so that the boy would fall over his bike

running to apologize to the girl

whose shadow he could see another time

perhaps under daylight

at a sweet lunch set for two.

white light.

white light,
you are not very forgiving.
you signify near death
("Don't go toward the light!")
or an unearthly amount of imperfection.
white light,
i know neither are avoidable.
and one generally entails the other
("Drop dead gorgeous!" "If looks could kill, she'd be a zombie.").
no, i'm not very pretty;
added to that, i don't try very hard.
good God, i look diseased,
my skin pockmarked and scarred.
red like the signature lips of pin-up girls
and hollywood dames.
but this is the wrong red.

you should see me in the cool shade of trees.
under strobe light, sun light, moon light;
at dusk!
the early shades of morning!
under blinking Christmas lights, and star light;
in front of head lights,
and through candle light.
because under white light you see imperfection,
but you certainly don't see me.

white light,
you are a prism away from a rainbow.

Dear Old Crushes,

Hey. How are you? I know. It has been a while since we've spoken...although, we never spoke initially so-. Oh? You've been meaning to get in touch? Just like I've been meaning to keep a hyena as a pet. No, totally, I've been researching it: hyenas are housebreakable. I googled it.

Thank you, I have been well. Do I look different? Yeah, that generally happens over time. You look different, too. Are we complimenting each other? Right, right, right. Of course.

You're all probably wondering why I've gathered you all here today. And why I refused to do this individually. I figured it would be less date-like, you know, if we met together as a group like this. Because orgies aren't an option.You can keep that to yourselves.

Basically, I want to say, I'm sorry if I ever creeped you out. My bad. I was learning. I'm not that person anymore. Oh, and I also wanted to say, I'm glad we didn't work out- no, I know, of course: you were never interested like that. No need to be defensive. I am just saying, for who I was at the time, and for whoever the hell you were at the time we were a match made in heaven. At the time, we were just what we needed. How's that? How do I know? Because we changed each other. You don't feel that much different? Trust me: you've changed but I can't speak for the profundity of the change; that's on you, broski--you are your own person. And I don't really know you, at all. I haven't seen you since I last liked you. I'm not the best person to ask about your personal development.

And, you're a human being, aren't you? Of course you've changed. That's what humans do.

Okay, so. You are dismissed. Oh, you want to stay behind for a little?

I think you may've misunderstood me: there is no future for us. No, no. See, I didn't change for you. I changed because of you. And remember, you were just a crush. And if you did have a crush on me, apparently you were too nervous or ashamed to say anything. No, I don't know that you missed a chance.

We missed nothing.

How do I know we can't be something now?

I don't, but I'm also not willing to see if we could be. And my lack of interest mixed with your mysterious intent does not a good cocktail make. I am flattered, as I should be, I know.

Seriously, you are dismissed.

Is someone else in the picture?

So, here's another thing I've learned since crushing on you: no one else needs to be in the picture for me to deny you. I have learned that I don't need a romantic interest. I am enough reason to say 'no'.

You don't care.

No, you don't need to explain yourself to me. You don't need me.

Yes, you have a nice life, too.

I do wish you the best.

lately.

you might feel i have no reason to be brave--
i'd be tempted to agree.
but not tempted enough.
i'd take greater pleasure in proving you wrong.

----

is this awkward for you, too?
trying to fit words into cohesive sentences-
sentences that can be responded to.
oh, i am not as witty as i think.
no, no. good night to you, too.
no, i shouldn't like to keep you up.

Because of-.

So, my feet hate me. Like hate me. If my feet had individual hearts, theirs would be pounding with thoughts of murder and anarchy. But, as they say, Mind over matter. Let's be real: my feet didn't hurt that badly that I needed to stay in bed the rest of the day. I wanted to go to Philly and I wanted to visit the MoMA.

Besides, I was enduring self-chosen punishment for poor footwear.

Cute shoes do not a comfortable walk make.

Seriously, though- adorable shoes, and more durable than I expected! 

Do you know how to use a mirror? What's it for? 

A couple weeks before today I'd written this blog post where I wrote, "The funny thing about reflections is that what is reflected depends entirely on the angle from which you view it." 

Whenever I watched 'What Not to Wear' I completely empathized with those who had to go into the 360 mirror. Holy-. 

"Is that what I looked like while talking to him?!"  

Well, yes.

And no.

Should I approach a mirror I might straighten my posture, brush aside a curly strand of hair from my forehead, double check my complexion; etc. But that's my facing the mirror directly. If I stood on top of the mirror, or if it was directly overhead, or shaped like the Bean (Cloud Gate) in Chicago. Would I like what I see? 

Because to see something I don't expect could be daunting.

Have you walked into the 'Infinity Mirror Room'? (I haven't, but I'm told it's surreal.)

Because it starts out like this,

and ends up,

Does anyone really know how large this room is? What do you mean I can't walk further out?

Mirrors offer a great place of illusion. (I'd say delusion, but I'm not psychologist.)

Two days ago was not my first time in Philadelphia. Yesterday was not my first time in NYC. A few scattered weeks ago was not my first time in the Greater Scranton-Wilkes Barre area. Last January and December was not my first time in the Philippines, or China for that matter. I visit Niagara Falls and Toronto often enough, I'm surprised I haven't made a rut in the ground...but that would be why I pay tolls. 

It could be because I am sentimental that traveling is surreal to me. 

When I look around places where I have been, I recall what I did there. I, in the future (so to speak), recall what my past self (so to speak) was doing. I think of who I was, and who I am now, and am generally shattered by emotional, mental and physical (no, I still haven't got a six pack) transformations that I hadn't see growing below the surface. 

I had looked in mirrors and reflections seeing no change--I mean, save my pixie cut--hating the immobility of my life and person. "Why haven't I changed?" I'd croon.

But like watching paint dry and seeds break free of dirt, I did change, just change that was out of my control. 

(Always out of my control, aren't you, God?) 

No, I didn't exactly look like that when talking to him, but I did. 

As far as I am aware, I haven't undergone plastic surgery, so I look like the 23-year-old version of my 5-year-old version. I have some things about myself that I don't like (who. the hell. doesn't?). But if a reflection is dependent upon the angle from which you view it, I don't have his eyes. What he sees is going to be different from what I see. 

It just is.

Passers-by aren't going to know that I my feet are killing me because I don't act like my feet are killing me. I haven't told anyone. Haven't put it on a poster-board asking for donations for new shoes (FWP, much?) because scaling the MoMA's walls, and wandering around Philadelphia's Center City meant more to me than my pain...ish. 

Ha, I did mention it once or twice to a few people, but I still ran up Rocky's steps :D

Because outside Center City and the MoMA are homeless men and women and children who don't directly benefit from my touristy monies. 

Like this BuzzFeed: New York on Instagram vs. New York in Real Life. Neither is an entirely tru depiction of New York- it's not that bad, and it's DEFINITELY not that good, but why should that matter? Just let it be. Enjoy all the angles from which you can view these places, and those that send a shiver down your spine- maybe that's a call for you to do something about it. Because a reflection depends not just from the angle, but also he or she who views it. 





My sentiment is daily breached when I move from one place to another. I miss certain places not generally because of the place, but because of the people that were there with me. I mean, now every time I listen to Ed Sheeran's "I See Fire" I am transported back to the Philippines (I can even smell it). How's that? Because I listened to it 165+ times on repeat while I was there.

Suffice to say, I could do without ever seeing Scranton again, but one of my best friends lives there. And there, I made better friends.

Because some years ago visiting this place, I had different intentions, and was with different people. Some of those intentions have evolved, and some people have left.  I should not exchange any of these experiences for the world because it somehow brought me where I am today, despite not really having gone anywhere.

Or, it could be that I am psychotic.

Either way, I am not who I was. Because of travel. Because of people. Because of situation. Because of little to no money. Because of everything that catches my eye. Because life.

That's so cool.

How could it be that every day is the same, but I engage retrospect and everything's changed?

Well, now to attempt a couple poems. 

for the stranger

a shared smile is a shared heart.
so it is with a look, a touch, and a laugh;
a kiss.
but do not force this.
i prefer an honest frown to a lying grin.
turn away if you mean less than you say.
i will share joy--
my grief is mine.

cold mornings.

if nights pursue darker thoughts
mornings induce cold ones.
fresh with dew,
untouched by light;
yet to grow throughout the day;
forced into maturity by the impending sunset
where thoughts must learn to fend against doubts.

cold thoughts draped over my face
like a sheer wedding veil.
like fog surrounding trees.
these thoughts bid me thither:
"come, stay. lie with me."
thoughts unaware of change and development;
unaware of the afternoon sun about to scorch them dry.

thoughts are
friends of clouds,
friends of shadows;
friends of caves and warm spots under woven blankets.
but my thoughts do not bury me.
they'd never promise salvation.
but i am discomfited without them.

if nights pursue darker thoughts
mornings induce cold ones:
eager to awake and exercise. 

18 August 2014

how easily the heart rises and falls.
the heart is all permanence, sure of its assumptions;
yet reality is inconsistent, eager to be misread.
i should've wanted your heart.
i did. i did want it.
but with or without your heart i've got the love i need.
i've too much of what i need
to waste any room for what i want.

i think.

my heart disagrees with my head.
my heart says to my head, "there's no such thing as excess of love!"
my mind replies, "i am afraid to be reckless."

but lately, friends accuse me of bravery i didn't know i possessed.
i should hate to regret considering you unworthy of risk.

i might want your heart. maybe.
i don't know. i do care.

Five years past.

I haven't been asked what I want for my birthday since I turned nineteen. I am five years past nineteen now.

Well, it's not that I knew what I wanted for my birthday anyway.

"Justine! What would you like for your birthday?"
"..." BRAIN FART.

Seriously. All that pressure in one question, how am I supposed to recollect everything I've wanted for the past year? Maybe I should make an Instagram account based on everything I want throughout the year so that when I am asked, I could instruct you to search the hashtag *justinewants.Thaaaaaaaaat's not selfish. Not remotely selfish.

No.

Not.

Selfish.

Anyway, on the off chance you are thinking of getting me something, I have one request: don't get me anything.

What I would like for you to do is donate money to my favorite charities.

1. World Vision Mali/Philippines
2. Project 7
3. Restore Her
4. ONE
5. Slow Food USA 

You can be sure I am thankful for everything everyone's ever given me, but let's be honest: I am middle-class Asian-American toting around an iPhone, complaining about tepid water, and owning too many jeans--I don't think I really need anything else. I can't be grateful for things I can or will get if I'm not grateful for things now.

Should you donate something in honor of my birthday, please let me know! I would love to express my thanks and wishes to return the favor.

Or, if you have charities that you like that you think I would like, let me know! There's always room for charity, grace, kindness, and positivity.

Thanks. You guys are great.




My birthday is 1 September. Holy-!

delete

i would delete any trace of you-
though what if i met you again?
i'd have to make the same mistakes.
again.

you are not worth meeting-for-the-first-time twice.

"Just call me Jennifer." or "Reflective Angles"

So, if you're wondering why July and August are bare of blog posts it's because I've been away at camp. I even chose to stay longer at camp.




This morning I went on a quick walk down to the lake. I sat not at its edge mostly because the gate was locked, but from where I sat I had a view well enough to appreciate. I don't know that I was conscious of what I was thinking- I was just thinking, praying my coughing wouldn't disturb the morning air...it did.

Like any mass of water it reflects what is around it,

from my journal today

I wondered what it would be like living in a reflection.

But then I wondered what the reflection must look like from the other side of the lake.

Then I thought, "The funny thing about reflections is that what is reflected depends entirely on the angle from which you view it."

Which would explain the innate desire to twist and manipulate images when I don't like what I see--I forget I'm viewing it at a different angle than yesterday, or a minute ago. It's still me- it's still the lake- I just happen to prefer one angle as opposed to the infinite number of other angles.




Self-reflection is key to who I am. I'm sure a lot of people can relate to that. I tend to be on the more obsessive end of self-reflection, but there it is- because of this I tend to forgo an observer's reflection of me. Not consciously though, I know I tend to seek out advice and criticism, and yet, I still funnel out all things I don't like to hear.

I accepted this job I have at camp without qualms, save one: "So, are you ready to join us, Jennifer?"

My prospective boss called me 'Jennifer' despite the rest of the conversation calling me 'Justine'. I considered telling him, "It's funny, my best friend's name is Jennifer," but I declined that little anecdote and replied instead, "So...my name is Justine? It is Justine."

"Oh! That- that was a test! Your name is Justine. I am ----. Justine, would you like to come work with us?"

Then I accepted and came without further qualms.

But I was told to have qualms, none of which I will list here because some worries should be kept private. Besides, most of these worries are FWP (First World Problems) which aren't generally problems in the long run anyway. But I wanted to come, needed to- I couldn't really tell you why, only that if I didn't go I would regret it.

I jumped both feet in and though I cringed on the drive down to the camp my experience since then has been, to say the least, encouraging, enlightening, and wonderful. I think all the more so because I came into it without any expectations or plans. I just kind of did it.

 

The above has been my mantra for a bit, given to me by one of my fellow counselors. I kinda, sorta (not really) apologize for the swear word.

Those words resonate with me mostly because I have been far too timid and judgmental. I have weighed balances I don't have; foreseen occurrences that never occurred.To a certain extent, I have pretended to know so many things without really knowing. Why do I do that? 

I don't want to pretend I know things. I don't want to assume I know exactly what you'll be like, or that I know exactly what will happen.

I have worked under the premise that I know nothing, but its twisted its head on me: I knew nothing and therefore knew everything. That's incredibly stupid.

I suppose before I took this job I saw only one thing: I got the job. What else is there to see? As much as I enjoy writing, I was tired of sitting around and doing nothing. One can only have so much time to oneself before one goes insane. Honestly, self-reflection can become psychotic without exterior perspective.

And thus came the newer angles from which I began to see my life.

I speak of taking risks without actually taking them.

I judge and hold onto my judgements more firmly and aggressively than I knew.

And yet, I also adapt to various situations incredibly well without coming across as high and mighty. ...knock on wood.

When did all this happen to me?

Why haven't I looked at myself from this angle yet? Where have I been hiding myself?

Who knew I could be capable of such elementary, childlike bravery?

Who knew I could laugh so loudly and well, and gain so many blessed new friends?

I ask all this and the answer couldn't be plainer, though it is very Sunday-schoolish: God.

Now, moving on! Time to see what's next!




Seriously, though, if the swear word bothers you... :P

wishing.

i am very good at hoping.
that is all i ever seem to do.
i have hoped under distant stars and blinding city lights.
i have hoped with fingers crossed, laced in another's hand.
i have hoped fearfully and joyfully.
i have hoped senselessly.
i have hoped ridicule on some; peace where i saw fit.
i have hoped despite facts and unbidden truths.

i have hoped.

or was i wishing, all that time?

hoping.

i was lucky to know you.
luckier, even, to leave you.
i was blessed to have loved you.

i could still love you.
if i tried.
although, i am the epitome of trying.
i've not mastered succeeding.
no, perhaps i can no longer love you.

i am not happy because you're happy.
i just am happy.
i don't care why or how you're happy--
i just hope that you are.

i am very good at hoping.

you don't miss me when i'm with you.

you don't miss me when i'm with you.
i can tell.
you don't seek me out of the crowd.
you don't ask me questions to get to know me.
you don't share jokes with me.

but then i don't miss you when you're with me.
i have never missed you.
i know you know that.

why do you miss me?

you must have different versions of me:
one in real life and the other in your mind.

we are friends in your mind.

in my mind; in my real life
you are just a person.

Tomorrow is Set-ish

Dear God,
   I don't know if I did this on purpose but now I'm not so worried about the impending school year. ...although the word 'impending' is ominous, generally applied to storms. Anyway, I mean, I don't have, like, a plan. I have back-up plans. I know, I know. A back-up plan requires an initial plan, but my initial plan isn't really a plan so much as a ploy- a scheme- though without the negative connotations of ploys and schemes.
   (Honestly, can we have no secrets without ulterior motives?!)
   I'm just, you know, ready.
   Especially now that I have this short-term job. Thanks for that. I didn't think I'd get it. And I kind of don't know what to do with it. I mean, I know how to do the job, but I'm so surprised that I actually got a job-. It's surreal.
   I've already made a list of books I plan on bringing with me.
   Thank you, God, for your help. Thank you for your subtlety in my life. Thank you for not pounding on my head and heart. Thank you for just guiding me and nudging me, and for the occasional, "Seriously, Tine, go that way. There's no other way."
   I'm not excited for the future, no, but at this point not-dreading it is a plus.
   Thanks. Really.
   Thanks for the creative ways in which you approach me, and my sisters, and parents, and extended family, and friends, and strangers. Thank you for being so...individual. For mixing justice with mercy, and equality with commodity.
   Thank you for never fitting inside the box, and never letting your creation do the same.
   Maybe I am a little excited.
   Love you!

Dear Vincent, "Dat is het."

Dear Vincent,
   How are you? I hope you are well but something tells me otherwise.
   I just wanted to let you know I am nothing like you.
   Despite relating to your every piece of work I am not like you.
   I could never be as sad or desperate or lonely as you. I blame my sanity. I know my limits. You were always limitless.
   I could never be as brave or honest or scared as you. But I am too afraid of tragedy. Tragedy requires sacrifice, and I am too selfish to sacrifice. But I am learning from you. From what you did. You did so well. I am sorry that it is after death you are loved by more people than you can imagine!
   Would fame have given you your parents' love? What if it wouldn't've been enough?
   We're still not the same. I have my parents' love.
   You wouldn't want to switch.
   If I were you I would've succumbed.
   If you were me...I might've been better as you. As you, I would've run.
   But Vincent, u het ware.
   What relentless pursuit. I could never be as obsessed as you. Never as passionate as you. Never as scared as you.
   Vincent, you remind me not to be made null. The world's standards are fickle- I think your life is proof of that...het.
   Dat is het. You always were.
   Expect to hear from me soon, Justine.

I love you more than I-.

Dear God,
   It's in all the movies and books and pamphlets and blogs and vlogs and accessories and t-shirts, but these past few days have taught me the value of saying "I love you" to those I love.
   The other day I told my mother, "I love you," and she asked, "Where are you going?"
   Why do I only say "I love you" when I'm leaving?
   I guess "I love you" are nice last words, but what's to say last if I never mean what I say first?
   I know that the worse things we say are easier to remember than the good things we say, but I still want to say more good things. I want people to know that I do think well of them; that I love them. There's no reason to say things that make people feel horrible.
   "I love you."
   "Where are you going?"
   "No, I'm just saying. I'm not going anywhere."
   "Oh, I love you, too!"
   Let it be more usual to say "I love you" than "Goodbye".
   So, I love you, God. Thank you.
   I'm scared and kind of nervous, but indeed, love conquers all.

fodder for growth

"i'm sick of being in school.
"keep going.

"water is fodder for growth."

short.

i did not mean to see you but i did.
"will i see you again?"
that i did not ask.
i will not ask.
...unless, of course, you ask first.
third time's a charm.

STOP

Dear God,
   I don't know if you intend success and fame for me.
   You probably don't.
   I don't know I want that sort of success. I appreciate anonymity, but you'll have to forgive my daydreams. I can't always predict what I'll think next. My mind is as unbridled as my tongue. No; all the more unbridled because no one knows what I think not unless I give them permission to know.  I am the master of what I reveal, not of what I hide.
   But despite not wanting success and fame I keep hearing in my head "STOP" and I don't want to stop. What's telling me to stop, and why is it telling me to stop?
   What will happen if I stop? Who cares if I stop?
   I should.
   But if I stop...
   Stopping's not so dark as dying.
   Is stopping, to me, some sort of failure I won't be able to overcome? But I can overcome any failure, right?
   Maybe I want to make sure I'm doing something important.
   Is it weird that I don't want to be important but I only want what I do to be important? No, that's not true. I also want to be important. If I stop, I'll never know how I can be important.
   That's weird, and I'm okay with that.
   Don't let me stop, God.
   Thank you for your plans for me. I don't know what they are, but I don't care- you've got them. I'll keep going to see if the path changes or not.
   I love you, God.

illustrated Robert Frost

"The rain to the wind said,

'You push and I'll pelt.'

They so smote the garden bed

that the flowers actually knelt,

and lay lodged--though not dead.

I know how the flowers felt." -Robert Frost 

[Illustrated] Six-Word Memoir

I was looking for a writing challenge. I generally try to stay away from the autobiographical ones, but when I came across the Six-Word Memoir I had to try it: what six-word sentence would summarize my life so far? 

I wrote worry challenges me to be better and then illustrated it. 

Want to know more about the Six-Word Memoir? Click here or here or here- it'll all lead you to the same website :D 

Happy Monday! 

I'll Fly Away

Some glad morning when this life is over
I'll fly away;
To a home on God's celestial shore,
I'll fly away.

I'll fly away, O glory,
I'll fly away.
When I die,
Hallelujah by and by,
I'll fly away.

When the shadows of this life have gone
I'll fly away;
Like a bird from prison bars has flown,
I'll fly away.

I'll fly away, O glory,
I'll fly away.
When I die,
Hallelujah by and by,
I'll fly away.

Just a few more weary days and then
I'll fly away.
To a land where joys shall never end,
I'll fly away.

I'll fly away, O glory,
I'll fly away.
When I die,
Hallelujah by and by,
I'll fly away.

I'll fly away, O glory,
I'll fly away.
When I die,
Hallelujah by and by,
I'll fly away.

Text and Music: Albert E. Brumley

one request

i have one request to make of you:
love everyone.
yes, dear, love everyone.
love is easy;
everyone could kill you.
love will revive.
everyone will destroy.
love everyone?
yes.
you heard me aright.
you are a part of everyone.
i tell others to love you.
with or without request
love is never insincere.
everyone might be.
bring perfection to the imperfect-
a compliment not a mockery,
and you will see that destruction and death is worth the risk of love.

lighter months.

dear God,
   so, you know how i've been worrying about the future? well, now i'm in danger of living too much in the future and not in today. which, to a certain extent, is fine. you know. you tell me to look ahead to future promises and gifts. the immediate gifts of this world are temporary. totally, i get that. i do. i should look to the future of heaven, but surely not to the point where all i do is dream. dream, yes, but also do!
   it's weird. i don't think i have anything to look forward to, you know what i mean? it's not like i have any set goals that makes me all like, "i can't wait to get there!" i don't know what makes me eagerly anticipate tomorrow. i used to be so afraid of today; of the impending evening!
   what did you do?
   it's the summer weather, isn't it? or spring weather, whatever. that's it, isn't it? new things reborn/born. things are their natural color (for the most part- save tanning salons).
   i'm sorry i deny your encouragement during the bleaker months of the year. i who enjoy all four seasons. this perhaps is an easier season for me. or i've learned what it is to be stupid and complacent during the darker months that i'd rather not do that during lighter months.
   what will i learn these lighter months? i want to learn during these months to take them with me to darker months. please.
   still, it is refreshing to have lighter months. i am no less grateful for it. i could do without nights full of tears and mornings full of panic attacks.
   but you are still Lord even then.
   you were still Lord of Nehemiah, Esther, Job, and Job's ridiculous friends.
   thank you, God. i love you.





"truly i know that it is so: but how can a man be in the right before God? / if one wished to contend with him, one could not answer him once in a thousand times." Job 9.2,3
   why should my actions dictate God's actions- that would require him to be more reactionary; more fickle. i like my gods stable. perhaps that's what God means when he says he's unchanging: he won't suddenly turn on us like Two Face.