Special Words

I am not a very consistent person. Nope. Ain't got the attention span for it. That's probably my fault. Whatever. Anyway! So, today- this morning- my parents and I went to the park to exercise. You know, walking or jogging a few laps. We had a few church friends join us, then my Dad said, "Oh, call your grandparents. See if they want to come."

Now, I initially didn't want to call them because that meant I would have to walk with my grandma, and not exercise on my own. Not that I don't enjoy walking with my grandma, but because of my inconsistency this was my first week working out after a month of sedentary habits. But, I called my grandparents, of course, I did, who do you think I am? They'd said they'd come.

I knew that I had about thirty to forty minutes before my grandparents would show up so I decided to take four quick laps around the main area of the park (that's about a mile). When my grandparents arrived, I just finished my laps, and could now attend to my grandma. (Grandpa doesn't want me to help him walk around because my helping him makes him look old. Don't tell him, but I think he looks old without my help.)

When I walk with my grandma I sometimes I forget I walk too quickly for her. That I need to slow down. At a few points during our walk she needs to sit and rest. I took advantage of this and did a few squats, when she turns to me and says, "You're not stout. You are skinny."

"Oh, I-. Thanks, Grandma."

Self-consciousness is not reserved for the female half of the species so I probably don't need to tell you how I can 'feel fat' even though 'fat' is not a feeling. Sadness, anger, happiness: those are feelings. I probably don't need to tell you how frustrating it can be to go clothes' shopping; or how I don't want to do Zumba, or Crossfit, or go on diets after looking through magazines or watching television or surfing the internet.

In fact, a lot of my reasons for refusing to lose weight stem from a desire to stay away from the hype and need to 'look good' in clothes I can't afford or that I even like in the first place. I have no desire to post my day-to-day progress from a size 10 to a size -3. I don't like when people look at me now, why in the world would I want people to look at me when I'm 'really attractive'?

But then Grandma told me, "You're not stout. You are skinny."

I'm 5'2 and weigh about 165 lbs: I am far from 'skinny' for my dimensions, but as it is, I like to think I look well enough; I like to think that I'm confident enough in myself, in my appearances to brush off any insult...but not all the time.

Don't get me wrong, there's nothing wrong with posting your day-to-day progress. There's nothing wrong with wanting to look good in clothes, especially if it's something you like, but I cannot tell you how many times those worries have overpowered the better desire to be healthy, confident, and happy. I cannot tell you how many times I've covered myself in shame for being unable to wear what the mannequin's wearing.

I can't believe I can be intimidated by something that doesn't breathe. At all. Nor would care to!

I suppose, in so many words, my grandma meant to say I've changed. Perhaps she meant to say I'm pretty. Whatever she meant to say I was glad she said it. Glad to hear her stories. Glad I asked for my grandparents to join us. Glad my weight problems are mere mole-hills instead of mountains, as indeed are all my problems mole-hills.

Seeking after...what?

I don't know if it's just me, but I'm not very good at finding solace where I should find it. That's probably my fault. This is probably a learning/growing point for me--one day I will be able to find solace where I should find it.

...you're probably wondering what 'it' is.

Many of you know, and more of you don't know, that I'm reading the Bible in the year. I've got the handy dandy calendar thingy to help me keep track of what I read day-by-day. In fact, in the blog that I accidentally deleted I used that blog to, well, blog about my daily findings from my reading. Doing that became overwhelming and repetitive. I can only say so much about a few chapters without sounding rehearsed or cliched, so then I wrote on a weekly basis. Then I accidentally deleted that blog this this one is born.

From January to September, what have I learned, so far, in my daily Bible reading? For one: I should not have come upon this read-the-Bible-in-one-year so unthinkingly, or without preparing myself for the histories I would eventually question.

Yes, that's exactly what 'it' is: the Bible. I'm going through Proverbs and Isaiah now (or I was going through it a week ago- I haven't been able to locate my copy of the Bible since last Wednesday) and I cannot tell you how much I dislike Proverbs and Isaiah because I have none of the context! Is that my fault, that I am unaware of the context of Proverbs and Isaiah? I mean, I attended Bible college, for Godsake! How could I not know the context of these books? I know, at this point I am living hand to mouth both physically and spiritually...especially spiritually.

I don't mean to say that I only read when the text means something to me, otherwise, why would I ever read?

Am I the only one who feels this way? That there have been too many verses pulled out of context just 'to comfort' someone 'in pain' or 'in need'?

Bible verses aren't pills to pop. They're not greeting cards to give away.

Someone tell me that they've also thought that the Proverbs are just idioms mushed together. None of the 'chapters' feel like poems, like the Psalms. Proverbs- oh, why did Solomon write Proverbs? I should probably study up on that, huh?





I sincerely apologize for expressing these thoughts. I'm pretty sure I'm a stumbling block to many people.

But take care that this right of yours does not somehow become a stumbling block to the weak. For if anyone sees you who have knowledge eating in an idol's temple, will he not be encouraged, if his conscience is weak, to eat food offered to idols? And so by your knowledge this weak person is destroyed, the brother for whom Christ died. Thus, sinning against your brothers and wounding their conscience when it is weak, you sin against Christ. Therefore, if food makes your brothers stumble, I will never eat meat, lest I make my brother stumble. (1 Corinthians 8.9-13)

Or am I the weak one? Besides, all my actions should speak love (Matthew 22.36-40)! I'm feeling pretty weak. I find solace in Reza Aslan, Greg Mortenson, Neil Gaiman, Charlotte Bronte, but I can't find solace in God's Word?

Well, maybe not the solace I think I need. 'I think I need' is about as bad as 'I want', you know. What kind of solace do I really need to find in God's Word? Am I seeking justification? Am I seeking relationships? Am I seeking  good stories? I'm not even sure what kind of questions I'm really asking! Sheesh.

But I can express that most of my frustration is that God can be so good and so wonderful in spite of my foolish wanderings-around. Why can't I find solace in God's Word? Is that not the least I can do for a god so great?

DIY: Origami Bookmarks

So, I have this odd habit. You know how people enjoy knitting because they can socialize while knitting a scarf or sweater? Well, I like to fold origami bookmarks, although when I fold origami bookmarks it's not so I can talk to other people. On the contrary, I fold origami bookmarks while I'm thinking. So, you can imagine, I've a surplus of these little buggers. I do, however, like to give them away, but on the off-chance I never meet you I'd like to show you how to make them.

Here we go [: Hope you enjoy.

First things first, you don't need to have origami paper. Origami paper is certainly a plus, but it's not essential. Any kind of paper will do. I once had a friend use Post-It notes. As long as the paper is a square, or can be cut into square, you're good to go.

For this DIY I've used origami paper I bought at Barnes & Noble. Around $7 for, like, 500 sheets, all with different designs. This is the design I've chosen. I thought it reminiscent of Japanese screen printing, therefore, appropriate for the Chinese art of paper folding. (Well, actually, the art of paper-folding also seems to originate from places like Germany, Italy, and Spain...but for now, I'll consider it an explicitly Asian art.)

This sheet is about 3x3 inches, and only printed on one side. Because I'm frugal, I like to rip these squares into even smaller squares. You don't have to. If you want a larger bookmark, by all means, skip the first few steps.

step one: fold the sheet in half (you may want to do this more than once so it'll be easier to rip in half)

step two: rip sheet in half

See, it's like mitosis. Now you've got four smaller squares with which you'll be able to make four origami bookmarks.

step three: select one of the smaller squares and fold in half, side to side. do this to both sides.

step four: now fold in half diagonally

I know the lines are faint, but you see how you've got an asterisk now? Good.

step five: take one of the corners and fold it to meet the very middle

step six: now fold again, tucking the small triangle underneath

For the next few steps, you'll want to position the paper so that it looks like an upright pyramid.

step seven: take either of the bottom angles and fold to meet the very top of the pyramid

step eight: tuck edges into the pocket

What pocket? I'll show you. 

Then you're done! YAY!

Put in your books now!

Have fun with these. Feel free to show me some you've made. Or maybe you could show me another way to make an origami bookmark.

Panic Attacks

A couple days ago, I was working the night shift at work, thus panicking about my future. Well, not my future, so much as the story I am writing. I wasn't having an actual panic attack. I don't believe I've ever had an actual panic attack. 

According to Wikipedia " are periods of intense fear or apprehension  that are of sudden onset and of variable duration from minutes to hours. Panic attacks usually begin abruptly, may reach a peak within 10 minutes, but may continue for much longer if the sufferer had the attack triggered by a situation from which they are not able to escape." I take that back. I have had panic attacks before- right before student teaching. However, moving on-.

I was working in the children's department at work that night and had access to a computer all evening; desperate for some consolation I Googled 'encouragement for writers' (because what better way to find consolation than with strangers, right?) and found this: an article by Writers of the Purple Sage, called (oddly enough) Writing Encouragement. I cried, but my emotions that night should be left unaccounted for. Most of my emotions after a certain time of day shouldn't count.

Lemony Snicket made me cry. But I couldn't really cry because I had customers I needed to help. Can you imagine?

customer: Hi, could you help me find this book? Are you all right?

me: I'm fine! I'm sorry. How can I help you?

customer: Um, the book is called-. Are you sure? You're still crying?

me: It's just lotion! I've got lotion in my eyes! (I really have been getting lotion in my eyes lately, it's become habitual.)

What did Lemony Snicket, author of A Series of Unfortunate Events write to make me cry so?

Dear Cohort,

Struggling with your novel? Paralyzed by the fear that it’s nowhere near good enough? Feeling caught in a trap of your own devising? You should probably give up.For one thing, writing is a dying form. One reads of this every day. Every magazine and newspaper, every hardcover and paperback, every website and most walls near the freeway trumpet the news that nobody reads anymore, and everyone has read these statements and felt their powerful effects. The authors of all those articles and editorials, all those manifestos and essays, all those exclamations and eulogies – what would they say if they knew you were writing something? They would urge you, in bold-faced print, to stop.

Clearly, the future is moving us proudly and zippily away from the written word, so writing a novel is actually interfering with the natural progress of modern society. It is old-fashioned and fuddy-duddy, a relic of a time when people took artistic expression seriously and found solace in a good story told well. We are in the process of disentangling ourselves from that kind of peace of mind, so it is rude for you to hinder the world by insisting on adhering to the beloved paradigms of the past. It is like sitting in a gondola, listening to the water carry you across the water, while everyone else is zooming over you in jetpacks, belching smoke into the sky. Stop it, is what the jet-packers would say to you. Stop it this instant, you in that beautiful craft of intricately-carved wood that is giving you such a pleasant journey.

Besides, there are already plenty of novels. There is no need for a new one. One could devote one’s entire life to reading the work of Henry James, for instance, and never touch another novel by any other author, and never be hungry for anything else, the way one could live on nothing but multivitamin tablets and pureed root vegetables and never find oneself craving wild mushroom soup or linguini with clam sauce or a plain roasted chicken with lemon-zested dandelion greens or strong black coffee or a perfectly ripe peach or chips and salsa or caramel ice cream on top of poppyseed cake or smoked salmon with capers or aged goat cheese or a gin gimlet or some other startling item sprung from the imagination of some unknown cook. In fact, think of the world of literature as an enormous meal, and your novel as some small piddling ingredient – the drawn butter, for example, served next to a large, boiled lobster. Who wants that? If it were brought to the table, surely most people would ask that it be removed post-haste.

Even if you insisted on finishing your novel, what for? Novels sit unpublished, or published but unsold, or sold but unread, or read but unreread, lonely on shelves and in drawers and under the legs of wobbly tables. They are like seashells on the beach. Not enough people marvel over them. They pick them up and put them down. Even your friends and associates will never appreciate your novel the way you want them to. In fact, there are likely just a handful of readers out in the world who are perfect for your book, who will take it to heart and feel its mighty ripples throughout their lives, and you will likely never meet them, at least under the proper circumstances. So who cares?

(This is where I began to cry.)

Think of that secret favorite book of yours – not the one you tell people you like best, but that book so good that you refuse to share it with people because they’d never understand it. Perhaps it’s not even a whole book, just a tiny portion that you’ll never forget as long as you live. Nobody knows you feel this way about that tiny portion of literature, so what does it matter? The author of that small bright thing, that treasured whisper deep in your heart, never should have bothered.

(I could cry again now, and this time my emotions count because they're clearer in the morning!)

Of course, it may well be that you are writing not for some perfect reader someplace, but for yourself, and that is the biggest folly of them all, because it will not work. You will not be happy all of the time. Unlike most things that most people make, your novel will not be perfect. It may well be considerably less than one-fourth perfect, and this will frustrate you and sadden you. This is why you should stop. Most people are not writing novels which is why there is so little frustration and sadness in the world, particularly as we zoom on past the novel in our smoky jet packs soon to be equipped with pureed food. The next time you find yourself in a group of people, stop and think to yourself, probably no one here is writing a novel. This is why everyone is so content, here at this bus stop or in line at the supermarket or standing around this baggage carousel or sitting around in this doctor’s waiting room or in seventh grade or in Johannesburg. Give up your novel, and join the crowd. Think of all the things you could do with your time instead of participating in a noble and storied art form. There are things in your cupboards that likely need to be moved around.

In short, quit. Writing a novel is a tiny candle in a dark, swirling world. It brings light and warmth and hope to the lucky few who, against insufferable odds and despite a juggernaut of irritations, find themselves in the right place to hold it. Blow it out, so our eyes will not be drawn to its power. Extinguish it so we can get some sleep. I plan to quit writing novels myself, sometime in the next hundred years.

–Lemony Snicket

Have I got lotion in my eyes again? Excuse me.

To reread, or not to reread? That's hardly a question! Reread!

So, yesterday was a pretty full day for me. Not because I was running all over the place trying to accomplish fifty different things simultaneously, I just had no time to myself. I haven't had an entire day to myself for a while now. I miss those lonesome hours. Regardless, my full day yesterday, I had a few great conversations, all which challenged me, forcing me to reconsider some of my beliefs, my standards and morals. (Now, don't mistake me. 'Reconsider' does not mean 'completely dismiss'. Thanks.)

The conversations I had yesterday reminded me of many of the books I've read, some of which I couldn't quote perfectly. I couldn't even remember the names of the characters I was trying to describe. This bothered me greatly: if I can't remember names of characters, or the exact words of the quotation I might as well just pull the words out of my butt! I might be using these examples out of context, and I hate doing that. I hate manipulating words to me what I want them to mean. I can't just throw away the author's/writer's intent--I'd be a traitor. Every author/writer entrusts his readers to take into account his intent (except, maybe, for deconstructionists). Who am I to impose my thought?

side note: I am not suggesting that I couldn't 'correct' someone's thinking--were I able to do that in the first place--but I like to think I allow the author/writer to think his own thoughts. Only when I understood the author/writer would I feel able, or ready, to offer a rebuttal, or reinforcement.

So!- because of this, I really ought to reread the book's that've, so far, influenced my thinking. I ought to read the books that influenced those books. I really need to read more. I really need to reread. I need to memorize.

Oh, geez. I have to memorize now.

Excuse me while I pull out my index cards.

Giving up Religion for Awareness, or Awareness for Religion. Can it be done?

No, I don't believe the question I've placed in the title of this blog can be answered, nor do I intend to answer it. I only intend to bring up more questions.





This is going to sound fairly typical of me, but I am always amazed when I discover things I didn't know that I really should know about, and I've only read the little snippets, and watched 2-3 minute commercials about these things. What surprises me even more is that now that I know, I have the desire to be willfully ignorant; I know that's wrong, and I can't tell you how many times I've fought the urge; I can't tell you how many times awareness has overcome ignorance, but not without a few well-earned battle scars.

Now, that coming from a Christian like me, is a particularly difficult question, but only because if I act upon my awareness I may not be seen as a Christian anymore.

You might ask, "Is that really such a bad thing?"

Well, yes, it's about as bad as someone no longer seeing me as Asian. It's about as bad someone mistaking the stranger next to me for me. A case of mistaken identity is always a bad thing. I have related to Christianity my entire life, and I am not ready to give that up so easily; but how can that mean I remain willfully ignorant of the things that go on around me? That have gone on, and that will go on around me? That's unfair.

People cannot ask me to pick between Christianity and awareness.

When were the two ever separate?

I have reasoned that this is just my personality. I have reasoned that because I like people I like to be aware of what's going on in their lives, and have a growing desire to help them, but I find that the more I desire this the more 'liberal' I become. The more 'worldly'. All the more 'secular'. Oh, if I ever learned to hate something, it is labels--how was I to know that my curiosity and hunger would merit detriment? How was I to know that my interests bordered on heathenism? (I'm not even sure I know what 'heathenism' means, I do believe I just made that up.)

But how can helping people ever be considered heathenism? How can helping people ever merit detriment?

Frankly, if I may, when God became man incarnate...if that's not the most secular thing a deity can do, I don't know what is. So then, if the God I worship became something he detested, perhaps there is some truth to "Faith without deeds is dead", but you could just as easily say "Deeds without faith is dead"!

I'd learned John 3.16 in Sunday school. It read...it still reads, 'For God so loved the world that he gave his only son so that whoever believes in him should not perish but have everlasting life.' You know, I do believe that we emphasize the latter portion of that verse without acknowledging the former. Who does God love? The world. Who's the world? What a perfectly vague and, yet specific answer that is: 'the world'. The world is everyone who's ever lived, who lives, and who will live. How can it mean anything else? Have Christians ever read what happens after John 3.16?

John 3.17, "For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him." Did you read that? He came not to condemn, but to save."
John 3.18, 19, "Whoever believes in him is not condemned, but whoever does not believe is condemned already, because he has not believed in the name of the only Son of God. (19) And this is the judgement: the light has come into the world, and people loved the darkness rather than the light because their works were evil." What bothers me most about this passage are its interpreters. No, I've not read many interpretations, of course, I haven't, but I have observed that Christians, often unknowingly, separate themselves from the 'dark' world because they have accepted the 'Light of the world'. If Christians are so separate from the 'dark' world then we sing 'This Little Light of Mine' in vain. We read the Bible in vain.

We forget that having a light does not make us better than those who have none. In fact, those who have a light are better at seeing their own personal terribleness. I believe the willfully ignoring things that go on around the world also means willfully ignoring the things that go on within yourself.

John 3.20, 21, "For everyone who does wicked things hates the light," (surely you've heard of Christians leaving their faith behind, and sometimes I question if it's not The Light they hate, but those who profess to carry that light.) "and does not come to light, lest his works should be exposed. (21) But whoever does that is true comes to the light, so that it may be clearly seen that his works have been carried out by God." Who carries out the work? God. Always, always God. 

If to be willfully ignorant of the things in the world is also to be willfully ignorant of the things within yourself, then it is also to be willfully ignorant of the work God wishes to carry through you because in James 2.14-26:

What good is it, my brothers, if someone says he has faith but does not have works? Can that faith save him? (15) If a brother or sister is poorly clothed and lacking in daily food, (16) and one of you says to them, “Go in peace, be warmed and filled,” without giving them the things needed for the body, what good is that? (17) So also faith by itself, if it does not have works, is dead. (18) But someone will say, “You have faith and I have works.” Show me your faith apart from your works, and I will show you my faith by my works. (19) You believe that God is one; you do well. Even the demons believe—and shudder! (20) Do you want to be shown, you foolish person, that faith apart from works is useless? (21) Was not Abraham our father justified by works when he offered up his son Isaac on the altar? (22) You see that faith was active along with his works, and faith was completed by his works; (23) and the Scripture was fulfilled that says, “Abraham believed God, and it was counted to him as righteousness”—and he was called a friend of God. (24) You see that a person is justified by works and not by faith alone. (25) And in the same way was not also Rahab the prostitute justified by works when she received the messengers and sent them out by another way? (26) For as the body apart from the spirit is dead, so also faith apart from works is dead.

Written in James 4, the only worldliness James ever writes about are mistreating people. "You desire and do not have, so you murder." Yes, murder might the epitome of mistreating people; James never even suggests torture...

I cannot help but think... God became man incarnate to help people. I have heard time and time again in sermons and lectures, and biblical commentaries that God came to help people who do not deserve it, who still don't deserve it, and who never will earn the right to deserve it. I can't remember a time when I was not a part of this undeserving people. 

If God asks me to be like his Son, Christ, who went around helping people, why am I deterred by so many who thoroughly believe I am enabling or, worse, conspiring with the world. I still live in this world, what else am I supposed to do? 

Even monks who live solitary lives will give aid to any stranger who walks into their sanctuary. If Christ, who never asked for his patients' history (but already knew of it anyway) helped so many, how much more should we (Christian, non-Christian, anti-Christian) help whichever patient comes our way?

Of course this will bring about debate. Hello! This is an imperfect world here, how many dystopias do you need to read and watch before you understand that life this side of death is not going to be perfected, nor is it ever going to be understood. We'll always have age-old questions, dilemmas, and misconceptions. 

Then on I shall struggle. 

Oh, I'm insane. I know, don't remind me.

^^ if you need a song to remember our duty to the world.

My Greatest Fear

I am writing a story, and so far, I am loving it. I have all these ideas and they're all meshing together so wonderfully, it's like someone's writing through me! I've had this sensation before, but never for an extended period of time--no, it's not this constant high (I'm not under the influence, not illegally, at least), and it's also not made me ignore all of my other responsibilities. I am thoroughly enjoying this story and I can't wait until I'm done with it...although that may not be for another year or so.

Now, while I enjoy writing this story (it's fantasy/science fiction, by the way), and though I want to finish it...what do I do with it after I'm done?

"You publish it! Online! With a major publishing company! Or an independent publishing company!"

"Well, yeah, but...what if they hate it?"

"Who cares?! This is your work! Let your story shine!"

"No, no, no, I don't think you understand. I care a great deal if people enjoy my work. It's- it's my work. What if people don't like it? What if it just collects dust on the shelf? What if it ends up like-?"

"Like what?"

"What if it ends up like that one book?"

"What book?"

"Exactly!"

"You're being ridiculous."

"I know, it's just...I want people to like my work."

"And they will."

"How do you know? Who's they? Why do we keep talking about them? They don't really matter but they do! I mean, I envy a posthumous sort of fame but, that's my mind. Would my heart be able to work through a posthumous fame? Could I be an Emily Dickinson or a Vincent van Gogh?"

"But you're not either of them so it doesn't matter."

"You're right. You're right."

"Didn't van Gogh consider a posthumous fame? Didn't he write that down in a journal?"

"Yes! But not because he actually wanted it! He just wanted the stars and breezes. Oh, I can never be as good as him. He wanted fame neither before nor after death! What a selfless human being. How dare I want posthumous fame."

"...are you going to have your story published or not?"

Working in a book store I lay my hands on a lot of stories that won't ever be read, or, at least, read and recommended for future generations. I cannot tell you how many times I've accidentally seen my name written on the byline and shivered. What if my story is overlooked, overwrought with well-meaning but pointed criticism? Such as:  "Miss. Triunfo, though attempting to write a fantasy novel after the fashion of Tolkien, Le Guin, and Gaiman, has, instead, single-handedly murdered, with her trite tale, the very Respect the fantasy genre has had to build over decades. Any who wish to seek out fantasy literature as a prescription for under active bowel movements should read Triunfo's work, unless her work caused your under active bowel movements."

And I would say, "Is this the part where I wear white for the rest of my life? How about cutting off my ear?"

But this is just a dramatization. It is, right?