the truth in so many words

Handshaken

2009-11-06T02:02:00.000-08:00

There's something so rewarding
about being more than civil
in a situation where you have the right
(God-given, I might say)
to be much less.
And I pride myself on this fact:
that I was,
so much more than civil,
I'm trying to show good sportsmanship.
After all, to you, this is merely a game.
One thing I'll never know
is how strategic you were
because you never,
not for one second,
let down that guard.
Allow me to say, however,
that you were either
extremely clever
or a single thought never traversed
the empty expanse
of that pretty head.
I gambled harder on you
than I ever have on anyone
and I'm done giving out
second chances and get out of jail free cards
like they're pennies,
or worse: dirt.
Because they're not,
they are so much more,
yet that is how you treated them.
I don't care so much
about the state of my heart,
I knowingly laid that on the line.
But the disrespect
and time you wasted
are insurmountable.
So no more of your
high school glory days bullshit
and no more of your fucking complacency.
I'm tired of megalomania,
so no more.
Molly said it best:
I dealt with more bullshit
than you were worth.
So tonight I shook your hand,
and congratulated you,
after I danced to your music,
listened to you play,
watched you put your arm
around the girl in the red coat.
In that handshake,
a goodbye, a knowing wink,
a 'you got me', an 'I'm out',
and maybe one day, in retrospect,
you'll finally understand what it meant,
a little respect.

tonight i will

2009-11-06T01:59:00.000-08:00

Tonight I want to rid my heart of you.
Tonight I want to be done.
Tonight I want to burn every page
that has your name upon it,
and purge every hope and dream
I ever needlessly stowed for you.
You have a whole store room
of wishes spent,
of letters written,
and poems,
all to you,
and tonight I will lock the door
and throw away the key.
Throw it into the river,
so that it will be water under the bridge.
Tonight I'm done,
I will bow out with grace,
I will end it with a handshake
and say 'good game',
because you played so hard
that I'm opting out.
In light of everything,
I can no longer justify this gamble.
And all the reason I used to try
boiled down to stupidity,
and so no more.
Tonight I will not be the fool,
tonight cries for catharsis,
tonight my heart begs to moved forward,
and tonight I will.

hoops, loops and oops.

2009-10-28T22:32:00.000-07:00

If only 'twas known
the sheer number of hoops
I have jumped through, of late.
The volume of mental loops and judgmental oops
I pulled after vast excavation
of the bare threads of existence
far outweighs any evidence in your favour,
and I can't decide what that means.
Every road seems a dead end,
every hope a pipe dream,
but even dead ends and pipe dreams are disputable,
right?
I've tried to gently tug at layers
of life-long armour
carefully constucted
to build a fortress,
and what a fortress it has become.
Complete, even, with a moat.
You know what (the ever ambiguous) 'they' say,
if you're going to get wet
you might as well go swimming.
So i did (for I am forever trying and testing what 'they' say),
I dove straight in,
tried to reach the depths,
tried to cross to shore,
tried to lower the drawbridge.
I've heard that there is no try,
there is only do or do not.
Oops.
Yet I am not done,
not now, not yet.
I plan to see my pipe dream
to the very end of my pipe,
will accept a dead end
only at the very deadest of ends.
Now I dutifully tell you
that the end is drawing nigh,
in my own bubbling indifference,
from a bubble too often burst.
There is a chance,
a small sliver of a chance cradled
by the moon,
(because sometimes even the moon
can only take so much waning),
so take it.

Enumeration

2009-10-28T22:11:00.000-07:00

I'm sorry if I'm crass.
I'm a hint spiteful on days
when nothing matters.
They come too fast and too frequently
for my taste.

Bitter translates to
bitterish translates to
bitterness translates to
bittered.

(I've been brittle,
breaking,
broken,
barely breathing,
beneath it all,
bruised and
bare.
I've been battered
by debris of a life exploded,
a mind imploded,
a being overloaded.
I've begged.
Pleaded.)

Before it all would I have enumerated
the translations of bitter?

The Way I Feel These Days

2009-10-23T18:32:00.000-07:00

If I could describe
the way I feel these days,
I'd say it's something like
a long lost friend,
so lost this friend
is almost a stranger,
knocking on my door.
And the deepest core of me,
some might call it a soul,
rejoices,
revels in the good company,
content and reminiscing.
I invite my friend
to the fireplace,
where we watch the flames dance
and remember what it's like
to feel good,
and we feel good.
We drink and talk away
the night, laugh,
make merry and bask
in the ever-warm glow
of this night.
Everything illuminated
by the gentle flickering
of candles
in the fireplace.
I am warm, calm,
life feels softer
than it has in years,
and it's becoming.
I've decided that I'm
far too good at ambiguity,
but this won't be ambiguous;
I'm touched,
peaceful,
at rest.
Happiness is home.

Twenty

2009-09-21T10:41:00.000-07:00

I'm okay with being twenty,
because today I woke up
and I decided that I was twenty.
Time didn't decide,
nor did numbers
or years,
I did.
My birthday is really just incidental.

I call this piece: An All Too Serious Joke

2009-09-11T13:45:00.000-07:00

In the ever wise words
of Rilo Kiley,
I'm not my perspective.
I want you to know.
But too often my perspective
is all the world sees,
I become controversial,
a mere symbol of a war waged
between ideologies.
A pawn in the fucking game
of life, represented
by my ideas and my actions.
Actions speak louder than words
but you can't understand my actions
without hearing my words.
A perfect catch-22
where without conversation
my actions become meaningless,
or unintelligible:
clay to be molded by any artist
into exactly what they desire.
Fantastic, but that's not me.
Just so you know,
I'm not my perspective.
I'm growing tired of endlessly
justifying myself
to those who miss the point.
I'm sick of running in circles
with people, watching them try
to catch their own tails,
and to what end?
(That's a joke.)
So much for dialectic materialism,
sorry Hegel, Marx and Feuerbach.
The world really is
going to the dogs.
(That's another joke.)
If a synthesis is so unattainable
what about the philosophy
of live and let live,
is that still too impossible?
I know you may believe in god,
but I'm not interested
in your spiritual warfare.
If we're going to argue or talk
let's talk or argue for the sake
of logic and truth,
not for the sake
of saving my soul.
I'm done convincing people
that I'm not a bad person,
that I'm well-intentioned,
mostly because I shouldn't have to.
I won't adhere to "objective" guidelines,
because no such thing exists,
and simply arguing that fact
is enough of a demonstration
in it's favour.
So yes, let's talk,
but only if we'll make progress,
because the world is full
of enough bullshit already.

2009-09-10T16:03:00.000-07:00

Politics, politics,
goddamn politics.
What I learned today
is that one must be blameless,
because when the shit starts flying,
it flies, and none are spared,
and all are incriminated.

Dream

2009-09-10T10:49:00.000-07:00

Last night
I saw you.
You were just as beautiful
as I remember,
with that laugh, smile,
twist of the wrist.
A mirage from my past
in the quiet hours
of the night,
behind my sleeping eyes
I saw you.
I remember the desperate
feeling of longing
and the way
you couldn't see me
and the way
I couldn't touch you
when I stretched out my hand.
I remember how painful
it was.
Painful to see
the very image
of you,
knowing that it wasn't you.
Painful to hear your words
and resounding laugh,
but not be heard in return.
I wanted,
so badly,
to tell you
how much I still love you,
and that I think of you daily.
And you were there,
right there,
but you weren't there
at all.
Nothing but empty space
my mind fills with thoughts
and memories
and desires.
Nothing but the embodiment
of pain mingled with nostalgia.
Nothing.
My inability to reach you,
to have ever reached you,
still brings me to my knees.
The world suffered a blow
the instant you departed
and the world has yet
to recover.
Mind tricks;
thoughts reverting back
to times you breathed
because I still can't cope
with the fact
that you don't.
Despite all the beliefs
I've watched burn in the furnace
I like to think that perhaps
you sprouted wings
and learned the harp
if only because I know that
that thought would make you
crack a joke.

My Three-Poems-In-An-Hour Saga

2009-08-31T19:16:00.000-07:00

These are three poems I wrote in a row on my way home from work. It's weird because it kind of shows you a typical Corissa thought process (not that I think in poems. Ok sometimes I do). Anyway, enjoy:

Days like these
seem so absurd,
when I can see
my reflection
and the bridge,
looking down
at a water drop
that landed
in my shoe.
When everything
in the water
seems infinite
because there is
no beginning
and there is
no end.

They call you,
claim you to be,
the alpha and omega,
and god how sometimes
I wish you existed.
How selfish.
More selfish still
how I wish that
I existed,
infinite as the ripples
and waves in the water,
infinite as the reflection
in my shoe.

Everything really is nothing
when you live a hundred years,
at best.
And god how I wish
it meant so much more.
And god at the very same time,
and in the very same breath,
it all still means
much too much.
Is this what it means
to be human?
The constant conflict
between being far too little
and far too much.

But 'little' and 'much',
what do these words even mean?
In the very act of using words
they seem to lose meaning
just as in the act of living
life itself seems to become
not-worth-living.
Can one speak
without speaking
or live
without living?
Can one dream
without dreaming?

Even if it were possible,
what would it mean?
Who knows?
At the end of the day,
these things
are all
I have.
And after all,
these are just words
of a poem
written one August day
at a bus stop,
and today
it means far too little.

----------

Today, on the bus,
I want to read my poem,
to stand up and recite it all
just to see
how the world might react.

I'm looking at people,
choosing the ones
I think might get it,
or the ones I think
need to hear it.
Is that arrogant?

You I want to read my poem
because you spent
too much time
on your make-up this morning,
and you I want to read my poem
because you are staring at me,
cupping your face with one hand.

You I want to read my poem
because you have a tacky tattoo
of a Chinese character,
and it probably says 'rice'.
You, well I want you to ask
to read my poem,
because I think
we could be friends.

Among the smiles,
quizzical glances,
and curious stares,
I wonder if anyone
will ask me
what I'm writing.
I wonder if I'll
be brave enough to say,
I'm writing about
you.

I wonder if
they'll ask me
why there's a paperclip
in my hair
where a bobby pin
rightfully belongs,
or why there's a scratch
on my arm,
and I wonder if
it even makes any difference.

I suppose what all
my wonderings mean
is that I want my voice
to be heard,
challenging the world
and its trivial complexities.

So I guess I write poetry.

----------

I saw the same man twice today,
and though I only saw his back,
I knew it was him
because of the way he whistled.

I heard him on my way
to the bus stop,
stopped dead in my tracks, thinking,
'that is an impressive whistle',
turned and watched him,
black t-shirt and jeans,
walking from his car to his house.
I smiled at the eccentricity,
paused, and walked on.

On my way back
from the bus stop,
seven cigarettes
and seven hours later,
who should I hear
from a block away
but the very same man,
black t-shirt and jeans,
walking from his car to house,
whistling.

This time he whistled
something of a different tune.
Stopped dead in my tracks again,
I paused.
Rather than smiling
at the eccentricity,
I wanted to know
why he was whistling,
what he was going home to,
what his idea of success was
at the end of the day,
and whether or not he fit
into his own definition.

I wondered,
if I knew the reason,
would it be something
I could appreciate?
Would it be something
that could make me
want to whistle?
I wondered if the reason
would make me scoff,
wondered if I was better off
not knowing,
then finally wondered
why I was wondering
at all.

A Dare

2009-08-07T19:28:00.000-07:00

I'm waiting for you to give an inch
just so that I can take a mile.
Call me selfish,
but more than anything
I want you to leap forward
instead of inching.

I don't mean leaping
in the sense
of commitment
or leaping
in the sense
of blind faith.
I'm not talking
about taking a plunge.
I'm talking about
you.

I want to know
that you are real,
that you think,
that you worry,
that you have qualms
with this universe
and all of its shit.
I want you to care.
I want to share your qualms,
I want to fight them too.

I want to know your opinions,
I want to hear your voice
speaking words
that matter to you,
because that's what matters
to me.

I'm not interested in labels
and I'm not interested
in trophies,
I'm interested in you.
I dare you to show me
what that means.

Take me out on a fucking limb
and talk to me
about truth.
Tell me about the moment
that you hurt the most,
or the moment
that you felt most
deeply betrayed,
and then tell me
what you did about it,
because these are the things
that make a person.

Shed your armour,
and get down from that horse.
I don't want a knight,
I want a man,
real and flawed and beautiful.
As much as I love to dream
and talk about dreams
and imagine dragons
and pterodactyls,
all I really want
is reality.
So pray tell,
who are you?

Fucking Hell,

2009-07-14T14:51:00.000-07:00

Another dream.
But this time
it was different.
I don't want
you to think
any less of me,
but I'm still
holding on.
You were there
and so was I
and that was how it was,
until you got distracted
and I turned and walked away.
The only difference
is that this time
you followed.
You took my hand.
And I don't want you
to think any less
of me,
but I can't help
but wait
for that moment
which I know
may never come.

And here's the truth
in so many words:
sometimes at night
I toss and turn,
caught up
in a cold sweat
because of a dream
that I just had
or one I know
I'm going to,
and sometimes
I can't breathe.
For the record,
I've never shed
a tear for you
(but for maybe once,
in a dream of its own),
and I don't intend to.
I don't want you
to think any less of me,
but I somehow
just can't forget.

Obviously I'm still writing poetry about you.

2009-07-11T21:44:00.000-07:00

I started scribbling poetry in the margins and gaps of One Hundred Years of Solitude.. I can't help if it's mushy or absurdly fiery and shit ok, Marquez has that affect on me, so don't judge:

In my youth,
passionate,
restless,
unrequited love burns
in my heart
as though it has been licked
by the two-pronged tongue
of a dragon.

Searing holes
unlike arteries
until my heart is nothing more
than rotten fruit,
worm-eaten
and useless
(from the inside out).
A bad apple,
you might say.

Locked up for a rainy day
that is destined never to come,
my heart awaits relief
the stubborn clouds
are unwilling to provide.
Looking to the sky,
the heavens are no help.
Instead I dress myself up
in the image of happiness
and resort to a rain dance
until the sky will comply.

Perhaps this is only youth,
passionate,
restless.

365

2009-07-10T19:40:00.000-07:00

Look back at my journal.
I realise that I haven't written
in almost a year.
One entry,
365 days.

And I hate entries about boys,
but this one was.

The only entry
about a boy,
the only boy
I didn't turn down.
The only one
who turned me down.

Not this...again.
A phone call
that makes me think,
I shouldn't be reading this,
and forces me
to put down
Love in the Time of Cholera,
and instead pick up
One Hundred Years of Solitude.

My life sentence?
It could be.

Stupid Question,

2009-07-03T22:32:00.001-07:00

but I have to ask it anyway:

Does the aching ever stop?

Relativism Rules.

2009-06-07T16:58:00.000-07:00

(Although you may not think so and therein lies the beauty of it)

If there is objective truth, then why can't people agree on anything? Well, because if there is objective truth (and this is what it would be: not value judgments, but the simple state of things), there is no way we can access it. We cannot know it and know that we know it. If we happen to believe correctly, then there is no means of verification. We are a product of our environment. There is culture, there is perspective, there are different moral codes and structures - each with their own pros and cons. But the pros and cons are subjective - and that is why we disagree. We cannot make an objective value judgment. The very natures of the words 'value and 'judgment' are relative.

Objective truth, as the simple state of things, is free of 'value', free of 'judgment' and dependent only upon its own solidity - not our validation.

To point out that I have my own moral code does not defeat my argument. Relativism does not deny a moral code, simply a universal one. You ask me a question, I can give you my answer, but I can give you only mine. I cannot speak with the voice of the world, or the voice of truth with a capital T; I can only speak with the voice of my own personal perspective.

If there were objective truth, if we could all know it, we would at least have a chance at agreement. but as things stand, we do not. There is not only one right and one wrong in every situation. Even if there were, I would not trust the church to be the judge of it. I see no clearer understanding of morality in Christianity than anywhere else - just more legalism.

And that is why I am a relativist.

The Rabbit Hole

2009-05-09T01:16:00.000-07:00

Have you ever felt
that you were
tumbling
down
the
rabbit
hole?

Things couldn't possibly get worse,
and then they do
they do
they do
and then they do some more?

You are Alice,
but you aren't in Wonderland.
Definitely not;
but you wish
that you were.
Wonderland
sounds
nice.

The Madhatter is laughing at you,
and the Cheshire Cat is leering.
The Queen of Hearts wants you dead,
and honestly you wouldn't mind complying.

what the world wants

2009-05-06T22:51:00.000-07:00

too much.
not enough.
a chance.
a break.

i break my own heart every day,
along with multiple others.
trust me, i don't need any help
on that front.

i don't know if you knew.
i wish you did.
i guess.

then maybe
you'd look at me differently
in the cold harsh light
of reality.
and i'm sorry
if i avoid you.
all i'm really avoiding
is myself.

it's true.
i'm fucked up
left and right,
down and centre.
and maybe up
but i don't really know
which way that even is.

if you catch my drift.

drifting is what i am.
and drifter is who.
bound to the life
of a gypsy.

it's not anyone.
it's me,
and it's not pretty.

today i compared my life
to a flaming pile.
at least it burns,
my best friend told me.

i kind of wish
it would just explode.

The Fifth Promise

2009-04-26T02:32:00.000-07:00

Promise number one,
that I'll tell you before it happens.
Promise number two,
that I'll call
and schedule an appointment.
An appointment for emotional health,
if one can schedule such a thing.
Promise number three,
that I'll keep you in the loop.
Not to worry,
you'll be in the know
in regards
to my mental degradation.
My steady deterioration
into nothing,
or a perverted and skewed
everything.
Promise number four,
that we'll run away together
with the clothes on our backs
and the money and cigarettes
in our pockets.

The fifth and final promise;
to myself:
that I'll get out.
Out of this rut.
Out of here.
I will live.
I will travel.
I will see,
experience,
taste
and love.
And then,
dear friends,
I will die.

Darkness on the Face of the Deep: Alternate Universes

2009-04-22T17:08:00.000-07:00

I want to sleep.
Maybe in my dreams I'll have the strength to weep.
In the beginning there was chaos.
And there is now.
And there will always be
chaos.
Chance and probability-
did these make you take your life?
Divine injustice, playing with dice?
Is there a happier you in an alternate universe?
A happier us?
Happiness?
If only I had a space shuttle faster than the speed of light.
I would travel throughout the abyss
to gather all that the multiverse has to offer of you,
to bring you back to earth.
You must be out there somewhere.
Laughing, singing, playing.
I wish voices could stretch across aeons.

In theory, every possible you I could imagine should exist.
Somewhere.
Am I grasping at straws?

I Don't Know What To Call This One, But It's For You

2009-03-29T19:01:00.000-07:00

The city lights dim
and the wind sweeps through the streets
moving dust under our feet.

A man on the lonely corner
plays the saxophone
and I wish you were here.
These times,
they were made for you,
as my friends would say,
Tailor-Made.
We pull out a pack
and everyone reaches for one
but we all have our favourites
and you were ours.
In this world,
but not of it,
you existed.
You stood,
a proclamation of the beauty
that must somehow lie beyond,
far beyond our understanding
or grasp.
Just a bit too far beyond yours.

You gave us hope of this beauty:
it was so much in you.
And this reality is still so far above me.
I can’t understand.

You touched life in us.
(In me)
You made it worth living.
You brought life itself alive.
If only you could have seen.
The animation of your own life
overflowed,
trickled down into lives
beyond your realisation.
The days rejoiced in you
and you in them.
You lit up the world with the warm glow
of a single smile.
You could make anything funny,
you could make anyone laugh,
and you did.

A life too short,
adoration overdue.
And what now?

I’ve been told that
if nothing else,
life is a grand symphony.
We come,
we play
and we fade.
And if this is so
I want you to know
that you played your part beautifully
like no one else ever could.
And the rhythm of your life
and the legacy you began
will play out in the harmonies
you once gracefully introduced
and the melody with which you helped cure
a dying world.

The sun lights up the coming day,
and I feel myself fight
the prospect of a day without you in it.
We fight
the passage of time
which carries us inevitably
away from you.
I cling desperately to the lingering essence
of a world with you
in the mists of smoke,
to little avail.

Maybe I have it all wrong,
and I hope I do,
and maybe time doesn’t matter
and in the ebb and flow of memories
we’ll find peace,
comfort,
even joy
within the suffering.
Joy in the celebration
of a life lived
so fleetingly,
yet so beautifully,
a miracle to us all,
forever changed.

It’s so inadequate.
None of this,
no words
will,
can,
ever express every thought
and every emotion
you inspired
and stirred
in every one of us,
and what they meant,
and what they mean,
and what they will continue to mean.
All I can come back to
is the beauty that is beyond us,
and the grand role that you played
in helping us to see it.

The city lights are lost in the soft touch of the sun,
and the wind sweeps through the streets,
moving dust under our feet.

The Labour of Thought

2009-03-08T15:48:00.000-07:00

My thoughts,
they turn back on themselves.

Yesterday this is what you thought,
they tell me.

And now
we're not so sure.

You were wrong,
you were right for the wrong reasons.

You were right
and you can't change your mind now.

How can one thought
have so many different voices?

_____________________________________

Maybe I owe these feelings to spring.
I hate how fickle humans can be.
Are.

I succumb to my own frivolities,
and then despise myself.
And yet before I succumbed
I despised myself
for not succumbing.

Shut up, shut up, shut up!

Trapped in humanity,
I want to be better,
but I do not will it.

And I do not want to will the want.

On What There Is

2009-02-16T19:13:00.000-08:00

(Or What There May Be:
Existence and Other Things)

I'd like to return my ticket.
Not most respectfully, however:
(and prepare yourself,
or don't, on second thought,
I quite enjoy the shock factor)
I'd rather spit on it
or shred it to a million pieces
or burn it
right before your eyes.

It has been months since
I shed a tear over anything,
yet now the tears flow easily
for a man I have never met,
for the pain of his family,
for the pain of a friend.

And this gift you call life
is really a weight on one's shoulders
and a shackle to this earth
and I cannot for the life of me
think of a single one who deserves it.

Maybe this is why I self-destruct:
It is the only way I know how
to throw this gift back in your face.

And to all of you with an agenda:
I will simply deny you.
Keep your agenda to yourself,
I will take no part.
I do not want to be saved.
Pitied.
Pursued.
I cannot even say that
I want to be healed.
I will not be wooed
and I will not be won over,
by those of you with agenda.

I laugh easily about my darkness,
this is a warning to you.
Keep your distance.

I am not who you imagine me to be.

Know this:
you are playing with fire.
And perhaps I pride myself on this fact:
that I am something of a pyromaniac.
This I say to myself
as I take yet another from my pocket
and light the flame.

I've wasted so much time
washing clothes
that will be dirtied in days.
It seems an outright denial
of my humanity,
and the simple state of things.
I'm sick of playing your game.
This plan of yours was either ill-conceived
or conceived with this intention.
Either way, I want none of it.

Perhaps all I desire is truth,
but I don't think that I'm strong enough for it.
(For there is no peace to be had,
no comfort, no satisfaction,
only suffering.)

I'm overcome with a nausea from which there is no relief.
I burn with passionate restlessness.
I'm beginning to doubt that there are valid answers.
I don't know that I believe a kiss will suffice.

again

2009-01-31T18:44:00.000-08:00

'Who are you?' said the Caterpillar.

This was not an encouraging opening for a conversation.

Alice replied, rather shyly, 'I--I hardly know, sir, just at present--at least I know who I WAS when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then.'

'What do you mean by that?' said the Caterpillar sternly. 'Explain yourself!'

'I can't explain myself, I'm afraid, sir' said Alice, 'because I'm not myself, you see.'

'I don't see,' said the Caterpillar.

'I'm afraid I can't put it more clearly,' Alice replied very politely, 'for I can't understand it myself to begin with; and being so many different sizes in a day is very confusing.'

Why.

2009-01-20T01:12:00.001-08:00

Really, this is just getting ridiculous..

What's the opposite of a hopeless dreamer?

2009-01-18T12:02:00.000-08:00

Last night
I came home to find you
waiting in your car
for me.
You wanted to make amends
and I wanted you to
and we did.
I laid it all aside
for you,
I hope you know
what that means.
Things were the way
I knew they could be,
and then I woke up.

I guess all I'm saying
is that I'm still hoping,
I suppose.

Get Better (Mates of State)

2009-01-13T23:30:00.001-08:00

Forget your politics for a while
Let the color schemes arrive

Come on board, it's a curious site
Absorbing sound that's never been right
Never ahead of, never behind it
Occasionally guarded, just keeps us surrounded
It's luck

Everything's gonna get lighter, even if it never gets better

I propose a less serious boat
Don't mistake it for a party of jokes
You are never ahead of, never behind us
Floating in circles, there's more to remind them of less

Everything's gonna get lighter, even if it never gets better

Forget your politics for a while
Let the color schemes arrive

hi, again.

2008-12-28T00:17:00.001-08:00

hi, again.
i was just wondering
if you could let me know
what it is i'm fighting for?
i'm dying to know,
and at this rate,
i might die before i ever really begin
the fight.

2008-12-01T21:12:00.001-08:00

I hate the game.
The game of pretending not to care when you really, really do. Why is it that we feel compelled to hide the truth. We are so utterly terrified of the truth, of exposure, of vulnerability. Instead we pretend we are impenetrable, we hide ourselves behind hobbies and the things we like and we deny that anyone may have broken down a wall, or touched us in any way, because that means they have gained the power to hurt us. I am terrified that if I let you know, I might lose the slimmest chance I've got. But is passively watching that light of hope flicker and burn out much better? No. Really, it's torture. I want you to know that I care, just not how much. But I don't want to lose the game. But I don't even want to play the game. I'm arguing with myself. I wish I could get out of my own head. I wish I could break out of this prison.
If I do this now, I'll regret it later. But If I don't do anything now, I'll regret it later. I don't know I don't know I don't know.
I tried to suppress your presence in my conscience. Instead you appeared in my dreams. A shadow of you, or who I thought you to be. Last night you told me what it was that drove you off. You said it was because there were too many superiority issues. Everything done was done to impress, and you didn't want that. I don't know where it came from, this wasn't a thought of mine (I don't think, but of course, I could be wrong). I don't want to give it any heed at all. Half of me wants to forget that you ever happened. And the other half wishes it wasn't over. Where is the middle ground?

I guess I really am a hopeless dreamer

2008-11-29T16:46:00.000-08:00

I had a dream about you the other night. It was just like it was before, and then you left. I woke up, but fell back asleep in the hopes that you would reenter my dream. I kept dreaming and dreaming, but you never came back.

2008-11-26T19:12:00.000-08:00

I feel like such a failure.
School.
Work.
Relationships.
Anything.
Why can't I fucking engage?
Why am I so apathetic?
Why do I do this to myself, and why can't I stop?
How can I fix it?

2008-11-22T10:33:00.000-08:00

Is it too much to ask?

2008-11-18T23:31:00.000-08:00

Please, I just want a bit of fucking honesty.

Less About Control (inspired by Sherin)

2008-11-17T15:10:00.000-08:00

I stumbled upon a firefly
the brightest I have ever seen;
through the barricades of darkness
his shining radiance broke.
For a while
this firefly kept me company
ignited me with his light
and made me see beauty
through his outward glow.
I wish you could count
on a firefly to stay,
but one never can.
If you contain a firefly
in a jar,
the light that once shone so bright
will only diminish.
I won't be responsible
for extinguishing the glimmer,
I'd rather nurture it
into a flame that spreads
until the whole world is lit,
ablaze with mystery
and enraptured by beauty.
My best friend sings,
'What I know is that life
is less about control
than it is
about love',
and the song repeats in my head
and resonates in my heart.
So I will let
the firefly wander his course
and pray that it leads back to me.
In the meantime if he has work to do,
others to set aglow
and bring hope to;
I'm grateful for this gift.
I have a light of my own to work on,
but just in case
I will keep a candle in the window
for him.

2008-11-12T23:52:00.000-08:00

you say one thing
you do another
this is not news
to the world
it happens all the time.
just know that
i can deal.
for all your shit,
i can deal.
for all your lies,
i can deal.
for all your shortcomings,
i can deal.
sticks and stones.
not that i don't have my own.
and i'll deal with those too.
i'm the little engine that could
and i can i can i can.
and i will,
and maybe after a while
you won't lie
and you won't leave,
maybe you'll even care.
maybe after a while
it will be two against the world
instead of just one.
maybe i believe that
you're worth the trouble.
i don't know what i see,
but whatever it is, is real,
and that's what i want.
so throw me your best,
take a shot,
i'm already taking on the world,
so how much more difference
could you possibly make?

Dancing at Gunpoint

2008-11-12T00:15:00.000-08:00

Running through a minefield
desperately trying to dodge
the glancing blows,
sporadic,
unexpected.
They explode carelessly
as if they were unaware
of an innocent life
trying to escape
unscathed.
Or perhaps more as if
they were making a mockery,
like the man who points a gun
at another's feet
and commands, "dance!"
I'm dancing at gunpoint.
I'm weaving through the explosives.
And I'm dancing at gunpoint.
I tire, I weaken,
but I keep on,
and wait for a second wind,
and hope that there's a third,
and a fourth,
and maybe, if I'm lucky,
a fifth.
I grit my teeth and bear it,
and retaliate with a smile,
because it's all I can do
to keep from exploding
myself.

Suck on this.

2008-11-09T20:51:00.000-08:00

If I go out, I want it to be with a heart wide open and guns blazing.

We'll make magic.

2008-11-06T22:08:00.000-08:00

I delve into worlds of fantasy,
immerse myself deep
in the realms of imagination.
I get lost in a place
I make for myself,
a place so beautiful,
so magical and legendary
that I become intoxicated by
its sweet nectar.
Mental mystics,
realists
and escape artists
all would do well here,
we strive for the same.
A place so profoundly inspiring
in its tragedy,
so uplifting in its vulnerability,
so rich in its mystery,
and so intriguing in its truth,
that it might stop all of time
in order to allow each soul
to spend eternity
paying (and receiving)
the homage of which it is worthy.
It is enough to captivate my heart
and take my breath away,
I would die for such a place,
I would take all, the best and worst,
parts of myself,
and create,
create,
create.
Create until there was nothing left of me
and I had given all myself,
invested my life
in this world I believe in,
this world that must exist
for I could not without it.
I would create until I could no more,
that others might taste the beauty
of this world,
perfect in its imperfection,
human in its pain
and strengthening in its immortality.
Come and create with me
we'll pour our lives
into a well-spring of life itself.
We'll give all we have
and gain eternity.
This, it seems,
is something worth fighting for.
Finally.

Genesis 12

2008-11-03T00:20:00.000-08:00

The altars I build are not of praise,
or thanks,
but of pain.
They mark my steady progression
into nothingness.

But isn't it better to be real,
true,
myself,
than a suffocating lie?
From where I stand,
a mortal,
either way suggests
a coffin,
waiting
for a premature death.
Death to myself,
or death to what I once loved
(or have I already died to both)?
My chances don't look so good.
Grim, in fact,
and awaiting harvest.

2008-10-24T00:26:00.000-07:00

Hot or cold but not lukewarm.

what time is made of

2008-10-10T18:58:00.000-07:00

I'll never again feel what I'm thinking.
Or think what I'm feeling.
I can't distinguish either anyway.

Perhaps one day when I'm old
(and somewhat wrinkled),
i'll play an old mixtape.
I'll become,
once again, the gist of what
I was,
those days when I made the tape.
And even the feelings and thoughts
that remain anonymous
will be there.
I'll laugh and I'll smile perhaps
what is the (somewhat toothless) smile
of someone
who has felt and seen and thought
time.

Or perhaps not, the irony here being
that only time
will tell.

reality's a bitch

2008-10-09T18:45:00.000-07:00

The only thing I can say for certain that I believe anymore is in the existence of God. I no longer know His nature or intent, I no longer know Him. This isn't supposed to be great poetry or anything, it's just kind of word vomit.

To sort through the rubbish
to pick out the lies
and the gone-wrongs
is cutting
me loose
of all the wires
that ever tied me
to anything.
Now that I am
I am disconnected
disconnected
as a floating
purposeless
entity.
In thinking through all
I lost all,
and what caused me to think
was losing all.
It is a lose-lose situation
and now what?

I have nothing,
I am fighting
for survival,
and
I am convinced that
You
don't
care,
You laugh,
even.

How is it that
a single existence
so void of anything
can be so painful?

Where the fuck is this love You claim to have for me?

Maybe I failed You
maybe You no longer have eyes
for me.
All I know
is that when You
no longer saw value in me,
I no longer saw anything
in myself,
or outside of myself
to suggest that the world
had any value.

It is tragic
for youth to lose
idealism,
it is tragic when the world
fails to shine
and promise.
It is heart-breaking
and it is
real,
it is reality
and it is a bitch.

2008-07-23T21:05:00.000-07:00

I'm scared of who I'm becoming.

I can't be right.

2008-07-13T04:46:00.000-07:00

I don't know what is wrong with me. I've never been so far gone before. I'm holding so much resentment that it just makes me indifferent to everything. And then for one brief shimmering moment I will remember God, remember Him, and in that brief moment I want it back. I want to be able to break down all the barriers that are cutting me off, I want to give it all up, give it all away, say 'fine'. And then the moment passes and I'm left more determined not to.

I can't stand the thought of leaving again. And I've given up trying to make it seem ok. I keep thinking to myself that if only I stayed, I could be happy here. I could. I could get myself somewhere to stay, I could look after myself, I wouldn't have to leave everything behind again. But deep down I know that I couldn't do it. I would feel like I failed myself, failed God (not that I haven't already), failed to live up to everything that's in store for me.

I guess I'm pretty angry because I feel like I've tried so hard this year. I've tried to give it up time and time again, and I feel like I've had no help from God whatsoever. Heals the broken hearted, my ass. And I'm completely broken, and I'm still trying. I'm still going back. I gave up looking for help from Him, and I don't know how much longer I can do this on my own.

From my journal a couple months ago:
It makes me wonder if the rest of my life fits into the box I have so willingly provided, having labeled it "God's Plan For My Life".

It makes me a little bit angry. Don't I have the right to know about my own life? Apparently not.

To choose "right" is to choose to have no say over one's life, it seems to me. Shall I choose to give up all my say over my life just because You know best?

I can't be right without choosing what You want.

Why can't I do anything right on my own? So if I am good, I bind myself to another's will, and become a servant.

And I shouldn't have such a problem with this, since you have paid the price, but for my pride and ego.

Jesus Loves the Dinos

2008-07-09T10:36:00.000-07:00

James showed me this, and it was so epic I had to put it up.

God: Referee or Coach?

2008-07-09T04:53:00.000-07:00

So through my time at SPU, I became pretty tight with one of my professors. Dr. Thorpe. He was my English professor for my introduction-to-college course. I started going to his office to talk pretty frequently. My good friend Grace and I even went together sometimes, because we're his number one fans. Anyway there was this one day I remember, when we were talking about... God's direction. And Grace mentioned that it bugged her when people called an event/realisation in their life "A God Thing"; and suddenly we found ourselves arguing about how involved God is in human lives, while Dr. Thorpe sat back and watched and chortled.

I came from the standpoint that God is actively involved in our lives, and that we should give him heaps of credit or whatev. Grace, on the other hand, believed that God had very little involvement, and that people were stupid to read too much into coincidental occurrences. Since that day, my belief has changed drastically, has swung to the polar opposite, and then somehow dropped itself in the middle.

Grace's standpoint gave God the role of a sort of coach, if I may use really dumb analogies. He equips us with instruction, but at the end of the day has to let us do what we want, and He stands at the side lines, watching (Deists often compare God to a "watchmaker"). From my old view, God was more of a referee. On the pitch with us, laying down the law and all that sort of thing. This view involves less choice-making abilities for us as humans, but by our actions we also essentially choose the consequences.

I used to talk to God as I went about my day, I would drop in prayers here and there, I would sometimes make a running commentary (and would probably annoy the hell out of God (haha.. the hell)) on my life or what I was doing, I would crack jokes with him (yeah not sure what He thought of those, either). I used to say lengthy prayers before I fell asleep. I often found I couldn't sleep until I had prayed (and don't tell God I said this, but prayer is quite a good method in putting oneself to sleep). Lately, though, things have been different. I don't talk to God at all. I will have the rare quick word, but this pretty much only happens when a) I see an ambulance drive past, and I pray for the people inside, or b) someone asks me to pray for them.

Before, I believed God was active in my life because I actively included Him in my life. Now, I'm still holding God off at arm's distance, and He has no involvement (that is not to say that He can't use others to influence me, but direct influence is no more), simply because I do not want it. And so, I have come to the conclusion that it is subjective. It varies for different people, based on their attitudes and openness to God. God will be as involved in your life as you want, and though He may always be knocking on the door, if you say no, He hears it.

And I know that if you read this, you probably want some kind of explanation as to why I'm holding God at arm's distance, and are all concerned or whatever. It's because I'm in pain. And because I hate the road that He has laid out before me. And despite my anger and resentment, I am trying to walk it. Just so you know. I am trying.

------

'Who are you?' said the Caterpillar.

This was not an encouraging opening for a conversation.

Alice replied, rather shyly, 'I--I hardly know, sir, just at present--at least I know who I WAS when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then.'

'What do you mean by that?' said the Caterpillar sternly. 'Explain yourself!'

'I can't explain myself, I'm afraid, sir' said Alice, 'because I'm not myself, you see.'

'I don't see,' said the Caterpillar.

'I'm afraid I can't put it more clearly,' Alice replied very politely, 'for I can't understand it myself to begin with; and being so many different sizes in a day is very confusing.'

Speeding Cars//Imogen Heap

2008-06-27T04:14:00.000-07:00

Here's the day you hoped would never come
don't feed me violins
just run with me through roads of speeding cars.
The papercuts, the cheating lovers,
The coffee's never strong enough.
I know you think it's more than just bad luck.

There there baby,
it's just text book stuff,
it's in the ABC of growing up.
Now now darling
oh don't lose your head,
cause none of us were angels
and you know I love you yeah.

Sleeping pills know sleeping dogs lie
never far enough away.
Glistening in the cold sweat of guilt
I've watched you slowly winding down for years
You can't keep on like this...
Now's a bad a time as any.

There there baby
it's just text book stuff,
it's in the ABC of growing up.
Now now darling
oh don't kill yourself,
cause none of us were angels
and you know I love you yeah.

It's ok by me..

Skip This Rant.

2008-06-25T04:58:00.001-07:00

I am so fucking angry.
Why is Your way always the hardest.
Why does it hurt the most.
And why don't I have a choice.

I don't want this.
But the clock keeps ticking,
and there's nothing I can do.

How can you expect me to let it all go,
when I'm immersed in memory,
and it's bittersweet.

I hate You.

2008-06-01T16:22:00.000-07:00

Thou givest fever: what a lovely way to burn.

2008-05-15T23:52:00.001-07:00

"In place of economic self-interest, Christians will strive for an economics of sharing and care; competitive individualism replaced by community cooperation: an economics of exploitation gives way to an economics of stewardship; unceasing economic growth is replaced by a contented lifestyle of 'enough'; and in the face of an oppressive politics of power and control, Christians will seek justice through service and cross-bearing."

- Brian Walsh

If only.

to hell

2008-05-09T23:40:00.001-07:00

To hell with it all.

We'll run away,

and the note will say,

don't be expecting us back

anytime soon.

Or ever.

Damn it all.

We'll leave this place,

this godforsaken place.

We'll hop the train,

and get out of here:

as far away from here

as ever there was.

We won't need the money

or these useless possessions

that clutter and serve only

to gather dust.

We'll leave it all behind

on memory lane.

And then forget it all.

To hell with it all.

And to hell.

My Psychology

2008-04-25T12:13:00.000-07:00

My Psychology: who I am and why I am the way that I am.
A paper I wrote for Dr. Thorpe.

So why do I disengage? It would be easy to dismiss this as a personality trait, simply ‘the way that I am’; but I’m going to try to look deeper than that. It could be to do with my upbringing. My parents never asked me to talk to them about my emotions or what I was going through. I still would, when I wanted. But it was, for the most part, my initiation. I think that this taught me not to ask when I didn’t need to. Not to be a nuisance. I generally relied on myself. I got through things myself. I could figure out the answers, I could do it on my own.

I might also say that living in Hong Kong made me realise how temporary relationships can be. Unlike a small town in which everyone lives their whole lives, Hong Kong is a place where people come and go frequently, often settling only for a year or two at a time. Because of this I saw many friends come and go, I developed deep friendships that were constantly uprooted.

Perhaps I’ve gone off of deep, dependent relationships because I know that goodbyes hurt. Perhaps I’ve become unwilling to open up to others because I know it won’t last. Everything is temporary, so what’s the point? But I don’t believe this is the case. I don’t run away from deep relationships, I treasure them. But why am I more detached than I think I am?

I’ve always admired those who were strong, able to suppress their emotions – suck it up and get on with it. And I think I’ve always striven to be that way myself, to be hard and unemotional, maybe because emotion seems to be the root of a lot of foolishness. Maybe because it makes life a lot more simple when you don’t have to deal with all of that inward junk. The funny thing is that in suppressing emotions rather than facing them, you’re allowing for a complicated mess, not easily sorted or fixed or even understood. And I suppose that that is what I’m dealing with now. I am trying to disentangle the mess of my emotions and thoughts that I have built up over the years in order to get to the bottom of who I really am, not who I present myself to be.

My intuition has always been a huge way for me to gauge the ways and feelings of others, and God. I’m discovering now that I place too much weight upon my intuition, and I have become overly dependent on it in figuring out what I’m supposed to do. I think that it has been a help and a hurdle. I feel like it gives me a great capacity for understanding others, and I’ve failed to realise that others might not have the same ability to understand me in my self-isolation. As a result, I don’t say things that I assume others know, things that they don’t know and things that I ought to say. And I don’t express my feelings well enough because I expect them to get it. I’ve come to realise in recent years that this has been the cause of a barrier in friendships. I assume that they know me through and through, and in making this assumption I stop giving of myself.

When I left Hong Kong, my best friend gave me a letter at the airport, which I read on the airplane. It made me realise faults that I’d never known I’d had in our friendship. She stated her insecurities about our relationship which were based on my inaction and distance, which could easily be misconstrued as indifference. It was difficult for me to read, and it hurt me to realise that I was the cause of so much pain to one of the people I love the most, simply because of the things that I did not do.

In a way, this is just how I am. I process things internally; I am a very private person. Where my best friend placed value on everything in the relationship as a sign of how much I cared, I was very selective in what I deemed important. She was very right, and I recognised it as my weakness. I tend to be very absent minded, and while I feel that I can understand people very deeply, I tend to overlook the little things, and generally expect others to do the same. It’s a lesson to me to be more sensitive. To show people that I care, and that I value them. One of my friends recently told me that he feels as though we have gotten closer since leaving Hong Kong. This surprised me at first, mostly because of the infrequency of our emails, but I suppose it makes sense. Given that he’s not an active part of my life anymore, I have to more explicitly explain what is going on with me in my emails. And I guess he feels like I’m being more open and honest, whereas I simply feel like I’m keeping up. It is weird to realise how distant I can be in relationships without my realisation, and my independence has definitely been a barrier for others, and difficult to break down.

Next: my pride. My pride has been fostered, I suppose, by the various walls and barriers I have so conveniently placed around myself. I suppose in isolating myself so much from others, and keeping my core impenetrable, I became to think of myself as untouchable. I suppose I thought I was doing it all on my own strength, I suppose I still do. I don’t give God enough credit, and this is another place I stumble. Since I choose not to rely on Him, I can take all of the credit, right? I know the answer is ‘Wrong’, but it feels as though it shouldn’t be.

In a way this kind of gets to me because it raises a whole other issue: to what extent can we take credit for our actions? It is common to hear people give credit to God for their good deeds. This is based on the belief that all good comes from God; He is the ultimate source of all goodness, or goodness itself. So if we have 'free will', why should everything good we choose to do be accredited to God when all of the other decisions we make are solely our own responsibility? And if God gets all of the rightful credit, are we really just incapable of good? When we make a decision that is 'good', it is only because of God's goodness that is within us (since we are made in His image). If only our wrong actions are truly our own, does this mean that our only choice in 'free will' is to choose evil, since we don't have the capacity, on our own, to choose good? But this is another essay for another day.

Anyway, I suppose an element of my emotional detachment was that it made me feel less human. It made me feel as if I was above all that – emotional turmoil, blind passions, foolishness. I felt like it put me on a higher playing field, I wasn’t one of the weak ones, I would not give in to fleeting emotion, instead I would remain calm and rational. And while I never expressed these feelings of arrogance to anyone, I nurtured them within myself. In fact I have always acted on the behalf of others, placing them above myself and putting their needs before my own. And while this stems from genuine care and concern for the wellbeing of others, it became yet another good deed on my part to fuel my pride. My caring for others fed my egocentricity. Oh the irony.

I have spent the better half of this year trying to break my pride. It is a difficult process, but extremely important. I’m taking a different approach than I’ve tried before. Instead of constantly trying to push these thoughts deemed ‘impure’ or ‘unholy’ out of my head, I am facing them. I am questioning myself about them. I am trying to understand them, and trying to understand their place in me. Before I would ignore my impurities, yet this did nothing to prevent my pride from taking hold. Now I confront myself in honesty, all that I am, and I am trying to act on it. I am trying to see myself as God sees me. I am a sinner. I am so wrong. I have no idea about anything. I am allowing myself to acknowledge that I have wrong feelings, thoughts or emotions. And in finally acknowledging my sins, I am realising just how much of a sinner I am. I am realising that I cannot do this on my own. I am realising how much I need God. I am realising that I am dependent upon His Grace. I am realising that I am no better than anyone else. I am realising that I don’t have all of the answers.

Just one question: what is the greater sin: to live in pride blindly, or to live in pride acknowledging one's own arrogance?

hello, i am

2008-04-15T22:59:00.000-07:00

What kind of fucking intersection

is this,

that a

billion

roads branch out from it.

What kind of fucking mess

is this,

that a

billion

choices hang suspended,

awaiting my decision.

This is the Game of Life,

I am Your pawn.

Upon my chest

a tag that reads,

hello, I am expendable.

2008-04-10T12:36:00.000-07:00

God's Labyrinth

2008-04-02T12:11:00.000-07:00

There is a reason that my blog is entitled 'Destination:Beautiful'. I know it's the title of a Mae album. And I love that album. But Mae is not the point. The point is that we are striving for a destination, and I'm sure you can guess that I'm about to say 'and that destination is beautiful'. From a Christian perspective, for me this means a destination not only in the sense of reaching heaven, but in a sense of achieving beauty in this life - beauty through a deeply personal relationship with God. And the while the journey doesn't end there, by no means (HECKZ NO!!!!), there is still a sense that we have achieved our purpose.

"The Journey is the Destination" also has huge significance to me. It comes from a journal of the artist Dan Eldon, who lived an amazing life, traveling through Africa and countless other countries reaching out to people. I love his artwork (check it if you get a chance, his journals are absolutely incredible). He poured so much of himself into what he did. And I believe that the journey in itself is so much of what the destination is. After all, we are only the product of our journey at the end.

I've been feeling, very heavily lately, an overwhelming sense of a journey that I am on. It is not physical. One might say it's something of a pilgrimage. What I seek is the truth. I seek to know my Faith. I want to know, beyond the shadow of a doubt, what I believe and why I believe it. I have been so furiously sorting and processing all sorts of information and experiences since my arrival, and I feel that I'm really getting to the core of this whole faith business. Realising so much, taking in so much that I can't hold it all in. I want to know my God, and myself. Who am I? And more importantly, who am I in relation to God?

Today I did a Labyrinth walk. It was good for me, a sort of physical embodiment of my thought process and emotions, a symbolic way for me to understand. It encourages a lot of reflection. And as I was walking I began to thank God. For such a beautiful city, for University Scholars, for the SMC program (or opportunity), the weather, the friends I have made, the people I have met. And then I surprised myself. I began to thank Him for the hurt. For the anger and resentment and pain I went through. I thanked Him for the suffering that led me to this very moment. That suffering has probably been the most valuable part of my experience thus far, and has caused me to look far beyond myself.

I've realised that I'm finally rejoicing in the gift God has given me. Yes, coming here has been a gift. Not a punishment, not a trap. A gift. And finally, in releasing all of the harmful emotions that I harboured for so long, I am freeing myself to receive the gift. I haven't only been freed from the suffering that I experienced in coming here, but also that which I have held onto throughout the years. How stifled I felt because of IB, how little I grew as a person in those two years, how little I felt like striving to be the best I can be. And now I can't keep track of my growth. I'm living again - and really living. I feel like I can finally smile again. I feel like I'm glowing.

Oh I don't know. It's all been a rather odd experience.

[There is much more to come. Posts concerning Human Nature and Mortality and all sorts of thoughts that have been floating around in my head lately]

the end of winter

2008-03-26T15:53:00.000-07:00

and now

2008-03-26T15:21:00.000-07:00

I decided that Xanga died, finally, so here I am. I am moving the imprint of my very soul to this blogspot. Xanga stopped being about the words, so I called out. Besides that, I'm in a whole new phase of my life, which, I think, deserves a fresh start & new journal. Yes? Yes.

My old xanga will forever be open, however. Feel free to visit if you like: www.xanga.com/aniness

Anyway.

As I look back on my writing from a mere two months ago, I'm amazed as to how it can possibly only have been two months since. And I'm amazed that I have already been in Seattle for sixth months. This marks my two-thirds of the way through the school year. A few more months and I fly back to Hong Kong.

I've been meaning to faithfully journal and keep track of my thoughts, because I know what a process this has been/is continuing to be. However life has been life, and that is my excuse for failing to write as much as I would have liked. I'm stunned by how far I've come. Stunned that it has happened in two months. I feel like I've grown in leaps and bounds.

"Good things take time, but great things happen all at once." I know that Rat Race might not be the most philosophical and intelligent movie to quote (although it seriously questions human greed and motivation), but seriously. It's so true. And now I have an answer to my previous question of waiting for God to unravel The Intricate Plan. I know it's not fully unravelled yet, and that's what's so exciting about living. I can't wait to see what He throws at me next, it's fun.

God never fails to amaze me with His impeccable timing and insight into exactly what I need and when I need it. My life, though others may not be able to so easily recognise it, is a testimony of God's provision and grace. I am so lucky to be where I am and to have what I have, even though I don't always appreciate it like I should (I daresay I never appreciate it as much as I should). I'm continually amazed at what is happening in my life. It's funny, but I suppose it shouldn't be surprising, how God is always one step ahead of me on everything. Maybe that's why He's so quiet sometimes. When I pray He's just sitting up there chuckling and all "just wait to see what I've got lined up for you next". Well guess what, God, I can't wait. Bring it on.

I'm through the bitterness and the anger. I feel like I wrestled them to the end, it is an exhausted subject. And finally I'm not only accepting this life, but I'm making the most of it. I'm engaging in it. I'm beginning to give, and in giving I'm beginning to receive infinitely more than I could have imagined ever getting out of this experience. It's ok, you can read that sentence again. I did.

So really I'm excited. I'm looking forward now.

Don't get me wrong, I am by no means saying that everything is perfect and that that is the only reason for my joy. Hellz no. I still struggle with pain and sorrow; I still reminisce x 97834782. But I'm refusing to dwell in it. Refusing to fuel those emotions, because it won't get me anywhere.

I'm actually excited.
:]

then

2008-03-26T15:05:00.000-07:00

This is taken from something I wrote for class.

The First:

"He will endure as long as the sun, as long as the moon, through all generations. He will be like rain falling on a mown field, like showers watering the earth." Psalm 72:5-6

"In him and through him we may approach God with freedom and confidence." Ephesians 3:12

As I was reading tonight, these verses stood out to me. And now it is you, and me, and this journal alone in the night, and now I realise how little solitude I've had these past four months.

Everything just seems like one massive blur. I did my IB exams, summer came and went, I left Hong Kong, I came to this country, and that was nearly four months ago. What exactly has filled that space?

I can't begin to describe the changes I'm going through, I'm in a different world. Yet all this time and I don't believe that I've sat down to simply reflect on what it has all meant, even though it has weighed heavily on my mind. I've definitely taken the time to bitch and moan about how hard it has been. I've also taken the time trying to persuade myself and everyone else of how great things will be.

There have been moments of elation and moments of misery. An odd blend of excitement and love at discovering the new mixed with lament of the old.What strikes me is how temporary everything has become - my parents moved back to Minnesota, my home is gone, and now I stand on shifting sands.

When ever I feel as if life is a joke and that I have become the punch line, I like to go and sit in Martin's "square" in front of the inscription of Matthew 28:19-20, "And surely I will be with you always, to the very end of the age". I take huge comfort in this passage, and it truly shows that while all else may be submitted to change, God is a constant. My constant.

This relates back to the Psalm passage I quoted. Because God is eternal, and He is in everything, making all things beautiful. I want, instead of misery, to recognise this beauty, to be able to rejoice in it, marvel at this gift. It truly is a miracle that God has extended His hand to me, answered my prayers, and in the midst of my complaints and angst, maintained an extended hand. It is utterly amazing. My life must be worth something to Him, that where I would squander it, He would redeem it, and revive the dead in me (even as I kick and scream). How lucky I am, to have such a loving God.

I also (without having said so, though I'm saying it now) have sworn to myself to be honest (or to "approach God with freedom and confidence" as is written in good ol' Ephesians). I want to be real about what I'm going through. Up until about a week ago I'd been denying to admit to myself how badly I hurt. But I realised that in recognising and acknowledging that pain, I begin the healing process. I suppose I am grieving my loss, my home, my old life. But above all I know that God's plans are to prosper me and not to harm me, and I have full trust in my creator.

The Second:

Submission. This is something I need to have peace with. In the third or so week of my life here at SPU, there was a guest speaker at Group who delivered a message on God's calling for one's life, and being taken out of one's comfort zone. His message resonated so deeply within me and my life that I completely broke down. It was humiliating. I believe completely that it is God's will that I am here, and I am willing. However, coming to terms with this seems to me a whole different matter. In my recently adopted attitude of an honest approach to my true feelings and experiences, I feel that I have begun to come to grips with my life, but I know that I still have much further to go.

I feel that now I'm here I'm expecting a radical change and growth spurt within myself, yet I don't believe that God intends it to simply happen while I sit here. I know that He will provide the opportunities for me to grow and mature, and so the task is to wait for God's timing for now. To wait. Sit and wait and let go of my anxiety and expectations. To allow God to unravel His plans for my life.

A question featured in Spiritual Classics on submission is "Was there a time in my life when I was resentful against my own life circumstances and may have questioned God's providence? How did I deal with that?"

Yes. I still feel resentment. Anger. Confusion. Pain. I don't know what I am doing here, I often ask God that question (in a more angry way). Many times I feel as though I can't take it anymore, yet thus far God has given me the grace to continue. I struggle with it everyday - my hatred at being here and yet knowing that it is for my own good and that somehow I must deal with it.

Acceptance. Much, much easier said than done. Honestly, I really don't want to accept that this is my new reality. I don't want to move on from everything I've known. In a way I feel that this many be due in part to a fear that I might lose my sense of identity if Hong Kong is in my past - it has certainly moulded me and shaped me into everything I am.
I must practice Acceptance. I will try.

The Third:
"The beauty of grace is that it makes life not fair" Relient K
God gives us what we don't deserve and doesn't give us what we do deserve.

Grace is what sets Christianity apart from other religions. Many people think 'how could God become incarnate to die for our sins? That's so ungodly.' And I know it might sound awful, but I think 'how couldn't He?' I believe that humans are inherently good. I think. I haven't fully decided on that one yet. However it is impossible for us to lead a perfect life worthy of heaven. No one (save Jesus.. pun!) has ever done it. We all inevitably fall into sin. How could a loving God with the full knowledge of our susceptibility to sin leave us to our own fate? He had to save us.

He had to be compassionate. He had to care enough to reach out and help us, because He made us the way that we are. He knows our vulnerabilities and how prone we are to give in. He knows we can't do it on our own.

I don't understand how people can believe in earning their way into heaven through good deeds and righteousness. It can't be done. We're only human. God understands this, and Jesus' death is the ultimate proclamation of love. That even though we really aren't worth it, God sacrificed His son for us because we are helpless.

This is how I know that God understands me. He knows I'm going to sin, but He cares so much that He took care of that thousands of years ago.

I don't like the idea of a detached and distant God, who will not relate to His people. Why would a God worth believing in create us if not to relate to/with us?
Who is he that can deny such a gift.
God is fully involved in every aspect of our lives, if we let Him be, and He lays the choice before us.
I do not want a God who denies me in my humanity.
I want a God who can love me in my lowest of lows.