31. Just a thought

In the big picture, one month is nothing. One month of the year could make for fun ratio's: 1/12th of 1/24 years of life or something. One little month-long writing project isn't really much. It didn't change anything, I didn't fall in love with words more. I'll probably write just as much (or just as little) as previous to this project.

Writing regularly is fun. Apologies for the haphazardly-written pieces that leave even me confused but too lazy to edit. Thinking of topics and events and, "I could blog about this" is fun. More important, going through this one little month in life with the attitude of gratefulness and loving twenty-four reminds me of the simple challenge of amazing days in This Ordinary Adventure (book by Adam & Christine Jeske, which I plan to read in the next couple months). Themes include the following: Not knowing but that's okay, Lots of maturity but where I am now is still good, and Try things you're not good at. And if the past month of posts isn't obvious, something about Asian-American-Ethnic-Identity-Crossing-Cultures is a big deal in my life too.

Still, in a funny way, I end this 31-day project the way I started it: sitting in the family room of my first home, the house of my family in the Bay Area. Oh San Jose--still home, yet now seen through a lens of six years in Stockton and a new city to love. How different I am since I moved away six years ago. How much you are part of who I am now.

Anyway. Since I'm at home, there are about ten other things I could be doing right now: watching Korean music videos with Anthony, bugging my little brother, eating Taiwanese cookies from my third-grade best friend, watching old Chinese dramas with my parents. More blogging later!
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On a completely random note, Alexi Murdoch's Something Beautiful is climbing the list of my favorite songs. If you are Darrell you are probably sarcastically nodding because you know the list has about fifty other songs, and you're already predicting my next sentence: "no really, one of my real favorites."

30. Crossing Cultures in Catch-Phrase

Context: Playing Catch Phrase with a group of five other first-gen Asian Americans who grew up in San Jose with lots of other first-gen Asian Americans. 

It's almost like God decided to play a joke and put a faith-based twist onto Catch Phrase. Part of me wants to swear (ironic huh) that I've never heard these phrases in this game, but I also have to admit I probably don't think twice about it if I'm playing with all staff friends/all Christian friends.

• The phrase "Born Again" left my friends completely puzzled and stuck. Four out of five of them had never heard the phrase "born again", and I found myself quickly piecing together an explanation of what it meant spiritually. (Could have done a way better job at it). Realized some assumptions of the other friend who knew the term had, example given of a drunk Christian who is "born again" when he decides to be a better Christian. Scrambling, but not quite fast enough, to turn this into a chance to share how Jesus resets your life. Could have shared what born again means to me and my life, but I missed it. 
• A couple rounds later, Eva was stuck with "Worship." She threw together descriptions about singing, praying, praising, and what you do in church, but couldn't get it. My mind raced through what worship meant in my life and what the word meant to them. I suppose my explanation of, "what you do when you're bowing before an idol" could have poor implications if they translated it to the Christian life of worship. Another lost witnessing chance, it feels. 
• Lilia then gets "The Promised Land", which she knows enough about regarding the Israelites for Alyssa to get. But in light of all our Deuteronomy and Numbers reading for this past semester, The Promised Land has such deeper meaning, such promise and expectation for God's relationship to us. 

I know I've been praying about being a better witness amongst this group of friends. God, please keep giving me chances, even if it feels like I've butchered so many good potentials tonight. 

The other twist in the night is a couple friends feeling like they're very out of their element in the game. One constantly exclaims, "Who uses these phrases?" or "How does this even make sense?" The phrases are foreign, and it takes some translating and convincing to show that each language has its own unique expressions, like the classic Chinese "add oil" for a cheer of encouragement. 

Later on during the night, we're on the topic of names. Strange names, weird names, ethnic names, last names and if we'll change them if we're married. We talk about the study where a more "American" name on a resume gets read and called back on a higher percentage than one with a Chinese or Mexican name. My friend concludes, "So better give your kid a normal name, or else he'll be screwed."

Amidst my journey of ethnic identity, something breaks inside and I say, "And by 'normal' you mean...majority American standards of normal." This is poor lingo, an undefined argument, and maybe no one has any idea what I mean. One day I'll learn to articulate things better, to point out the dichotomies we set up between normal and foreign, accepted and rejected. But for today this statement is me clinging to who I am (really, the who group as Asians): I am normal. My middle name Shi-Ching is normal. My sister, born Xiao (first name)  Yu (middle name), is as normal as Angeline. Our friend Van's name is normal (did we realize we were excluding here in this discussion? I should have asked her thoughts). Normal does not mean Audrey or Nancy or a name found in a name book. It might be typical or more average. 

I feel the need to add a disclaimer, that maybe I don't know the real definition of normal. Or maybe saying who I am and that is okay is different from what everyone expects and is used to--which of those is normal? But what values do we attribute to "normal"--expected, belonging? In this day of a rising minority population, aren't we becoming the new normal? 

29. On my favorite holiday

As I excitedly set Pandora to jazz Christmas music a few weeks ago, Stephanie asked if Christmas was my favorite holiday. I thought briefly and told her that No, no Christmas was not my favorite holiday. Chinese New Year is my favorite holiday. I've since spent the past few weeks thinking over holidays. I've started to develop an appreciation for Advent and the hope, waiting, expectation of Christ's birth, but to me, it still sits separate from the holiday spirit and Christmas traditions that most attribute Christmas to. 

This is in part because Christmas doesn't mean a whole lot to our family. I came home on Sunday night, a little more than a week before Christmas. The Christmas tree was still sitting in three parts in the garage; the ornaments in a corner of the family room. We do Christmas presents, but some years my parents just hand us cash to buy our present because they don't know what to get us. I've spent over a third of my Christmases at our church's bi-annual conference, which always took priority over any family celebration. Those years, opening presents were oddly squeezed into a few hours on Christmas Eve or early Christmas morning, sandwiched both before and after by packing for four days in the Hyatt Regency in San Francisco. It feels like we don't have traditions, but we have stories. Like the year mom let us all open our presents early just because we asked. Or when Alan broke almost all our ornaments when he was two years old. Or the year my parents decided we wouldn't get a Christmas tree, so instead we came back from a church Christmas social and discovered mom had decorated Alan's student desk with lights, taped stockings to the wall above, and put presents beneath. 

Christmas at our household feels like a hodgepodge, and we don't always know what to do about it. We didn't eat ham growing up, but isn't turkey for Thanksgiving? One year we did hot pot for Christmas. We can't figure out how to make it a big deal, so sometimes sis goes to her gathering with young adults (mostly immigrants who don't have local family), or a friend will visit, or we'll leave the house for another gathering. My mom oddly ties ribbons and we gave our nativity scene away because we didn't know where to put it. 

But Chinese New Year...Everyone has to be together on Chinese New Year. My mom is excited instead of obligated to decorate, and she reminds us what the couplets hanging by the door frame (duilian) mean. We know we'll have pineapple, oranges, fish, noodles. We know we'll have hot pot. The whole house is sprinkled in red, from the new year's cards to the lanterns to the lion dances on the celebration shows. The CDs with songs singing about good fortune, family togetherness, and spring beginnings with the percussion of drums, cymbals, and firecrackers play for weeks. 

We know how to celebrate Chinese New Year, but we're trying to figure out Christmas. I think that's part of the immigrant/first-generation experience: making up traditions as we go. I don't know what my kids' traditions will look like, but I like thinking of what I'll pick and choose, keep and let go as we sort through significance and meaning. 

28. Home is

My mom exclaiming to my little brother, "Your sister taught all these white people to eat hot pot!" after I told her how we celebrated the end of the semester with the staff team. Also listening to my mom tell me how stressed she was at my little brother's cross country banquet, with a Caucasian family on one side of the table and a Vietnamese family on the other. So much English!

Rewatching the first season of the old period drama Huanzhu Princess, and wishing I could sing along completely, though I still know fragments of the theme song.

當山峰沒有稜角的時候 當河水不再流　 當時間停住　日夜不分 當天地萬物　化為虛有　 我還是不能和你分手　不能和你分手 你的溫柔是我今生　最大的守候 　 當太陽不再上昇的時候　 當地球不再轉動　 當春夏秋冬　不再變換 當花草樹木　全部凋殘　 我還是不能和你分散　不能和你分散 你的笑容是我今生　最大的眷戀 讓我們紅塵作伴活得瀟瀟灑灑　 讓我們策馬奔騰　共享人世繁華　 讓我們對酒當歌  唱出心中喜悅 讓我們轟轟烈烈　把握青春年華

When the mountains fail to peak, When the rivers stop flowing, When time stops, and day and night are no different, When all things on heaven and earth disappear, I will still not be able to part with you, will not be able to part with you Your gentleness is my life’s greatest anticipation. When the sun ceases to rise, When the earth stops its rotation, When the four seasons no longer change, When all the nature has withered away, I still will not be able to part with you, will not be able to part with you Your smile is my life’s greatest attachment. Let us live this life together, live it freely and unrestrainedly Surge forward, basking in the bustling of the world Treat wine as song, singing out our heart’s delight Live grandly and spectacularly, seizing hold of our youth

Not the same translated…just not the same. Not the same rhythm and poetry and expressions.

Also wondering how many of these themes would translate into an English or British drama. What would or wouldn't pass along with the themes in family, shame, honor, suffering?

Watching the characters in the above drama as they write traditional brush calligraphy. Knowing that the brush should be vertical. Noticing the messy pages written by an uneducated character, and instinctively knowing where strokes are fat on the ends that should be thin and vice versa. Wondering if my (future) daughter would know the same. Wondering if I should be ashamed for not knowing the four-character idioms that characterize a scholar. 

I can't believe that first season was when Anthony and I were in third grade. They made a sequel (does that make it a second season?) in sixth grade...but it feels much sooner.

27. Santa's Assumptions

It's SantaCon Pub Crawl downtown tonight, with too many people dressed in red and white and not enough clothes. A "Santa" is going around our table, taking down our names and polling us to see if our friends have been naughty or nice. I'm disinterested and unamused at best, peeved and disgusted at worst. On Jesse's suggestion, I tell Santa my name is Brittany. I could have made the night a lot smoother by just letting him play out his little conversation, but my snark gets the better of me and I ask, "What if I don't believe in Santa?" Santa tries turning it into a real conversation but I give him little to work with. Our waitress overhears the conversation and pipes in, "What if she doesn't believe in Santa because of religious reasons?" Santa continues this topic and asks if that's my reason. "You're Asian. Well, are you Buddhist?"

I need someone to give me guidelines on stereotypes, racism, generalizations. Where is it okay? Where is it not? When will I stop being hypersensitive to all conversations regarding me as an Asian?
Is there something Santa could have said that wouldn't have raised my walls, defenses, arguments? It doesn't help that I was already wanting him to go away five minutes before he even talked to me, so that puts him at a bad place to begin with. Admittedly, there's little he could have said that would have made me interested to talk to him. It still wouldn't have hurt if he just asked if I...what? Was Buddhist? Was Christian? Am I just caught off guard because he had to point out the very true fact that I am Asian? Did it make me re-realize I was the only Asian of our group of 14?

26. Parallel streets

Sacramento. Your streets confuse me. I am forced to turn left because a U-turn is not an option. Only today did I realize that the ramps on W street don't give me any options I want. I-5 North, I-5 South, 80 West--none of those actually take me to 50 East. Here I've been trying to choose between option a and b, when it turns out I need c, which is several blocks in the other direction.

Sacramento, I take so long to find parking in your downtown. I find myself driving in circles and circles along the same streets, exhaling a deep breath of relief when I finally find a spot several blocks from my actual destination.

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Lately I've been acting based on reactions and not as a choice. If I could I would do otherwise, but in some ways I feel like my options are limited, sometimes by mere situation. Yet on other topics, I have yet to recognize that the options I have are not helpful. Neither defaulting to my natural nor compensating for brokenness are the options I want to choose. Aching for option c (but father God, what is that option?)

I move from place to place without really resting. At home, I finish up to-do's and keep to myself. In ministry, I make things up as I go and feel neither grounded nor confident. In my mind, I turn over the same thoughts over and over again, mulling. More mulling. In the small places of rest I exhale and try to let my muscles relax, yet even in those places I feel far from home.

25. So Young

Still mulling over Wednesday's conversation and the long afternoon of questions, slight confessions, and grasps at truth. Grateful for trusted mentors who are several steps ahead of me who can look back and say that they've been through that too. In these conversations about our worth/identity/value and even our journey in our ethnicity, he reminds me that I'm, "what? twenty-four?" Just twenty-four. I wish I could say "cusp of adulthood" because it sounds so dramatic, but I've been an adult. Just...now in a highly-pressurized area of growth, I guess.

But man. Twenty-four years of life is really not that long. I'm impatient about growth, laughing off some bitter sarcastic question on if I'll figure out some of these identity questions by the this time next year. Because that'd be really nice, you know. But in truth I know that's not going to happen. That even in a decade I'll still be so young to really know who I am, what makes me tick, where my deep brokenness lies, and where redemption and healing is sweeping in.

I'll be a little closer, but even so there'll still be a long ways to go. A long ways of brokenness and beauty, I suppose.

24. On a simple Christmas party

Lots and lots of laughter,  a few catch-ups, way too much food. New friends. A wonderful Christmas party where I thought I would only know two people, it turns out to be five, plus connections to a few others. One girl who I think, I think she could be my friend. It feels good to have friends again, and sometimes it takes nights like this to remind me how starved I am company among [non-staff] friends. A beautifully simple worship songs with only one song I knew and five that I wish I did. Is this quiet, all-voices-blend-including-the-leader's, simple worship one of characteristics of Asian American worship? I think of when James Chuong used "invitational" to describe our style.

I realized that if the church wasn't Chinese and I didn't know Gavin and Annie, I would have probably stopped attending CGBC by now. But those two factors are a tipping point. Being able to look at a Chinese American church in the new lens of my ethnic journey is both puzzling and enjoyable at the same time, and gives me a breath of air amidst my growth as a bridge-builder. And knowing Gavin and Annie opens the door to things like last night, and the potential for friends and community is so crucial.

23. In stress and grace

He thinks and tells me that right now I'm just instinctively putting up walls. That every move is a reaction, unintentional. Putting out flames but not getting to the root of it.

I know he's right. I know as he asks if I have a space to just be that the answer is no. I can make reasons and explanations, like, "I can be ___ with this person" or "I am open about ___ here." But for a general resting, to be fully known, the answer is no, I don't have that. And it's taking a toll. And I'm keeping more to myself than I realize (this is a pattern in my life).

Our walk is probably 40 minutes long, if not an hour. At some point I realize I can't rest my shoulders, and my muscles won't relax. Whether my hands are in my jeans or my jacket pocket, they're stiff. Something in my body wants to carry a certain posture and expression. I try to fix this while continuing the conversation, so I find myself walking with my hands out of my pockets so my arms can swing freely, though at the expense of cold fingers. I roll my shoulders a few times to loosen them, to let off a little of the pressure I'm carrying around. I stretch my arms. Relax, relax.

I need to just be. Amidst the pressure of everything...everything. As we talked today I realized there's so much transition in my life it almost feels comical. It feels impossible that there can be that much change and newness and unknown in one life at one time, yet there is. In a weird way, if I lay it all in front of me, it's so overwhelming maybe I can't do anything but laugh. So with every transition and every turn is another valve trying to stay just below exploding.

And the notion that's telling me to relax my shoulders, to stand at ease, to be okay not knowing what to say...is also telling me there's more to be known. The Father is calling his daughter to be known. To uncover all the brokenness, stress, sadness, disappointment, loneliness, and expectations and let him in. Do you want to know grace? Maybe I am afraid of how much I need it.

22. Hobbies

I think this year I'm a little more conscious of hobbies and loving what I love. Like all-day Ultimate tournaments where you get hit by the disc but catch it anyway, or make that perfect cut to catch one in the end zone. Then taking a bubble bath when you finally, finally get home, soaking your hurts-to-move legs in the warm water while the berry-scented foam makes fizzle sounds around you. Sitting as long as you want in the tub because why not? We should take more bubble baths.

Hobbies like baking, and baking just because I want to, not because I'm meeting with hungry college students later. Baking a perfect, and I mean perfect!, batch of white-chocolate-cranberry cookies with white chocolate drizzled on top. Yes, drizzled--this is a real nice batch, not just a last-minute brownie batch thrown in the oven. I like baking just because, baking simply because I feel like it. I like looking at these batch of cookies and deciding who I want to gift this homemade goodness to, and how many I can eat for myself! And I like thinking, you know what--I think I'm going to bake another batch over the weekend.

I think I'm noticing things like these because (1) I have been recognizing the need to enjoy hobbies and do life-giving activities, and (2) maybe I don't do them enough...

21. Today I wrote elsewhere

I wrote a prayer letter today which has sapped up most of my writing! Why oh why do those always take three times longer than I think they will? Oh right. The formatting, tweaking, graphics, links. I probably like this too much for my own good.

20. Weight of Words

I'm sending out Christmas cards for the first time this year! Even though I know it's taking up way too much time, I can't help but jotting a personal note on the back of 99% of my cards. I'm getting a lot better at writing 聖誕節快樂 (my first one was horribly out of proportion) for all the church uncles and aunties. Other notes are very cliche. 

I found myself writing "Can't wait to see you!" on one of my cards and I realized...that's not exactly right. I've used that phrase most often with Darrell as we're counting down our long days in between seeing each other, and those are the times when I find myself urging life to speed up, wishing I could just lean forward into the next day, fast forward a few hours--anything, really, because I really can't wait. In comparison to that, jotting this down on the back of a good friend's card seems to pale and even feels a tad dishonest, though I am looking forward to our rendezvous next month. 

Then again, I'm the one who doles out I-love-you's to a generous amount of friends once they've reached a threshold of trust and relationship, which is not the most difficult thing. I use affectionate words freely yet mean them sincerely. But for some reason, this one card just caught me a bit off guard. 

19. For the little brother

My little brother is a boss and ran his first half marathon for his 18th birthday, placing first in his age group. What the heck, right? Eighteen years ago I was home sick from school, and when I woke up, mom had gone to the hospital with dad and our family of five became a family of six. He was the most adorable, chubbiest baby who gave us story after story to work with, like when he pulled out a chicken drumstick (we were not having chicken that night) he had saved in the cushion of his high chair. Or when he stuck carrots in the VCR,  or when he got all us three older siblings in trouble when he managed to roll off the bed when we were supposed to be watching him. Story after story...like the year both Anthony and Alan were sick their birthday week, and my mom let them open presents in the middle of the night. Can you understand my confusion when I woke up in the morning to learn this??

I gave him a lot of grief in his older-kid years. Convinced that the parents and my brother and sister were going to easy on him, I took it as my role to be the stricter one so he wouldn't grow up spoiled. Add to that the mess that comes with being the sibling closest in age to him as he constantly copied me (this was one of my biggest. pet. peeves.) in the crafts I made, what I wanted to do, etc.

He was ten years old when I left for college, and I often want to still think of him as a twelve-year-old, his age when I last lived at home for a long period of time. I had started doing very sister-ish things, just me and him, like buying him food whenever we went out, dragging him with me to go on errands (really, what else did he have to do with his time?), taking him to the park in hopes that he would love being out side like I did. Many years I would buy him books, as he would enjoy reading if he was given a good book to read. I guess I was pretty insistent on passing on values to him, particularly as we would have discussions filled with questions, speculations, what-if's, and maybes.

Now he's eighteen but thinks maturely for his age. I think that comes in part from being forced to grow up when you have older siblings, but there's also something solid about him. He has excelled in so many arenas and knows to think critically. He has a number of not-so-great habits and rough edges that will develop as he grows older, but still -- I am convinced he is the best eighteen year old out there. Happy Birthday, kiddo.

18. Faithful

Four and a half months. I've been in Sacramento for four and a half months. That first week here in August was rough, so rough. I remember taking my first run my the American River that first week, just a few days after hearing the news that Darrell wasn't moving up here after all. I ran because I was desperate for my thoughts to focus instead of jumping a in a hundred directions at once, but on that path, I was also jealous for how peaceful that river looked. I remember thinking to myself and eventually writing how it looked so much more calm than I felt. After all, Darrell's plans, which were meant to intersect mine within a month and a half, had just unraveled. We both oscillated understandably between a plethora of emotions, and at some point I sent this song to him after I heard it in a church one morning, writing that I looked forward to being able to sing about God's faithfulness in this period later in life (I really didn't feel like at the moment).

Four and a half months later, we're celebrating the end of the semester on Area Day, and I'm grateful. I partly feel like I've walked out of a tunnel, yet that gives the inaccurate impression that these several months has been a musty darkness. Truthfully, at times it has felt like a deep valley, where every week I'm making up steps to take, dodging other rocks just to get through. But there has been solid truth at other points. Flipping through my journal, I read the pages I wrote during my retreat, challenging myself to believe that it's enough that God created me, that I can be with Him. "Let go of your compulsion to be indespensible," I copied down to remember, to just be with Him. A month and a half later I held onto Psalm 139, that who God has created me to be is good even as I unpacked all the feelings I had of being alone in my experience. And Jeremiah 1, that I am called and given his word despite my young age.

There are no clear answers from that rocky start in August. But there is a bit of freedom acquired that that is okay, as if one of the things we are learning is that long-term confusion is all right. And clinging to and trusting in God's faithfulness then felt blind. But through the semester he hasn't left us. He has continued to move, given freedom to tell him over and over again that I still don't freaking get...but He has also still been here.


The sun comes up, it's a new day dawning
It's time to sing Your song again
Whatever may pass, and whatever lies before me
Let me be singing when the evening comes

Bless the Lord, O my soul
O my soul
Worship His holy name
Sing like never before
O my soul
I'll worship Your holy name

17. Crap, wrong manners.

Last month we were eating brunch at the home of dear friends of ours. At the end of the meal, I started to gather the silverware and stack the plates so I could help them put them away. This is customary at an Asian house to help out until the host insists you stop. My brother and I majorly impressed some Chinese parents when we offered to clean and helped wash dishes at the end of the meal. You always offer to help, and if though the host often insists you don't, you are expected to do so anyway. This, however, is not what Larry was expecting. "Don't do that! You know you don't have to do that," he said as he quickly took the dishes from me. Wrong thing to do as a guest in a white American home?

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Related to host vs. guest roles, hostess gifts are common in both the American culture I've learned and the Chinese culture I grew up in, though the actual gifts and things you bring vary. When we head to a Chinese home, we usually bring fruits or snacks that get shared with us that very afternoon. I feel like hostess gifts in American culture are more for holiday parties or housewarmings and include adornments for the home (vases, decorative items) or necessities for guests (like soaps or serving ware?) in addition to munchies with which you can host. Of course, this is what I gather from reading things like Real Simple and Better Home & Gardens, so like I may be completely inaccurate.

Anyway, when I visit a Chinese family, I always know to bring over biscuits, cookies, or fruit. I'm not quite sure if I've ever really gifted a hostess gift to a non-Chinese home (maybe I've never been to that sort of party), but over the past few years, I have learned to ask, "Is there anything I should bring?" to a non-Asian host before I come for a meal. Usually there's nothing, but occasionally I've been encouraged to add drinks or a small dessert as a supplement.

Thus I didn't think twice when I asked my Chinese friend Michelle, "Is there anything I can bring?" before I headed to her house for lunch. She almost sounded startled, caught off guard. "No, no we have everything here. We have drinks, vegetables, food, ice cream. You don't need to bring anything." Whoops, wrong question I realized quickly. It didn't change the fact that I still brought lemon cookies to share after the meal, but it was definitely not a question that was expected or needed, not in a culture where hosting means providing everything and anything for your guest's most comfortable experience. A Chinese host would not ask you to bring anything to the meal.
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Summary: Right manners. Wrong situations.

16. Tears and defenses

I cried at my parents over the weekend. It seems like every time this happens, it's a result of personal insecurity, confused expectations, and a frustration in communication rolled into one. Confused expectations because I can't tell exactly what they are hoping for. I understand my role as a daughter to honor and take care of you, but am I an adult who should be doing that now? Or am I a child till I am married, as some say? Am I not growing up quickly enough? Personal insecurity because I am still unconvinced they fully support me, and I am afraid that I should be able to pay for a good meal of dim sum on a Saturday morning instead of three burgers and fries at In-n-Out. Frustration in communication because speaking to my parents often feels like treading a line: how do I be honest without hurting feelings? how come I can't clear this cloud away to see which of my accusations are unbiased? will I always feel like I'm slowly testing how honest I can be with them? how come I'm 24 and still have trouble sorting out why I'm crying in a restaurant? Then there's the sheer fact of our conversations flowing between Mandarin, English, and Chinglish.

The last time this happened, I had been back in the US for about a week and a half after a six-week trip to India. My dad asked what my post-grad plans were, and suddenly, I found myself having to explain my decision to intern with InterVarsity before I was fully ready to for the conversation. I cried in the restaurant, sat silent in the van, and journaled in the bathroom when I got home (I don't really have my own room, and I didn't feel like running into any of the siblings).

My mom's attitude towards my post-grad choice has changed much since. Still, she repeats a lot of questions to me: How many hours am I babysitting? How much am I getting paid? My dad asks if I have enough money. There is something in me that cannot accept these as fully out of concern and love; I hear an undertone of them doubting my choices, but there's a good chance that that's the insecure voices. After all, I know that our parents challenge our decisions because they love us and want security and comfort for us. Yet why does it make me feel challenged, small, and defensive?

15. To my not-quite-twin and best friend

gosh, we were such adorable Chinese kids.

When my parents were expecting their second child, they thought they wouldn't mind having a third one. After all, they noticed how my older sister, an only child for three years, was often without a playmate, particularly since my parents didn't find many options to venture out of the home. So hey, if we were to have another sibling closer in age for this next one, that wouldn't be a bad idea.

This is obviously paraphrased from the story my parents tell in Mandarin, but since it's a crucial element to my existence, I like to tell it in my words.

All that to say is this: Twenty five years ago, Anthony was born. Then 351 days later, his best friend, partner in crime, cover-up wingman, and passively aggressive competitor was born. It wouldn't be a lie to say that I was born so Anthony would have a playmate, buddy, and friend, which sounds vaguely similar to the back of a Jodi Picoult novel sans the life and death part.

Growing up that close to a sibling makes for great stories. You're partners since birth, and as a kid we'd tell each other what we wanted for Christmas to pass on the message to our parents. One person paves the way for the other, or other times, you team up to appeal to the parentals together. Oh, Anthony already asked to go to Homecoming? Sure, I'd like to go too. Or No mom, don't worry about him staying after school for that activity. Then there are the number of times you cover up for each other, from playing Nintendo 64 before leaving for school, to Anthony's streak of recording Pokemon and Digimon episodes, to covering him when he went to Jia pei's birthday party, and even helping him sneak back into the house just this year ;) (There are probably stories of Anthony covering for me too, but I can't remember them...). Then there are those rough years when you watch new paths being taken or questions being asked...still having each other's trust but not sure of their direction. When it feels like him against the parents, you subconsciously hope, pray, and pull strings so that at the end of the day, he still has you, and vice versa. So you don't tell when he gets his ears pierced, and he listens while you sort through the parents' response to your career decision.

So here we are after four years of friendship, sibling-hood, and growing up. We still play gaming consoles together, and he still shows me fight scenes and clips. I still have great taste in books (haha). But we also go to Starbucks just to catch up, talk about things our family goes through, share what we are learning about faith and God, and stare in amazement at our almost 18-year-old brother who used to be so small. The years when I was tired of him 'stealing' my friends, when I shoved him away for reading over my shoulder (most annoying thing ever), and when I gave him a scar on his hand for sitting on me are long gone. The never-ending comparison from two almost-siblings still remains, in both healthy competition and unhealthy inadequacy feelings. We keep taking step after step of growing up together. Not always the same--He got a credit card first, but I had to pay rent because I moved out. And on and on and on. With all that though, I am so glad for my best friend and brother...happy, happy birthday, Anthony =)

14. Grown up friends

I have 'adopted' many older brothers and sisters in life, but Jenn is probably the first, seeing as she has known me since birth. I'm not even sure how much older than me she is, but I was a young teenager when she left for college, and after that, we only saw each other on random weekends when we both happened to be at church. So though she knew me since birth, but did I really know her at all? I have a few key memories of her as a spiritual sister and teacher, particularly one morning when we sat together on her bed reading a Psalms. She asked what I thought about it, what verse I liked, and why. I think that was the first time someone made interacting with scripture so simple and normal. But other than that, she was Jenn Jenn jie jie: pretty, smart, and fun. She was always a role model, but I don't think I could have pinpointed specifics as to why. 

Jenn just moved to Sacramento, which puts us closer geographically than we have been in my twenty-four years of life. Of course, we had to catch up. After 2.5 hours (the last half in which we didn't eat a single bite),  it feels like I just rediscovered a friend. A friend who knows my family, who was genuinely concerned about the effect of our parents' leaving the Adventist church on my and my siblings' faiths, who has made grown up decisions about following Jesus, and who is also adjusting to being a minority as an Asian for kinda-ish the first time. 

While it still feels like a decade's worth of catching up to do, I think an old friend can make you smile in special ways. Like how Jenn and her sister Christine noticed how Anthony and I had authority of our Vacation Bible School classrooms, though we must have been only thirteen or fourteen that very first year. Or how Jenn clearly remembers telling Christine that I was organized, and if she put me in charge of crafts for all classes for the whole week, I would get it done. How she could tell I'd handle this I have no idea! Still, I remember neatly on sheets of lined paper, breaking down the total supplies to purchase and what pages to find the specific crafts instructions. Then of course there are the stories and stories they can tell about our little trio of Do-Re-Mi siblings, then eventually of Alan. 

With all of these, I always knew she loved me as a younger sister, and I adored and looked up to her as an older sister. But tonight I feel like we are friends again, and though she still sees the chubby (my description) five-year-old in my face, something in me feels like catching up with her and telling her about who I am, what I do, what I think makes me feel like I've grown up a lot. 

(P.S. Jenn, do you still read this blog??)

13. On repairs

All right. It's day thirteen of 30 (or 31? I haven't decided), which means I'm almosttt halfway through this month-long project. And now I have hit a block when it's late at night and I don't feel like writing. Which was supposed to come soon enough.

Not that there isn't anything to write about. There are half-posts that have formed in my head from the events of the past 24 hours: things I love about the rain, memories triggered by The Fray's "To Save a Life" on the radio, attending church as a newcomer/stranger, and the surprising amount of joy at our leaders team Christmas celebration, despite the unexplained absence of two of our students.

Or I could write about my theories of symptoms vs. being sick (and how dating a pharmacy student has changed that) or how I'm going to take my baby the Rebel into Mike's Camera Shop to see if they can do anything about getting the external flash to work. I'm a little terrified they will learn what a real noob I am with it, and how they'll expose (no pun intended) how I've been taking poor care of it to begin with. Maybe I should give it a good cleaning to begin with. Come to think of it, reminds me of how I would try to be less-sick at the doctor's even though that was the very point I was there, or pretend like my tooth hurt less at the dentist so I wouldn't get called on the fact that I wasn't taking care of it. On a far deeper note, I guess it's like how we try to clean ourselves up and get ourselves straight before approaching Jesus, completely forgetting the fact that (1) it doesn't fool him, and (2) we are going to him so he can deal with our junk.

So in reality if the people at the camera shop lecture me about what a novice I am and how I've messed up my little baby..........well, it reveals only the fact that I am not pro anyway, so why am I so afraid of the truth?? And don't I want to take care of my camera better?

I guess we got something real out of my non-post anyway. From my camera, no less!

Related: pleasepleaseplease don't cost me too much money.

12. On foreign languages

I was surprised to hear that my parents were going to watch a Chinese movie in the theaters: What Chinese movie could possibly be playing on the big screen? It turns out they watched Back to 1942, a movie about the Henan famine that takes place while China was at war with Japan. My mom returned noticeably saddened and solemn as she worried about any extreme sufferings that could take place in our lifetimes.

But she and my dad also made sure to point out a little detail. They were saddened that the large room had fewer than ten people. Worse, after the first few minutes of the Mandarin introduction, two more people left the audience. My parents guessed these patrons must have expected and English-speaking movie, as the trailer shows the clips of English speakers, yet the international movie is spoken in mainly Mandarin with Chinese and English subtitles.

It's was almost like a personal hurt or minor offense, like they were saddened that they left, unwilling to need to read the subtitles for the movie.

______________________________

Darrell and I are talking to his parents about Chinese American churches. They tell us about when they first searched for a church in the area, where most of the congregations were overseas born, and you would show up at a service where the main service was spoken in Chinese and translated to English (or vice versa). Worse, his dad says, at one church, the translation was given through headphones for the audience members. While they grew up in a church with a translated main service, it wasn't till years later that they realized the time and engagement lost through the translation. 

In this conversation, I realized a position that I never had to take. In a congregation where simultaneous translation is offered, I am so used to the fair-sized pocket of people who can understand both languages. These are the people who help the translator when he or she is stuck, and on a rare occasion, I am proud to be one of  them.  I may not be able to fully understand a Chinese teaching, yet I am fortunate enough to weave my way around churches and Chinese adults and know what they are saying. Though my vocabulary is minimal, I get automatic bonus points for being able to speak relatively competently.

It's a "duh" point for that for some people translation is necessary. But I didn't think till today of those who need to rely on translation. Translations in a Chinese church to me helped me fill in the blanks and connected dots because I missed definitions, not because I would be lost without it. In some ways, if I am interested enough (unfortunately, majority of the time I am not), it keeps me on my toes as I listen carefully to match the Chinese words I don't know to the English translation. But for others, translations are, in a sense, unwelcoming and inefficient compared to a English-speaking congregation.

(Too tired to think of a better conclusion for this)

11. Nostalgia

Sometimes I wish you could replay life, but despite my good memory of people, elements, and sounds, the moment won't ever be recreated. Too bad, because there were some nights that were just so good. Late nights in Farley or the Alpine House, when we college students could stay up late and suffer minimal consequences. We could spend the entire day together, then again the next day.

I walked into my living room a couple hours ago to find a number of students jamming. The live music is pleasant, the harmonies so good, but at the same time, I feel like I'm watching other people create these memories for their own lives. These are the nights they will look back on: jamming after large group, finding chords and playing songs as they please. Sometimes worship songs, sometimes goofing off to old school hits. Sometimes making up things that just sound good: Jesse says he has no idea what he's playing, but his guitar picking is right along with Garrett's piano chords.

I'm sitting right here, and it's relaxing and good. But nostalgia is what it triggers: memories of friends near and far, nights when I distinctly remember being so glad to be alive, so grateful to know the people around me. But now they're miles and miles away, further from the living rooms we loved in Stockton but closer to who God has made us to be.

Not that I don't like where I am now, but how do you move to different life stages? How do you simultaneously recognize what was good but also let it go to fully love the next chapter? Will it always sadden you that that specific combination of people at that night in that place with that music will never be recreated?

10. On Dreams

Inspired by a friend.

A few nights ago, I dreamed it was time to leave for Urbana. A group of us were standing at a transit station, when one of our group members realized she had forgotten something. Since we had to wait for her, I asked to go back to grab something from my apartment as well. As I biked (I don't have a bike in real life) back to my apartment building (I live in a condo in real life), I realized I had forgotten to pack my winter jacket. Like, the thick snowboarding one I bought specifically for Urbana three years ago. And when I got into my apartment, I also discovered I hadn't even packed my standard cold-weather coat. In my dream I felt the sense of urgency from delaying our traveling team, the shame of being ill-prepared and forgetful, and the pressure of needing to run through a packing list again because clearly, I had missed a number of things the first time around.

I remember my dreams maybe once a week or so, and more often than not, they are close enough to normal that I dismiss them. The ones that remain in my memory fall into the categories of the strange, the good, or the uncomfortable. The latter category leaves me shaken up when I awake, wondering where the dream came from, particularly if all are dreams have roots or traces of our reality or subconscious. These are dreams of things that are shameful or wrong, like the wrong person putting his arms around me and saying it's okay when I know it's not. The strange dreams tend to be just the wrong people in the wrong places doing something random, and I usually don't remember them till halfway through the following day when something triggers my memory. Like when my friend's wife Jenn was giving my former roommate Della and I marriage advice--Huh? The three of us have never talked about relationships together. My interest is piqued and I'm amused, but that's about it.

Then there are the good dreams, of which I don't have many and with specifics I can't recall. But the traces I remember include the streets of Malaysia and celebrations with friends. I think that's most of it.

My brother Anthony always, always dreams about being a superhero and fighting bad guys. If you know him, you're not surprised. An X-Men fanatic, he reads comic books, draws the characters, excitedly explains superpowers and their consequences. His background in martial arts and the numerous fight scenes he's replayed over and over again makes combat in his dreams really not hard to believe. It took me awhile to realize that the consistency of these dreams is pretty abnormal, and now I smile to think of it.

On an amusing note, in the numerous times I've shared a room or slept over with my best friend, she has stories of me talking about to-do lists or using my planning voice in my sleep. That makes sense. But what of these other dreams? More often than not, the dreams I recall leave me in discomfort or insecure, off-kilter at best. If anything, I suppose in my sleep, the rest that happens ends up unwinding things that maybe? I should pay attention to. Like my just-kidding-but-no-seriously fears of being late, unprepared, or unqualified for Urbana.  

9. In the Kitchen

My first distinct memory of helping out in the kitchen was somewhere in middle school. Mom called home while she was out getting groceries and asked me to chop garlic so it’d be ready by the time she got home. After several attempts of trying to chop apart the cloves, our friend who was playing at our house that afternoon stepped in and showed me how peeling apart the outside layers let you get to the cloves inside. It wasn’t till a few more times of being assigned this task that my mom showed me how to crush the cloves under a wide blade to make the cloves easily to peel.

I’m grateful that my mom made me help out in the kitchen all through high school, and I picked up most of my experience there. Onions and garlic go in first for their aroma. Use a mixture of cornstarch and water to thicken the sauce in stir fried vegetables. Put in these vegetables first, these last because of how quickly they cook. Add flour to thicken the ground meat to for chicken burgers. Add more sesame oil for the meatballs for hot pot.

Still, I don’t remember when I actually started to enjoy cooking. I didn’t do much of it the first year I moved off campus. Too busy with a full load of engineering classes and leading small group, I must have heated up a lot of frozen foods, ate a lot of pasta with pre-made sauces, and probably grabbed McDonald’s or Subway on more than I’d like to admit. I first remember being real proud of a full home-cooked meal the following year after I moved to the Yellow House and started working for co-op. Among the list of cooking adventures: shopping at farmer’s market, finally going to the Chinese supermarket, and accomplishing some staples like sweet and sour chicken or kuey teow tung (my favorite noodle soup, though never made with the complex flavors of the genuine Malaysian version).

I recently realized that part of my motivation for cooking is necessity. Not just the need-to-survive and living-on-a-budget necessity. But learning to make the dishes I love at home is necessary so I can enjoy, well, the foods I like in life. Malaysian food is way too expensive, and as much as we go to Banana Leaf, we can never order everything we want (nor really afford to go all the time!). And at some point I’m going to want to eat the sour flavors of asam fish or hot curry chicken while I’m weeks away from my next visit home. So that’s motivating the slow exploration, though I must admit it’s disappointing to make a whole dish that, while tasty, doesn’t taste quite right. I’m reminding myself that my mom and the chefs have had years and years of practice, but it doesn’t take away from the fact that I wish I was eating my mom’s asam fish tonight other than my own…

8. Autumn walk

I walked around campus for the first time in what feels like a month. I was sad that I had put off a long walk for so long, as most of the vibrant reds, oranges, and greens have passed onto the grayish faded yellow. Most of them, except for the few pockets of campus with bright yellow leaves that have carpeted the lawn. I scuffled my way through some of them and noticed how thick the layer of yellow was. I saw a couple laying down in one of them, casually scattering leaves on each other. It's been awhile since I've rolled around in autumn leaves.

The ceramics sale I stopped by reminded me of my former roommate and good friend Lauren, who has helped me appreciate sculptures and pottery through the numerous explanations she gave and pieces she showed. I mentally guessed at how glazes were dipped or double-dipped, thought about what makes the pieces glossy or not, and imagined the inspiration and brushstrokes added onto the pieces. And I wished that I had more people on my Christmas list who would appreciate ceramic pieces so I would have an excuse to pick up more than the one leaf-shaped plate that I brought home.

I'm also really tired for some reason, so I'm going to end this now with another picture. Consider it a bonus to you and a treat for myself, as its been too long since my camera has gotten some air! On tomorrow's to-do list is finally taking a picture of the tree outside our apartment. Hopefully the red-orange-green colors hold out another day. If not, I'm kicking myself for putting this off for so long!

7. Present

This morning I finally and fully unpacked. I've been out of town for the past five weekends and chose to not bother with putting away my suitcase in that time. But this time, I'm done, though technically I'm out this Friday night and Saturday, but whatever.

In some ways it feels like a reset. I knew I hadn't spent a Sunday in Sacramento for a long time, thus haven't attended church for that duration as well. But it took a weekend in Stockton and talking with some old friends to remind myself of what I'm missing by not having a home church. I forgot that this takes intention and going out of the way to be back in town, that I have to say no to some things elsewhere to say yes to what's going on here.

I'm here, Sacramento. I'll run a half marathon here next spring, not only because it's cheaper and flatter than in San Francisco, but because the American River is part of this new home. I want to love your downtown and midtown and the various neighborhoods. Present--I want to be present here. I'll always love the Bay and Stockton has a piece of my heart, but I believe in fully living where I am. Right now you are home because of my address and where all my stuff is. You are home because I have my own room and I can rest. But one day I hope you'll be home because I'll have things to share about you, things I love about you. I hope I can choose from places I love and not just the few places I love. 

You already have bonus points for the American River, the marina, and the gorgeous colored leaves in my favorite season of the year. You have plenty of ultimate frisbee, an active running club, and swing dancing. You have cute bistros and restaurants downtown and lots of parks. Sure, you have your rough parts and sketchy neighborhoods, and maybe in the future I can testify that I can see goodness and God's work there (but for now I can only say that in faith). Regardless, good or bad, I just need time to be here.

6. Christmas in the Park

(It's less than a week into this project and I already missed a day! In my defense, yesterday was a long back-to-back day...)

Darrell and I visited Christmas in the Park yesterday, an old downtown San Jose tradition full of decorated trees and animated booths. I remember going a few times as a little kid, and there's even pictures of my siblings and me in those stick-your-face-in-the-hole displays. It wasn't an annual thing, but it's part of our memories. Years later, we frequented the park as returning college students looking for something to do. One year, we went on the closing day, when the decorations were gone from the trees and most of the lights were off. We ran into some workers from the carnival rides and booths who wished us Happy Holidays with free caramel apples (because they wouldn't be able to sell them after).

Last year was supposed to be the tradition's last year, with funding losses and whatever else the bad economy or changing interests brings. But somehow they made it happen again, and perhaps its potential disappearance made me grateful it was there. Grateful enough to throw coins at a reindeer display collecting donations (it wished me a Merry Christmas when I made it into its mouth!), smile at the high school volunteers, and read the signs of the foundations, charities, and local organizations that decorated the trees in the community forest.

Not to say that Christmas is all about the lights and snowflakes, but I have to admit that one of my favorite things about the holidays is the atmosphere. But where can you find it, really? I guess you could find a street with as many lit and decorated houses as possible. Or a street of shops and stores lined with trees covered in Christmas lights. Other than that, my only other guess is the big trees and giant ornaments in the mall, which is also the last place I want to be spending my Christmas. Thus I am grateful for public displays (even the Macy's tree in union square, I suppose), and for Christmas in the Park, filled with families and friends, old school Christmas symbols, holiday songs, and the scent of real Christmas trees.

5. On Reflecting Christ

Hanging out with my old high school friends is one of the situations where I'm not very good at reflecting Jesus. My high school faith was relatively shallow, and I never figured out a good way to speak confidently but relevantly about what I believed and how that affected my life. As I grew in college, my maturity didn't quite translate into my conversation. Now we're six years after high school, and even though I'm almost in full-time ministry, it's like the conversation of faith and beliefs sits on a shelf, occasionally dribbling a way in but never turning into something real.

And in a group where spirituality is not really anyone's interest, how am I reflecting Jesus? Do they see my faith, religion as something that really matters? Am I really different than any one of them? I'm a bit disappointed in myself as my petty competitiveness come out and I let the usual gossip slip. I've never really figured out how to turn the conversation away from old classmate gossip nor articulate why I even want to do so.

When I think about reflecting Jesus, I think about a radiating love and kindness. I think about a character that is set apart. A person who breaks norms and loves across boundaries. I know I've experienced this love, but what can I do to make sure others experience it too? Jesus, transform my heart even more and let others see you...

4. On God and Engineering

I may not be a practicing engineer, but I enjoyed the study of civil engineering a lot and still think a lot like one. I’ve been thinking a lot about finding God in engineering. It sometimes seems so obvious for my friends in the life sciences as they study the complexities of creation, but I’ve found few people articulating the connection to God and the field of engineering. Yet I believe that God’s story and work is woven throughout our lives, and sometimes we just have to realize it. Once I considered the question, a few very obvious and beloved points jumped out in my mind quickly. Keep in mind that this is from the perspective of a civil engineer with a little background in structural, water resources, and environmental engineering. For those in traffic engineering, electrical, or anything else—I’d love to hear your thoughts!

One of my first thoughts of God/creation/redemption to engineering is how often our designs imitate his creation. The scientific term is “biomimicry”: the examination of nature, its models, systems, processes, and elements to emulate or take inspiration from in order to solve human problems (Wikipedia). I like to think of it as God’s design, his nature is so perfect that engineers and designers have a whole term designated to mimic what we see, often because that design is really the best. I remember reading about the central draft air system in a building modeled after ventilation in an anthill. Or surfaces and coatings designed to copy waterproof leaves or semi-permeable skins on a frog (something like that. It’s been awhile since that class).  If this kind of stuff interests you, see this short Fast Company video about biomimicry and energy efficiency.

Secondly, we need to take our cue in design, engineering, and technology from the creator himself and the laws he lays out for us. Specifically, the move towards sustainability is undeniable in the recent years. Being sustainable, “cool”, “green” is the thing these days, which is incredibly important for conserving our natural resources and taking care of the quality of our air, water, and health.  I stand behind this because as a follower of Jesus, I believe that his redemption covers not only us with God and our relationships with each other, but also the redemption of us and creation. God’s original creation was good, and his good plan included proper stewardship of his land. The Year of Jubilee (Leviticus 25) includes returning land to those who owned it, forgiving debts, and also allowing the land to rest. God outlines a sustainable system for us from the very start, though we fail to recognize it.

On a side note: One of the biggest challenges of sustainability is convincing businesses and people that It’s good for them and it’s worth it. It’s better to be sustainable: the monetary investment put into designing a LEED certified building, for example, pays off in the costs saved by operations and maintenance. The health benefits of restricting emissions and hazardous waste—can you really argue this? But more importantly, I hear the echo of the good news and of redemption as God tells us that his way has always been better. His intention for us to care for creation has always been better, even in something as the nutrition and benefits of local farmers (more similar to old school/scripture ways of life) than chain grocery stores with shipments coming from miles away.    

Next, on the topic of design, I can’t help but think of the details and details that God provides every time something is to be built. His Tabernacle (Exodus 25-27), the ark Noah built (Genesis 6), the details provided in the repair of Jerusalem’s walls (Nehemiah 3). God doesn’t give any blueprints, and sometimes his instructions leave much to fill in. Still, I read the measurements and the instructions and I see a project engineer who has a vision for a completed product and the ability to delegate his team to get it done.

Lastly, when I think about engineering, I think about integrity. Integrity of the designers, engineers, and builders is essential for safety. I deeply hope that for the lives and safety of all people that they work with good character. Designing without integrity could prioritize profit over efficient design (that conserves resources for the public) or even safety (comprising quality to save time or money). But ultimately the engineer’s role is to design for the people and to uphold a strong ethical law. And when I think about character, truth, and concern for his people over all else—profit, efficiency, even his own choice—I think of the Father. I think of his son Jesus, whose lives we try to emulate. We seek to reflect his truth and justice, and his character alone is perfect. He is an engineer, manager, builder that we could all trust. 

These are just brief thoughts I've been churning, and obviously they could use a little more detail and scriptural back up. But it was fun to finally put them to words. Maybe in my ideal world, they'll turn into a fuller paper or article or something. For now, this will have to do :)

3. Thanksgiving at Our Table

It's common for the crab to be a bigger hit than the turkey. Speaking of that, the turkey is cooked in soy sauce and Lee Kum Kee Char Siu Sauce, and dad did real good with it this year (sometimes it's not a big hit). On and off we've tried some traditional items with various success: the cranberry sauce from the store was a fail, the Pillsbury rolls were a hit, the steamed vegetables were eventually dropped in favor of stir fry. But since I learned to make them in high school, we've always had mashed potatoes, and since a couple years ago I decided I would make salad too. We also have corn soup (like the kind at the Chinese restaurants), and mom couldn't help but make several cups of white rice too.

I tell a lot of people that my family is still figuring out how to celebrate the holidays. We follow things that we know are traditional even if they don't feel like tradition to us. We throw in new traditions as we go along, and occasionally drop some others. Our meals are a hodge-podge of Chinese and American dishes. And there's a chance that I may be even more excited about tomorrow's Asam Laksa (Malaysia's famous fish-based, sour and spicy noodle soup) than I was about today's turkey.

2. First Loves

Over a fancy dinner last night, I asked Darrell about his first crush. I told him about Kyle H. in fourth grade, who was really good at math and could solve the riddles in the Arithmetwist workbooks. Darrell talked about Emily in eighth grade (really boyfriend?? Your first crush was in eighth grade?!). They were partners together for decoding a message in core/language arts class. After they were the first ones to finish it, they memorized the code and continued to write to each other in code for a couple months. 

Of course, years later, the two of us meet while I’m majoring in Mathematics and he’s in an accelerated academic program. He makes fun of all the math or physics tricks that are normal parts of my life, and I incessantly bring up his math competition trophies. The banter continues about my love for calculus, his chess club competitions, our GPAs and other nerdy things. 

It makes me laugh that all those years ago, we already loved the smarts and brains of other people…and that we can enjoy that with each other now. Life is fun.

1. A Birthday Challenge

Something feels different about turning 24. I’m solidly in my mid-twenties, in the age of emerging adulthood. I’ve thought about this day for a couple weeks now, pairing those thoughts with the conversations of What I Should Do in My Twenties, themes of learning to try anything and everything, and how to grow from failure. I have a feeling that Twenty Four will be a great year. I’m in the middle of so much new right now, it’s impossible to think I won’t get to Twenty Five in 365 days without significant changes. I’ll know the city better, have one more year of ministry under my belt, hopefully have some friends in town, and maybe have completed another half marathon.

To celebrate, I’m going to kick off this year with 30 straight days of blogging (Tangent: I thought I was starting to blog more regularly, but the November hit and now this is the first of the month). A father-figure of mine says now is the time to do everything, then in your thirties you can start narrowing down and figuring out what you’re really good at. So I say to writing: Why not? I’ve wanted excuses to write more regularly, plus my life could use a little discipline. And this next month is as good a month as ever, and one of the rare periods that is uninterrupted by any student conferences or staff retreats. Perhaps I’ll finally put to words the thoughts I’ve had churning for a period of time. 

No particular rules, no specific topics, no required word counts or styles. Just 30 days of writing.