How are you feeling?

About twenty friends and family gathered in Maggie's home this afternoon. Two hours of mingling, small catch-ups, and moving from one conversation to another. Classmates, alumni, small group friends, mentors, professors--all in the same place. Some I see weekly, a few I haven't seen for awhile.

My friends have been asking me how I'm feeling about the transition, the move, Sacramento--however you want to call it. And my long-winded response this afternoon can be summarized into this: The afternoon was good. Good. Not deeply emotional, neither sad nor overjoyed. Just good. Good to acknowledge that I was leaving. Good to really know that I am going. Good to have the people in the room know that they have been important to my life.

Sometimes I'm sad to be leaving the places I love, whether it's my quiet time bench by the rosebushes on campus or my favorite corner stool at Empresso. Sometimes I'm excited about being in a big city again, about driving on freeways and knowing different parts of town. Mostly, I think I just know it's going to happen so I'm waiting for each day to pass along. Although I have a feeling these next two weeks will speed by like nothing, and all of a sudden I'll be loading up my car and heading out.


We've finally put in an application for a place, and if that gets approved, then I'll officially have a place to live, and my mission of making it a home will begin. Many times I have to answer the question of when I'm moving, and the answer now is soon, oh so soon. Back in May, I had a rough night after I had picked up furniture from Linda and felt the urge to start packing. I didn't really, but I did start rearranging stuff in my room, and before I knew it, there was a stack of boxes sitting in my corner, waiting to be packed. When Darrell came over that night, I dramatically told him that everything was changing, everything. He shook his head in confusion and wondered why I was packing when I had two more months to be here.

Well my friends, I'm proud to say that I've held off for this long. I've collected packing boxes and I've mentally planned how to pack, but I haven't put together boxes and haven't put things away. Until today. Today, after I got back from the goodbye party, I read some heartfelt cards and thought, hey, let's put some things away. I taped together a couple boxes and put away my binders and moved my board games from my over-sized Rubio's tote bag to a box (Don't worry, still easily accessible for a game night). I started clearing my walls: the scripture paintings I had done on a Sabbath last semester, timelines and collages that contain expression of life at that point, race bibs from the half marathon and 10k last year. And other than the three huge chunks of paint I accidentally took out of my wall, it just feels right. Not a frantic impatience, not a rushed closure. Just a recognition of the change that I'm sitting in.

I'll have to hold back from packing up the rest of my life just yet and make sure I still focus on work to do this week. I haven't decided on some of the things to keep and to get rid of. My trio of half-insignificant but favorite glass bottles: Starbucks Mocha Frappucino, Pomegranate Izze, and Martinelli's apple cider (D and I shared this on our 3 year anniversary last year)--they carry so little weight except that I love the size and I've had them sitting on a shelf this past year. Do I get rid of it for the convenience, or keep it for the piece of home that it is? Is it time to lose the discounted black photo frames I bought three years ago in lieu of other decor?  When do I look for furniture that I know I'll probably want (I'm currently working with a lot of extra surface area from the extra dresser and wall shelf)?

 In the meantime, I'm also slowly figuring out what's helpful and what's not in all of this. We had a three-part goodbye shindig when the students were still around, and while it was tons of fun, I realized in hindsight I didn't quite get the goodbye I needed. I didn't realize I needed to be able to say, "Life together has been good, and I am thankful for who you are. You are important to me." I thought implicit would be enough, explicit would be too cheesy...but it turns out that that would have helped a lot. So we did that today, cheesy and awkward as it probably was. And I'm learning to just go with my gut in some of these other friendships and circles. To say, "Hey, I've loved getting to know you, and I'm leaving in a couple weeks, but could we have coffee before I go?" To have hangouts and stay out late with friends and to soak up all this good company.

Two weeks really isn't a lot of time. I feel like I have enough goodbyes to last a month, and yet there's a part of me that's already ready to go.

The Art of Announcements

A friend once asked me why I liked emceeing, and I responded with the juggling act between strategically organizing the information you're presenting, reading the audience, and adjusting to respond to where they're at. There's also an element of freedom and deviating from the plan as you're going with your gut and the Spirit, this dynamic and exciting yet pastoral role. While I don't think I'll ever has as much emcee swag as Greg Jao, his sharing on Urbana is a pretty good snippet of why I enjoy introducing or closing a session:

"I love the challenge of capturing the participant’s attention after a long session, of reinforcing conference themes and capturing the Urbana experience when I offer participants summaries of the past 24 hours, of communicating details and logistics in helpful ways, and of responding to the needs of the conference from the platform as I go...Mostly, though, I love the challenge of trying to cast vision, pastor the participants, and serve the conference leadership in 5 minutes each session."

 And that, my friends, is what you think about when you have the mic in hand.

It happened!

A year ago, I was packing up to head to Arizona and New Mexico for our Intern Trek. I had just started fundraising a month prior to be on campus with InterVarsity that fall and had seen a couple little gifts trickle in, but nothing regular. I hadn't been spending a whole lot of time on it, but I had had sent out a stream of letters and had a few meetings and phone calls by that time. 

I remember checking my staff account a few days into the trip. We were at the home of a lovely woman who loved InterVarsity and fed us lots of food with green chile (that's the thing in New Mexico). I accepted her invitation to use her computer though it was late at night already. Signing into my staff account, I looked at the number sitting at the midpoint of the screen on the right side. I had hit it for the first time! $1400, the amount my supervisor wanted us to hit monthly! 

That night was a small victory. It was the first month of the fiscal year, and I felt that, maybe, raising a staff budget was possible. Over the course of the year, my faith in this area fluctuated, as did the amount I received and the energy I put into it. Sometimes I held my breath and followed up with a person who said he was interested, and I left the conversation with encouragement and hope. Sometimes I prayed in fear and other times in faith; occasionally I muttered prayers while asking God if they were true. Sometimes I chickened out, gave up, and simply ignored this area of ministry. 

But the year kept going. And now that the fiscal year is over, I can confidently say: I surpassed the budget I was supposed to raise. 

Yes. Dance in a circle. Throw a party. Praise Jesus. Eat ice cream. Give thanks. 

I have a stream of excuses that, if you listen carefully, translate into This-is-why-it-won't-work-next-year Fears: a lot of one-time gifts, a great supporting church (that I am leaving), a generous sending gift from the missions board that put me over the top in the past few weeks. But it the end, excuses aside, I was funded. 

And if I listen carefully, I can hear a faint sound of hope for the next year: a dear friend and a beloved brother eager to give once they are employed, the opportunities for new networks in a new place, and most of all, the promise that our God is faithful. He reminds me of the tangible grace scattered through my life this past year: a new laptop from friends, random red envelopes that let me celebrate life and hobbies, encouraging conversations that warm the deep parts of my soul, a job that accommodates ministry life so perfectly, promises in his word that I have held to as the year wrapped up. 

Next year may or may not look like that. I have neither more funding nor a job lined up. But the God who walks with me through the flourishing fields walks with me through the valleys. Either way, He is good. And may He be glorified. 

Fragments of my family

My mom says that, back in the day, they didn't consider fish as meat. So they daringly packed dried, salted fish into their suitcase back from Malaysia. I remember this salted fish: in plates of fried rice, vegetable stir fry, or in rice porridge.

Back in the day, they also didn't sell Milo in the stores, so she would have to wait till a friend or relative brought some over from Malaysia. Then she would drink it on the saddest of days, or on the happiest.

Yu-Zhi is my 13-year-old cousin. These are the things he is excited about in our home: carpeted floors, a bathtub, a garage, and two living rooms.

You-Yu is my 5-year-old little cousin. It's kind of strange to think that I just met her two years ago. She is the youngest of my generation of cousins (last I counted, there are 27 of us).

My uncle 小叔 stops halfway through his plate of char kuey teow. He asks my mom for a cup of coffee, because in Malaysia, they drink kopi or milo or teh tarik for just a few ringets with every meal.

They sit around the table--dad, mom, his youngest brother and his wife. Two brothers, 13 years apart, who see each other every few years. At least this time, mom and dad will fly to Malaysia in another month to be with family.

It's nice having relatives over. It's good finally having cousins in our space, in our home, for us to host. It adds a bit of pressure trying to keep the younger ones entertained, but we've rarely been in this position to welcome them into our home. It makes me wish I had family who lived closer.

The Minority Experience

"That's it, I give up! I'm never going to learn."

Says a close friend of mine after another conversation on the Asian-American culture. This one is triggered by an awkward conversation the night before, and we were trying to explain the nuances and reasoning in the Don't Take the Last Piece of Food rule. Of course, no topic stands on its own, so we eventually went into the conversation of what it looks like when someone else takes the last piece, the grace that white people have in not understanding our rules, but also how what a child does reflects on his or her parent's raising the child well rather than that child being good or bad.

My default reaction is to encourage him that he's doing well, to look at how much he's learned in the past year. But my South Asian friend interjects:

"But see, that's what we deal with every day. We can never choose out of your culture. We just have to learn, make mistakes, and do what's uncomfortable with us. We always have to learn."

She speaks truth.

_________________________
 
"It's a white man's organization," a fellow Asian-American reminds me. He tells me it's hard, but you learn. They tell you to report, to tell everyone how good a job you're doing. And it's awkward, but you do it.

I guess that's the truth even as we move towards multi-ethnicity. That though we are growing, we are still minorities. I think of the way we just systemically function on majority culture, in fund development, in numbers, in strategy. And as an Asian-American, I find myself applying a filter to what I hear. Does this apply to me? How is it different for who I am?

In conversations like these, it's not uncommon to hear the response, "Oh yeah, it's like that for me, too." I used to wonder why this always triggered my defensive reaction, but over the past year, I've learned. Yes, everyone has differences, and we don't always apply to what the speaker is saying up front. But I've also learned that the minority experience is different...that sometimes, someone from majority culture connecting to your experiences invalidates yours, because it's not the same.

Using my voice

Now that the adrenaline of traveling, new friends, and information overload has worn off, I'm sitting here with a miserable cold and little desire to unpack from Orientation for New Staff (ONS). My dad's youngest brother (小叔, the term for my youngest uncle), his wife, and their two kids are in town till Sunday, but unfortunately I have little energy to hang out with them.

At best, I'm bustling around the house and glancing over the thirteen free books, New Testament Commentary, and Bible Dictionary of Old Testament Prophets I got from ONS 2012. At worst, I'm taking an ibuprofen for the headache and getting the spot under my nose irritated from the excessive use of Kleenex. That, or waking up from my nap with a horrible coughing fit.

Anyway.

ONS was a blast, and I should write about that sometime. In fact, expect more posts soon, though I won't promise how long they will last.

One of the many ideas I'm toying around with post-ONS is doing things that are life-giving to you. Yes, ministry is pretty life-giving in itself. But I'm also 23, an engineering major, a photographer, a writer, a thinker, and more. I often wonder, "What would it have been like if I was a..." Event planner? Programmer? Teacher? Engineer? Web developer? Graduate student? Active blogger? Overseas missionary? Communications person? Graphic Designer?

In short, I have a bazillion things I love. I'm a big idea-loving, dreaming SJ (sorry to bring up Myers-briggs). This next year, I hope not only to grow in ministry life, but also to give time to develop hobbies and things I love. I hope to take things that feel like a waste of time and channel them in a way that's effective and life-giving. Instead of half-creating a website that I end up deleting, I might actually purchase a domain and make a good one (thank you, WYSIWYG editors!). Instead of simply perusing one photographer's website after another, perhaps it's time to challenge myself with certain projects. Instead of clicking every article that suits my fancy, it might be time to seriously do research on topics I like to think I care about.

Finally, instead of letting my ideas for posts remain unwritten in my head, let's actually write them down. Work through the frustration of having lost the art of writing after four years of engineering classes by practicing. Accept the fact that you're not the best writer, but also recognize that your desire and the level of your current talent is enough.

In our Asian-Pacific-Islander-American video promo earlier this year, a line says, "I gave you a voice, so use it because your people need you now." So here we go. Here goes a journey of faithfulness, to use a voice that I have been given to speak of truth and experiences as I go.

Helping me decide

Yesterday, you came over and I asked you which watch I should get. I had gotten two at the store the other day and couldn’t decide which one I liked better, and since I couldn’t decide between those, I wondered if I should hop online to purchase my usual analog, thin-strapped watch I had used for years. You immediately said “No, no, you’re not going to do that,” to the last option because it was time for something new and different on my wrist.

After talking pros and cons back and forth you were pointing me in the direction of the white watch with colored numbers and a light-up face, the one I had the most hesitation about. Yet I was making excuses for it, and at that moment I knew that’s the one I would keep over the small-faced, dark and classy one. Because why get a watch that was just fine when I could get one that was fun and different?

I didn’t have to bring back both watches home to begin with, but I knew I wanted to ask you. I would have sent you pictures of them, showed them to you via video chat, or written up pros and cons to help you help me decide. Because that’s what it is: not that I trust your fashion advice, not that I wanted your opinion of which one I should keep. I talk my decisions through with you because you always help me figure out what I’m thinking. Because you know. You can hear the undertones and my reasons and piece together what I haven’t thought yet.