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...