Keeping a Compass

I’m considering buying a compass. Just a small  one to keep in my pocket. I suppose it’d be useful for the one time I’ll get lost wandering around the woods of Yosemite, but my main reason would be for symbolic reasons–reminders, rather.

The past few weeks I’ve really started to once again feel the mental toll of getting older. Sometimes I feel like my body is aging too, and that’s more because of my recent lack of exercise than anything else, but being in school and doing a lot of forward looking has made me think of what my own future holds: holding a job, taking care of family, being sure I’m on top of all my responsibilities.

That’s what it is really, being on top of all my responsibilities. Grad school has taken up most of my life, and it’s become a challenge to keep up with not just the rest of my responsibilities, but also the things that I need to keep doing for me to feel alive: talk to family, keep in touch with friends, finding a church, doing a few hobbies here and there.

It’s easy for me to get lost in everything. So much is going on, in such a rapid pace, and so much of it is important to where I’m going in the future. And truth be told, I don’t know if I like where I’m going. Journalism can be a scary place. I’m getting frustrated with interviewing people and talking to random strangers about things I don’t care about. For the first time, I’m wondering why I didn’t take science more seriously–not because I’m Asian and so I must follow that path, but because I read an issue of Popular Science and find myself intrigued and genuinely excited. It doesn’t help that a number of people have dropped out of the program at school. I won’t lie; I’ve considered doing that myself. Many days, it just feels like I’ve made a wrong turn somewhere.

Which is where the compass comes in. For the days where I just don’t know what I’m doing, I try to remember: I do have a direction, and that direction tells me that where  I’m going isn’t a place I’m traveling to for my own desires–that I’m not here studying journalism just because it’s my life long dream, I’m doing this as a service for someone else. Yes, there are days for where I wish I could go back and be a computer programmer, doctor, or a number of other professions. But that ship has sailed, and only comes back for the “what if’s” and regrets of those who missed it.

And so I have to believe that I’m at a place not by my own design, and not for my own good. And I have to believe that I am good at what I’m doing, or I wouldn’t be here.

And I have to believe that what I’m doing will be used for a greater purpose than fulfilling my own lifelong wishes. Because if that’s my goal, I’m sure as hell not fulfilling it now.

Moving on Jet Planes, California is Not America

It’s been a tough, long and busy week. And here comes another one. School is tough and is testing my resolve. Still, I said I’d update, here I finally am.

Last time I mentioned there’s another good thing about uprooting yourself and moving to a new place. Almost eight months ago, I wrote this for a community forum I was volunteering at. This is just before I jumped on a plane to Taiwan.

There are some things you just don’t get used to no matter how many times you do it. In less than seven hours, I’ll be jumping on a plane and leaving the country again for an extended period of time, and like every time before it, I’m starting to feel the goosebumps and shivers crawling up my skin.

Not all nerves mind you; a good chunk of the emotion is in the excitement of an adrenaline filled rush. Exploring a land never seen before, meeting people you only see on TV, living as strangers would live, they’re all things that get my blood pumping. It’s this understanding something foreign in an age of comfort—the modern day adventure, that’s one of my favorite things about these kinds of trips.

The second is similar, but is slightly more pretentious and self-help in nature. Still, after years of experience I can safely say that being uncomfortable is the single most influential factor towards my own personal growth. Maybe it’s because once you’re in a completely foreign land you realize how little you know about the world, and how useless that little bit is anyway. It’s like starting from scratch, learning how other people live their lives, how who they are and where they live constructs their own worldview. It’s humbling, and it’s exactly the right antidote for a time when we feel like we understand everything there is to know about the world.

Not to say that the whole experience isn’t equally fear inducing. All I know about where I’m going is from research or hearsay. I’ve never seen the place with my own eyes. I’ll probably get lost. But I’m confident that the trip will be full of life lessons I may not even know I’ve learned until months after I come home. At the very worst, it will simply be a great traveling experience.

And that’s a better assurance than I could ask for.
In a similar fashion, moving to Chicago has been another chance for me to grow and learn more about the world. Sometimes I feel that California is like a bubble within a larger bubble that is America. I forget that California does not represent all of America, and living somewhere else besides California reminds me of that. Even though I’m not in a completely new culture, I have to stay alert, knowing that I don’t know much about the local way of life, how that might be different from the sunny West.

It’s humbling, and yet another reminder of how little I know.

Social Skills Analysis, Go

Moving and starting from scratch–reinventing yourself–is good for one thing, if nothing else: understanding your own social skills.

I realized I’m a directional kind of guy. For most things in life, I like them to be going somewhere. It doesn’t have to be very fast, and it doesn’t have to get wherever it wants to go anytime soon, it just needs to be moving.

So when I met 30+ of my cohort for the first time last night at a potluck/get-together/party that wouldn’t have been out of place in an undergrad home if they had beer pong, let’s just say I was a little, unsure of what to do. In one room people were chatting. In the next room, people were chatting. And then they were chatting in the kitchen. And the balcony. Oh so much chatting…

I think simply lounging around and rambling about nothing is a great exercise, with friends you already know. It’s a terrible way to meet people, let alone 30+ of them. I suppose this is why I’ve never found the “go to a bar and talk to random people/pick up girls” game very fun: all you do is chat. This might surprise the friends who think I love to talk, which I do. If you want to gauge how much fun I’m having, it’s directly correlated to how many words are coming out of my mouth. But when I meet people, I want to do something. Play games, go to a show, any sort of activity that provides direction. I probably would have even preferred a game of beer pong because it would have been something to do. At the very least a basic, “hey let’s go around and introduce ourselves…”

Of course, part of the issue last night could have been I’m a late comer. Most of the people had met up once or twice before and maybe were already comfortable enough to just sit there and chat. Maybe part of it was I was one of only a few guys and the night felt like a girls’ party.

Strictly as an observation. The three Asian girls who were there (two of which are either American or Canadian) either enjoyed chatting with or made it a point to talk to me. Any other girl who was of a non-Caucasian ethnicity spoke with me. Any Caucasian girl who wasn’t from the South spoke with me. As for the guys, all of them at least said ‘hi’.

I was the only Asian American guy there.

I think it has to do with familiarity. The rest of the girls, like I said, had already met. The fact that I was an Asian American guy at what felt like a girls’ party probably was just on the rest of the long list of unfamiliar things about me. Still, I find it interesting. Food for thought.

Oh, there is at least one more good thing about moving and starting from scratch. I’ll save it for the next post.

But You Speak the Language

I woke up this morning and for no reason whatsoever thought about a situation that seems to occur quite often.

It goes like this. I tell someone, when I compare myself to my other Asian American friends, I feel less Asian than they are. Sometimes I go so far as to say, I don’t feel very Asian at all.

And then my audience inevitably goes, but you speak the language! (Both of them, nonetheless…)

And then I fire, but there are others who speak as well or better than me.

But then they have this great comeback: you can read and write.

And somewhere along the line I give up. I really shouldn’t, but I think opening my eyes this morning was like opening my eyes to something I never thought about.

I think, when I’m around other Asian Americans, it’s precisely because I can speak the language and read and write, that I don’t feel very Asian.

Here’s why. I think I’m generally more direct when I communicate with people. I have my moments of “sweep it under the rug”, but who doesn’t? Thing is, if I’m tired of something I’ll speak up. Sure, I’m all about diplomacy and tact, but I’m not afraid to tell people what I think.

The catch? This is only true in English.

The moment I revert to Chinese, it’s like my thinking changes. Sentences get put together in completely different ways. While I’m still probably more direct than your average Hong Konger, my speech is surprisingly, vague.

In other words, I think because I feel I have a pretty strong grasp of the Chinese language, I’ve put everything about me that is Asian, into a mental computer that only fires up when I flip the Chinese language switch. And vice versa about English. So, while some of my friends have found satisfaction in this Asian-American niche (where they bleed indignation when asked “do you feel more Asian or American?”, to which their answer is, NEITHER YOU IGNORAMUS), I find myself going from one to the other. I am one, or the other, and sometimes both, but never really feel like I belong with this high-identity, special and neither AA crowd.

Back to the point. When I’m with my Asian American friends, we always speak in English–there’s no point in using any other language except to crack a joke. Since I’m using English, my Asian side is neatly tucked away. Therefore, when I’m around said Asian American friends, I feel less Asian.

It’s like a geometry proof. Only less concrete and infinitely more magnetic in terms of hate mail.

Live Your Life Like it’s Your Last Day

I don’t really agree with that phrase actually. It’s slightly self-serving, despite it’s good intentions. I think a better mantra is:

Treat others like it’s their last day.

One of the problems with moving around a lot, is you always feel like there are ‘last days,’ both for you, and all your friends. It’s tough, I’m not going to lie, and honestly it’s taking it’s toll on me.

On Reading Bibles, Again

A little update on this post.

In a Bible study the other night–in Chinese by the way–a woman asked me to read a passage again in English, since I was the one with the English Bible and needed it because written Chinese is impossible difficult. And after I did, she decided to explain herself: she felt that only in the English translation could we accurately interpret what was being said; it was more direct, more concise, and the words were very clear.

I suppose good thing most everyone in Taiwan has some grasp of English.

In other words, here was this lady that went out a limb to declare to everyone, the Bible in our own language isn’t capable of giving us the full, complate 100%  picture, so let’s use another language to help fill in the blanks.

Let’s assume this is true. Is it then possible, that the Bible in English is equally incapable of transmitting certain ideas, therefore causing us to lose bits and pieces of “the big picture?” Naturally, this leads us to the next question.

What about the other hundreds of languages on this planet?

Having a Heart for the Poor

Some people have a heart for the poor. It can never escape their minds as they go about their day that even if they make a measely $30,000 a year they’re already deep into that top, coveted bracket of the richest 10% of the world.  They remember that every day 30,000 kids will die from starvation. Countless others die from disease, and still more will die from prolonged wars somewhat in part fueled by our corporate greed with ten degrees of separation.

Some go to Africa to build better infrastructure. Some go to India and China teach, maybe hand out some Bibles. Some go to develop clean drinking water systems. Others go to Western governments and lobby for these things.

Some people have a heart for the poor. I think, and I can’t say for certain, I might have a heart for the rich.

I have no scientific evidence or statistically significant data beyond anecdotal stories here. Only what my gut is telling me, and I have yet to run across anything that has challenged my gut feeling.

If anyone stabily living in the developed, so called “Western” world, is deeply rooted in the top 10% richest on the planet, then I would guess, that they also live in the top bracket for most depressed and unhappy.

It’s a shocking and perhaps overly bold statement, even for me, but the more I learn about our developed world, the businesses that run it, the governments that run it, the systems and ideals that run it, the more come away feeling that these people cannot be happy.

We’ve become a people that have overemphasized, to the point of mortgaging our own life and society away, our own selves, that somehow we are so important that the world spins on the axis of  our self. Like we have somehow managed to destroy our own soul in the quest for our notion of wealth, comfort, and life. Cultures change, societies change, people change, and so the concept of a 9-5 job isn’t wrong by any means; the concept of searching for our life’s purpose must be worldwide and one of those eternal questions that someone asked thousands of years ago standing where I’m sitting right now, but only in the Western world do we have the physical and material means to ignore that question. Only we have a billion forms of entertainment, the  supposed antidote to the working world. Only we could turn something potentially good like the Internet–something with the power to keep us connected–into a poison that hampers our ability to connect with each other physically as each generation grows not knowing what a life without text messaging is.

I suppose caring for the poor is actually easier. Yes, it requires more mental and physical work, but how does one dedicate their life to changing the modern day world? How do you go about deciding that one will change the lives of the BMW owner for the better? How do you even go about doing such a thing?

For the Christians who read this, I’ll take this one step further. What percentage of America do you think is really Christian? Who lives out their life in a way that God intended? I don’t think that percentage is that high. If it were, our country couldn’t possibly look the way it does now. That said, why don’t we feel the need to do anything about it?

Don’t Ask Me Why…

but today I started thinking about the uplifting question

If I knew I were going to die in a couple years, how would I live today? Tomorrow? What would I want to do?

I guess it doesn’t really change anything. My driving goal is still to help people, and to make their day better.

But gosh, if I knew I only had a couple years to do it, I think I would pack up and go to an orphanage. Help those kids build a new life, be the support that they’re supposed to have.

I would also consider going into a large city and opening a pseudo coffee shop, game room, mini library, and a “venting shelter” combined into one. The latter part being something like a psychological shrink’s den, you can come in and just vent and we’d support you. If you’ve ever heard the radio drama “Adventures in Odyssey,” it’d be exactly like Whit’s End. A fun place for kids and adults, and a refuge in the midst of a bustling city.

I’d also write. Maybe a screenplay. Maybe a novel. I feel like I have a lot of things I’d love to share. I just don’t know if they’re worth sharing.

But when the clock is ticking, that doesn’t seem to matter so much.

PR 101: The Customer Always Wins

If I ran a country it would be a mandate that everyone work a shitty ass job that nobody ever “dreams about”. It’d be a required course in high school and you’d have to take it every year. And then after you graduate from college you’d take it again before doing whatever else your life “calls” you to do. You could have the option of being a garbage collector, waiter, plumber or a checkout attendant at a supermarket.* And those would be just the basic courses.

And if after college someone still doesn’t get it drilled into their head that they don’t get to look down on anybody–no matter how low their job is perceived to be–they’d take a remedial course, at something like future SAT research.

This bothers me about our culture: we’re always having people serve us. It doesn’t matter if we’re eating at a restaurant, buying movie tickets, taking the bus or receiving mail. Someone is there making the world spin for us.

Okay, it’s not inherently a bad thing, but when you combine that with the idea that as customers we somehow deserve something, we start treating people less like people and more like invisible slaves who have no life of their own and should be unnoticed anyway. The people behind the desk, waiting on tables, standing behind the counter, the people who pick up our trash…they’re just lowlifes who deserve to be looked down upon aren’t they?

It’s like they exist solely to serve us; they’re all supposed to be there as if somehow we’re better than them because we’re the ones doing their “boss” a favor since we’re the ones paying for something.

You know what? It’s true. We are the ones paying for something and they’re the ones who are supposed to deliver. That’s their job.

But that doesn’t mean we get to be put ourselves on a high rocker and be an ass about it. Nobody gives a wooden nickel how important you think you are, when you’re at a restaurant you don’t get to throw a tirade at the waiter because he somehow got your order wrong.

I can’t think of a good way to end this, suffice to say, give some people some respect. They deserve it more than you do your 44.7% cooked steak.

* “fail” note: I realized I fell into my own trap of labeling these jobs with the amazingly graceful and positive tag of “shitty ass.” My point (I would think, obviously) is not to demean those jobs, but was to be overly biting in how I believe the general perception of these jobs is unfair.

Daily Routines

I was thinking the other day if, as a Christian, I need to be reading the Bible everyday. Or at all. And by need, I mean, you have to or else you’re clearly not a Christian.

Silly question, really. If you had to do something or forfeit your “Christian”-ness that would defeat the point. But then I wondered, why do people encourage (read: borderline guilt trip / force) you to read the Bible?

I suppose it’s like watching the state of your body. You don’t have to worry about your health. You don’t need to exercise. You don’t need to watch what you eat. None of those things will mean some mysterious power will show up at your door and revoke your right to breathe.

But if you want to live a better life, you probably should want to keep your body healthy, and to do that, you have to do any or all of the above things.

How much you want to do any of those things is of course everyone’s own choice.