questions

After GMC Rally I was compelled to give Christianity another try. I have been re-reading Crazy Love by Francis Chan, hoping it will give me a fresh perspective on a God whose existence and nature I have never understood or fully accepted.

As I read each night, I know that I have heard these beaten phrases many times before. “The Beginning and the End, He who was and is and is to come, a love that loves regardless of your past and what you’ve done, a love so convicting that you can’t help but drop everything and follow Him.” These phrases - these words I have heard from many people’s mouths, from many texts both credited and unfounded, from many a poster, from many a video, from many a testimony - they resound like nails against blackboard, choking and unbearable, but perhaps most strongly, they resound dry.

These words are dry to me. I have circled clockwise and counterclockwise on arcs that keep on telling me the same things, keep on giving me answers to questions that provoke yet more questions. Circles are counterproductive, because they get you nowhere. In the end, you’re still on a forever bending curve, one that seems full of direction. But it’s easy to be deceived by robustness, by movement, by the illusion of robust movement.

Christianity is a comfort religion. It is appealing because it offers love to the broken. You trade in joys for sorrows (familiar phrase, no?), death for an afterlife, darkness for light, dust and ashes for streets gloriously paved with gold. Yet all that glitters and shines is not gold. But what’s there not to love if ignorance is an option? Incentive is rooted deep in human nature - we gravitate towards choices and actions that will reward us in some form or another, that will give us pleasure, happiness, and the least amount of regret. So naturally, Christianity would garner the greatest support, those strong and feeble minded alike see the highlights of following Christ, and Pascal’s Wager tops off the present, gift wrapped in bright colors and metallic ribbons.

I will continue to read, but I can’t seem to shake thoughts like those detailed above off my conscience. And what to make of the absolute commitment that Christianity asks of us? It really is an all or nothing deal - after all, isn’t there a huge emphasis on the importance of wholehearted worship and devotion? It’s scary to me that lukewarm Christians seem to be criticized by the church more harshly than blatantly blasphemous Christians. I think Christianity asks of the individual the surrender of a certain degree of individuality, ambition, and character. With a template to follow, default settings to live by, how can one really establish one’s own definition of the good life? I could end up being a lawyer or a reporter or a public administrator, but won’t my guilty Christian conscience always ask of me to be a missionary? How much should I give without giving too little or too much? I don’t see how it’s possible to have sincere dreams/passions and still be a committed Christian. Because your dreams turn into idols and your passions turn into pride, both of which are unacceptable from a Christian standpoint. The only realistic way it’s possible is if your dreams are the same as Christ’s - and isn’t that the objective of every Christian? To be Christlike in thought, manner, action, etc. So we become mimics of perfection, yet are always pathetically far behind him in our growth and maturity. The cycle of Christian highs and lows makes us forever frustrated in our walk with God - we feel inadequate yet continue to chase. We are mutant creatures, whipped, pursuing the unattainable. There is no such thing as a satisfied, good Christian. Christians must always strive for the next level, all the while acknowledging sinful nature. No Christian is happy with his/her relationship with God - if a Christian were to declare satisfaction with it, others would see that Christian as ignorant, one who does not understand the infinite grace and power of God. The disciples of Christ were so compelled that they gave up their livelihoods in fishing and marched onward bravely behind Christ’s footsteps. So are sacrifice and pain interchangeable, or are sacrifice and reward interchangeable? Or perhaps all three form a triangle trade whose net gain is zero?

I am repelled by the lack of defense from Christians of certain questions that I try to tackle. It’s not that I’m poking holes at what I believe most easily exposes Christianity’s contradictions; it’s simply that these questions are the ones that bother me the most. If homosexuality is one day proven by science to be genetically rooted, (mind you, the same science that proves the existence of the Milky Way and infinite galaxies created by the hand of God), who and what should I then be in awe of? The God that loves straights and gays, whose religion is founded on love, but does not allow certain types of love to take hold, or denies a gay’s ability to love? Is a gay’s love wrong - but who are you to tell him how to love and who to love? And what about the Gospel itself - an omniscient, all powerful God who has to prove himself to the world by crucifying His son? If not prove Himself, then what was the point? Why crucify His son - why not just save us from our sins by simply uttering the words from His mouth, equally powerful just not as emotionally appealing? Thus I have returned full circle to the argument of Christianity being the most sell-able religion - we are convicted by emotion at the story of a Father who gave His son, by a love that knew and knows no end, but how much of this belief is founded on truth rather than emotion?

I mean no criticism whatsoever to Christians by this post, but I just find that it’s much easier to articulate my thoughts in writing rather than to verbally or internally jumble thoughts in my head. It’s already confusing enough to begin with. And I'd love to clear the polluted air in my head, if you could help me, feel free. There are also those who will read this and shake their heads in pity, pray for my salvation and turn around, wonder what tragedies bred such cynicism. Well, I've done the same thing at one point in time, pitied and wondered and prayed for other "lost sheep." I can't say it did me any good.

on fate

I don’t believe in it. I don’t believe in soulmates, in destiny, in meant-to-be’s and all other forms of false hope. I think it’s all a pathetic excuse for the human state of neediness. For our inability to cope with the idea of the unknown and to cope with loneliness. Our fear of silence and our dread of physical absence. We are overwhelmed with the mere idea of isolation. In our legal justice system, we would rather suffer capital punishment than bear solitary confinement to life in prison. We think we are weak, useless, and incomplete if we are alone. But this couldn’t be farther from the truth. Sadly, centuries of accumulative disillusionment have conditioned humanity to think and behave this way, upon the premise of needing others for existence to bear meaning.

Humans gravitate naturally towards insecurity because of the idea of loss. Ironically, we know that nothing we possess, aside from ourselves, is really ours. Material possessions may, in name, be ours. You “own” your car or your house, but it cannot pulse through your veins and float alongside your soul in synchrony with who you really are. You can scribble your name a million times all over something, and it's essence still wouldn't be yours. We adorn ourselves with jewels and clothes and drawings because we want to establish a sense of identity in the way we put together our outer appearance. We think that one’s style may speak loudly and proudly down the streets, others timid and meek. But that is not who we are; the knapsacks we carry, the layers upon layers of yarn meant to replace skin and conceal scars, flaws beneath - these are worthless testimonies and failed impressions of who we really are. (I am by no means, however, saying that material possessions are destructive or negative. I am simply saying that they should never be associated with identity and self-perception.) Possessions are but labels of virtual power and conditional happiness.

The concept of “people possessions” - saying he or she is mine or we mutually belong to one another - is another manifestation of the insecure human condition. Love and hate are real, but fate is not. Chance would have it that falling in love rarely occurs, thus prompting us to believe in the idea of destiny or soulmates. But really, it’s just a process of trial and error. Love is built on luck, and thereafter built on trust. I can be equally compatible with one person as any other, but my compatibility matches may be scattered in other countries and circumstances that make it impossible for us to actualize our compatibility. The chances come and go, but so do people.

My thesis remains that you’ve only got yourself. You are your constant companion, the one and only unconditional promise that does not break, fortunate or unfortunate a circumstance, however you may regard it. You cannot abandon yourself, even if you want to. You are born alone, live life alone, and will die alone. Sooner or later, somewhere between birth and death, you must discover yourself, unearth your potential, understand your flaws, and ultimately fall in love with yourself. (Not in a vain, narcissistic way, but an all-embracing, universal way.)

An individual mind is much more powerful than the united minds of intellectuals and fools alike. History has shown that collective thought only becomes stupider and stupider with the ages. By now, most progress is counter productive. The new forward is backward. The lone genius usually accomplishes more in his lifetime than the unified front.

I’ve never had a problem with being independent. It’s always easy for me to get along alone, with or without encouragement from others. But I’ve always had a problem with accepting my independence. Even if it’s easy for me to be independent, I’m usually unhappy while at it.

My goal is to vow a happy independence in mind and soul. Rather than constantly regarding my existence relevant to others, I will regard it relative to self. The standards and expectations I set for myself will be based upon my personal bests, not world records or attempts to out-do a neighbor. I want to cleanse my mind of comparisons, in measuring happiness and self-actualization. I think that’s the only way I will learn to truly love myself.

a wandering eye

It’s warm and it’s sunny. The dry kind of sunny. You know, the kind that’s light, golden yellow? Like feathers and the wind. The kind of sunny that makes your skin crinkle a bit. Makes cold orange juice taste brighter, taste fuller. Makes flower petals droop and wilt, but just enough to still be pretty. He kneels down and picks one out of the ground. She watches as he uproots it. Can’t help but notice how the petals match the sunlight. How thoughtful. Like saying, my love for you is warm and yellow. Cool as honey, my dearest bumblebee. He puts it in her hair, nesting it safely behind her ear. Always gentle as can be. No wonder it’s his legacy.

She tilts her head a bit to the right. Half-smiling, eyes glistening. A classy neckline, an ivory broach, a strand of pearls, a simple heart. He can’t seem to take his eyes off of her today.

I’ve always wanted to roam an old, empty house on a day with that kind of sunshine. A house with fewer walls than windows, fewer closings than openings. One with tall, tall ceilings, kind of like what you see in Victorian-inspired movies, the ballroom floors and crystal chandeliers. Porcelain vases and royal crown molding. Women wearing small, white gloves and their lips reading elegance. I imagine it to have no furniture at all. Just big, empty rooms. And every room would have windows spanning the height of the walls, sunlight pouring through. Endless rays of sunlight, so strong and so much that you could see all the dust floating in the air. And the wood panels on the floor, those too. Aged and rustic, but glowing. Basking in the sunlight, bringing out every shade and hue of brown never known to exist.

You and your wandering eye. How could you ever understand why I’d love such a moment? And to think, to fathom, to ever spend it with me.

But even if you did, I doubt that you could see it the way I do, with my eyes …

flashback

There is time for everything under the sun. Time for work, time for play, time for anything but rest. There is never time for silence, for stillness, for sleep. The pace of the world is faster than you and life is a frantic race, a time bomb waiting to explode. Ticking forever, a relentless battle.

You will feel swept up by the waves, the constant surge forward, and somewhere along the way you will lose yourself to the tides. The speed of fatigue is numbing; you simply allow yourself to be dragged along. A limp, lifeless body trailing the pavement, flanking wooden wheels and stones. Curse the clocks, try as you may, but nothing can slow down the pace of each day.

in a nutshell

I’m scared to death of what will happen. I can already fast forward to the pivotal moment; a thin, crystal clear sheet of glass that will separate us. Like the prisoner and his visitor seated in the chamber, divided by something so transparent, yet so impossibly dense. Shackled by his crime, but brought to forgiveness by her love. Brought to redemption, another chance against reason, a blind benefit of the doubt. That’s what I gave him, and so far he’s done nothing but make me infinitely glad that I took the chance. But come June days and graduation, come the splintering of a million threads in the string of life, the scattering and uprooting of childhood to Lord knows where, what then?

In already knowing an end, is there a point? The worth of the journey relative to destination. Distance or farewell, all or nothing, blind trust or another abandoned what-if. I’m really struggling, and every passing moment I stay, I know I’m falling deeper and deeper. Flowing in unison with what feels like an irreversible current of what I never want to end. Won’t this just make it hurt more when goodbye comes? The longer I stay, the more potential pain I’m racking away in the warehouse of my heart. Filling every last corner, flooding every square foot put to optimal use, such are the charming days and moments spent with you in the trade-off.

I admit I’m young and all too far from understanding the true meaning of waiting. I don’t know what it takes to wait with all my heart, to trust with eyes sealed shut, but I do know what it feels like to miss. Missing, waiting, wishing - a league of three either strong enough to bridge the enemy of time or collapse under its slow torture.

And on your side, in your thoughts, I wonder if you think the same way. If you were to tell me that you would choose distance over farewell, I would surrender myself and commit in a heartbeat; it takes two to trek the distance. But my fear is that you’d only choose so because it’s what you think I want to hear. And that is, by far, the ultimate misunderstanding nightmare, a manifesto of self-sacrifice at the hand of self-preservation. I’ve never felt this way before, been put in a situation like this, or even felt compelled to contemplate in such lengths at so early a time. But you make me feel this way, you put me in this situation, and you compel me to contemplate lengths translating to the future.

Such foreign a feeling goes not well with first times. Then again, there never were any easy first times. Tick tock, so goes the clock. The rush of love, the approach of the countdown. Brace yourself, Tiffany, for in 3, 2, 1 …

certainty

Feels good to find something that I’m finally not half hearted about. Something I know I really want, something that I can’t afford to lose or let loose. Affirmation that passion still exists in me, somewhere. That it hasn’t seen the last of me yet, that I still have the ability to love - with all of my being. Not just my head or my heart alone, but something to love with my eyes, my hands, my happiness, my inhales and exhales, my footsteps, my thoughts, absolutely everything.

I think I’m ready to let go of the hand of hesitation. What's there to lose? (Only your stability and independence in exchange for vulnerability, says the cynic.) But too much stability locks my knees up; I'd rather be weak in the knees. And sometimes independence turns into dizzy self-exhaustion; I'd honestly rather be dizzy with butterflies.

No turning back, because for you it’s free fallin’, baby.

lifeline

It saddens me, it really does. I just want to reach out to you - grab both of your hands and clench them tightly in mine, clench them as tight as I can in hopes of showing you how much I care; what I wouldn't give for you to find yourself, to save you from your lifestyle of stumbling blindly in the dark. Look you in the eyes, those glossy, lost eyes screaming for a second chance, but just can't seem to gaze in the right direction. Eyes that turn to temporary outlets of pleasure, momentary euphoria conveniently replacing the broken reality of your insecurity, your past failures, and the failures you fear tomorrow will bring. You find it easier to shove real life on the back-burner than to confront it, because I know the truth hurts more when you're in constant denial.

A pretty face, a sweet smile, and a graceful heart - what's not to love? But it's all been lost beneath coarse layers of what you think the world expects of you. Don't you see that you no longer have anyone's respect? Where is the girl I once knew? The one who once eagerly told me of her hopes and dreams for the future, the one whose head lifted dignity upon elegant shoulders, the one whose heart bred passion rather than vulnerability? Are you so easily fooled, so easily taken advantage of? Childhood is over; I wish you could see that there's no time left for compromise, for lowering your standards to excuse impulsive mistakes, for indulgence to smother individuality.

A display of public humility; the exhibit that's oblivious to her own disgrace, so much that others feel embarrassed for you because you don't feel embarrassed for yourself. Yet you continue to embrace the flocks of fake attention. Attention that comes and goes, but never sticks around for the right reasons. Sure, they love your flaunting, but they don't love you; they don't see anything beyond your skin and flesh. Whatever happened to security through self-respect?

There's more to life than living it up - when you lose sight of love and it's place in your every day, you're getting nowhere. I hope you find yourself again, because until you do, your head will still spin with the pain of being the disposable one, your heart will be trampled over by games and manipulation, you'll still ask yourself every night why you're alone even though you gave him your all, and you'll still let traitors take charge of a life that is rightfully yours. But I promise to be your lifeline, no matter how far you stray away. When you reach your dead-end, when you run empty from exhaustion, I promise to be the first one to help you start over.

At the end of the day, without direction, you're no more able to love another person than you are able to first love yourself.

decency

Please have some. Don't let the emotional dictates of someone else control you; don't let vulnerability be the death of identity and focus. Just because you're happy doesn't mean you're supposed to let go of priorities. Carry yourself like you always say you will: a posture that fluctuates with purpose rather than impulse. Posture that reflects direction, even when the prospects seem often foggy. Dignity and self-respect over the wretched hole of pity. You're more than that, in fact, everybody deserves more than that. To be told and to fiercely believe in human willpower; don't let the second and third guesses trail your paths, cling to your ankles, gnawing at your conscience. Let their merciless stares drown in their own hatred; after all, hatred is the most exhausting of emotions and it eventually self-destructs.

Just a note to self, another constant reminder for accountability purposes, and of course, this tender thing they call self-preservation.

automatic engimatic ..

You come and go like the mist. I never see you or feel you anymore, but somehow when you come around, it’s an imperceptible, barely tangible feeling. Yet it clouds my vision and cools me down, pauses my life for a moment and brings me back to the same thoughts as always. Where are you? Your life in pictures? Your thoughts locked in a box? Your secrets and seclusion - why? Is it easier for you not to tell anyone anything than to spend the effort telling, even if it means alienating the people who know you best? And how “well” is “best” - does anyone really know you? Side 1 or 2. What are you?

I wonder all the time.

perhaps i should take my own advice

So the assignment in Creative Writing today was to give advice to your young self, pretending that you’re old and wrinkly 50 years from now. I kind of had an epiphany .. not necessarily the greatest self discovery, but at least it’s something to work on.

My dear, stop wishing for a time machine. A time machine to take you forwards, to take you backwards. To take you anywhere but here and now – today. Why is the past pulling you apart, stronger than your passion for the present? And why do the coming months matter more than the current month? Tiffany – you will get nothing out of your absent-minded existence; start living for now, and stop worrying. You think life is a cycle, a vicious one, at that. A cycle that drains you of vitality, takes away the pulse of your dreams. Sure, you are a far-sighted girl; you see the future clearly and the direction you want to go. You also see the past and acknowledge that it has molded you into who you are today. But you never see your current identity, the one that is constantly evolving, opportune to change – thirsting for change. Your lukewarm lifestyle of simply going through the motions will never satisfy you, no matter how much you look forward to the future. The future will soon become the present, and if you continue living this way, you will always find yourself empty-handed, wondering to where the possibilities fled, always one step ahead, a thin grasp away. Don’t simply peer through glossy eyes, observing the world and never participating. Dive in, thrust your soul into the seas of diversity and exploration – stop wishing and start living. A half-hearted mentality will get you nowhere in life, regardless of intellect or talent. What is human life without its breath? – all kinds of breath, the kind gasping for air, on the verge, the kind deeply inhaling a clean breeze, even the kind barely noticeable, light crests and troughs: the breath of a night’s peaceful sleep. Do not blink your eyes and gaze around with a blank stare, without truly breathing.