It's the last day of 2014, and my blog has reached its 60th post.
I guess I could say that's one of my "accomplishments" over the past year, if rambling on and on about my life over the internet counts as an "accomplishment" :) But seriously, though, given that it's New Year's Eve, I'd like to wrap up the year with some thoughts.
Weighing most heavily on my mind is the fact that, for many, the Holiday Season is a time of great stress and even depression. I, for one, have always cherished Thanksgiving over Christmas because it just seems simpler: food and family/friends, with no pressure of presents or parties! Christmas in the past was often hard because, as I received Season's Greetings (in the form of family photos or newsletters) from friends and acquaintances, it became easy to compare my "accomplishments" (or lack thereof) with theirs. So I felt like a bit of a hypocrite this year when I sent out my own newsletter to a few friends. Does telling my friends about what I've been up to come close to bragging? Or are they happy to hear about my new experiences? I tried to be brief, and to also be as honest as possible in sharing both blessings and challenges from the past year.
Each year brings its own set of struggles, and some years are just harder than others. Would I even have the energy to write this blog post if my 2014 were as rough as some previous years? Probably not. The reason I write tonight is because I'm doing well, and because I'm enjoying a quiet and restful night at home.
What I'd like to say tonight is that, as much as the approach of a New Year is supposed to bring new hope, joy, and expectations, I think it's ok to grieve a little on the last night of the old year. Perhaps this past year was disappointing, and perhaps there was some form of loss. I happened to have a very good year, but that doesn't mean that 2015 won't have some kind of disappointment or even devastation. This isn't me being morbid; it's an acknowledgement of what Life is.
If only the Holidays allowed us to be sad in the midst of festivity, and to mourn a little as we look over the year. And for those of us who have had a good year, with lots of things to celebrate, may we be sensitive to others around us and not overwhelm them with tidings of good cheer. Let's let New Year's Eve and New Year's Day be what they are--just two other days in the cycle of Life. Cheers to that!
Wednesday, December 31, 2014
Going Home, for Real
My neighbor Jim went home 3 days ago, in a hospital bed surrounded by his family.
As long as I can remember, Jim has always been there, next door, with his wife Jan. I was 2 when my parents moved to our Arcadia home, in a neighborhood that was still predominantly white. (Things have changed drastically since; just google the name of the city and you'll understand why). Jim extended friendship and kindness to us, and my brother and I grew up with the security of knowing that there lived next door to us people who cared about and loved us. That means a lot to an immigrant family that doesn't have relatives nearby.
Almost every Christmas, we'd visit, either in their living room or ours. Most of the time, we'd walk over to their house, bringing our instruments for some Christmas music. They'd serve cookies and egg nogg, and after we finished playing we'd chat pleasantly with them in between bites. That was always the highlight of my holiday season.
But it wasn't just over the holidays that we interacted with our neighbors. Jim always knocked on our front door whenever there was some kind of fire warning for the mountains nearby. He gave Felix odd jobs to do around his house, and last year he invited me to volunteer with him once a month on Saturdays. One year, when Dad was away for work and Mom and I were the only ones at home (Felix lived and worked about 2 hours away), he took our trash cans in and out for each week's trash pickups, telling us "this is a man's job" and that we were not to worry about it.
Jim was a well-educated man, not snobby, but the epitome of uprightness and decency. He spoke kindly and honestly, and though always a bit reserved in manner, he always looked out for us with genuine warmth. Whenever we bumped into him in our front yards, he would ask us questions about our life and remember to follow up on things we had told him about previously. I have fond memories of going out to dinner or dessert with him and his wife, because anytime he knew I was staying at home alone, he'd take the time to treat me to a meal. He was the best neighbor we could have ever asked for, and he knew us in a way that even our family and close friends did not.
Over the last 18 months, as Jim courageously staved off cancer, I got to play music for him on several occasions. I even met members of his family as they came to visit. I played for him one last time this Christmas season, just 24 hours before he passed. Before the hospital visit concluded, he gave each member of my family a parting hug and a kiss. Even in his final stretch of life, he reached out to bless us with his kindness.
Jim's death was sobering, and I will probably grieve for a good while. But it was also a profound and strangely comforting event. It is an honor to be with someone at the end of their life and have the opportunity to have enough quality time to say goodbye. Jim lived a good life, and he also had a good death. My family was so privileged to be a small part of both, and I will always strive to carry out his legacy of kindness, wherever I go.
As long as I can remember, Jim has always been there, next door, with his wife Jan. I was 2 when my parents moved to our Arcadia home, in a neighborhood that was still predominantly white. (Things have changed drastically since; just google the name of the city and you'll understand why). Jim extended friendship and kindness to us, and my brother and I grew up with the security of knowing that there lived next door to us people who cared about and loved us. That means a lot to an immigrant family that doesn't have relatives nearby.
Almost every Christmas, we'd visit, either in their living room or ours. Most of the time, we'd walk over to their house, bringing our instruments for some Christmas music. They'd serve cookies and egg nogg, and after we finished playing we'd chat pleasantly with them in between bites. That was always the highlight of my holiday season.
But it wasn't just over the holidays that we interacted with our neighbors. Jim always knocked on our front door whenever there was some kind of fire warning for the mountains nearby. He gave Felix odd jobs to do around his house, and last year he invited me to volunteer with him once a month on Saturdays. One year, when Dad was away for work and Mom and I were the only ones at home (Felix lived and worked about 2 hours away), he took our trash cans in and out for each week's trash pickups, telling us "this is a man's job" and that we were not to worry about it.
Jim was a well-educated man, not snobby, but the epitome of uprightness and decency. He spoke kindly and honestly, and though always a bit reserved in manner, he always looked out for us with genuine warmth. Whenever we bumped into him in our front yards, he would ask us questions about our life and remember to follow up on things we had told him about previously. I have fond memories of going out to dinner or dessert with him and his wife, because anytime he knew I was staying at home alone, he'd take the time to treat me to a meal. He was the best neighbor we could have ever asked for, and he knew us in a way that even our family and close friends did not.
Over the last 18 months, as Jim courageously staved off cancer, I got to play music for him on several occasions. I even met members of his family as they came to visit. I played for him one last time this Christmas season, just 24 hours before he passed. Before the hospital visit concluded, he gave each member of my family a parting hug and a kiss. Even in his final stretch of life, he reached out to bless us with his kindness.
Jim's death was sobering, and I will probably grieve for a good while. But it was also a profound and strangely comforting event. It is an honor to be with someone at the end of their life and have the opportunity to have enough quality time to say goodbye. Jim lived a good life, and he also had a good death. My family was so privileged to be a small part of both, and I will always strive to carry out his legacy of kindness, wherever I go.
Tuesday, December 16, 2014
Going Home
In 2 days, I'll be flying home to California. Sunshine awaits!
When I left Los Angeles in August, I knew that subsequent trips back home would present challenges. Yale Divinity School was going to solidify opinions that had lay below the surface, and I was going to become more vocal about things. I hope my LA friends know that just because I never objected to some of their opinions didn't mean that I agreed.
Most of my young adult life, my friends have roughly been divided into two categories: conservative Christians (the definition of "conservative" covers many different things, which I won't get into here) and liberal individuals who (regardless of whether they had been raised in any faith) were not religious. I got along fine with both groups because I resonated with values from each "side" and saw truth in statements made from both sides; but I was able to keep my social lives separate from one another.
I knew that, coming to YDS, I would encounter lots of "liberal" Christians, and that was part of the appeal. (I'm just glad I didn't say that to the tons of people who instilled "warnings" in me when I informed them I'd be studying religion at an Ivy League.) I'd already been "trained by the best" conservatives*; I had long since strayed from the polemical nature of social activism and had instead immersed myself in the helping profession, where individual lives needed compassion and practical assistance, regardless of political or religious beliefs; now, as I headed back to school, it was time to engage with and openly listen to other voices. So here I am, and here I thrive, by the grace of God and the warmth and support of friends I've made. My first semester hasn't been easy, but it's been exactly what I've needed and craved.
As for Going Home? Well, first I have to finish a paper and turn it in. And once I get home, I've got to start another paper and turn that in. And then we'll see how I navigate conversations with familiar faces.
I've been reflecting a lot lately: Back in college, I'd post more "conservative" articles and opinions on Facebook, and all my liberal friends would chime in with objections. These days, I've been getting a lot of feedback regarding my "Black Lives Matter" (and related) pictures and posts. Seems that no matter which side I'm on, I'll have friends who disagree with me, because my friends are not limited to one side, and that's the beauty--and the challenge--of life.
*As proof (now I'm sounding like Paul, when he claims to be the Jew's Jew in legitimizing his conversion to Christianity, ain't I?): I was homeschooled for 8 years; attended camps on Christian apologetics and conservative political ideas; was very active in a political club in college; wrote letters to the editor for the school newspaper; and had parents who were sporadically politically active regarding Conservative issues--they've since then become more moderate.
When I left Los Angeles in August, I knew that subsequent trips back home would present challenges. Yale Divinity School was going to solidify opinions that had lay below the surface, and I was going to become more vocal about things. I hope my LA friends know that just because I never objected to some of their opinions didn't mean that I agreed.
Most of my young adult life, my friends have roughly been divided into two categories: conservative Christians (the definition of "conservative" covers many different things, which I won't get into here) and liberal individuals who (regardless of whether they had been raised in any faith) were not religious. I got along fine with both groups because I resonated with values from each "side" and saw truth in statements made from both sides; but I was able to keep my social lives separate from one another.
I knew that, coming to YDS, I would encounter lots of "liberal" Christians, and that was part of the appeal. (I'm just glad I didn't say that to the tons of people who instilled "warnings" in me when I informed them I'd be studying religion at an Ivy League.) I'd already been "trained by the best" conservatives*; I had long since strayed from the polemical nature of social activism and had instead immersed myself in the helping profession, where individual lives needed compassion and practical assistance, regardless of political or religious beliefs; now, as I headed back to school, it was time to engage with and openly listen to other voices. So here I am, and here I thrive, by the grace of God and the warmth and support of friends I've made. My first semester hasn't been easy, but it's been exactly what I've needed and craved.
As for Going Home? Well, first I have to finish a paper and turn it in. And once I get home, I've got to start another paper and turn that in. And then we'll see how I navigate conversations with familiar faces.
I've been reflecting a lot lately: Back in college, I'd post more "conservative" articles and opinions on Facebook, and all my liberal friends would chime in with objections. These days, I've been getting a lot of feedback regarding my "Black Lives Matter" (and related) pictures and posts. Seems that no matter which side I'm on, I'll have friends who disagree with me, because my friends are not limited to one side, and that's the beauty--and the challenge--of life.
*As proof (now I'm sounding like Paul, when he claims to be the Jew's Jew in legitimizing his conversion to Christianity, ain't I?): I was homeschooled for 8 years; attended camps on Christian apologetics and conservative political ideas; was very active in a political club in college; wrote letters to the editor for the school newspaper; and had parents who were sporadically politically active regarding Conservative issues--they've since then become more moderate.
Sunday, November 23, 2014
Home Stretch
In a month, I'll be home on winter vacation, soaking up the California sun and catching up with LA friends.
Before I get there, I need to write 4 papers, take 2 final exams, and do 1 presentation. There are also plenty of social events already filling up the pages of my calendar. Needless to say, I've got a lot on my plate!
I can't believe my first semester at Yale is drawing to a close. Coming here was one of the best things I've done, and I'm ready for a break so that I can come back in 2015 with even more energy and enthusiasm!
Before I get there, I need to write 4 papers, take 2 final exams, and do 1 presentation. There are also plenty of social events already filling up the pages of my calendar. Needless to say, I've got a lot on my plate!
I can't believe my first semester at Yale is drawing to a close. Coming here was one of the best things I've done, and I'm ready for a break so that I can come back in 2015 with even more energy and enthusiasm!
Sunday, November 16, 2014
Even the Best Things in Life Bring Disappointment
I never thought that soccer would get me back at blogging, but it has, and here I am.
We lost a game today, and I find myself feeling strangely emotional about it. I keep replaying failed plays in my head, the kinds that make you hold your head in your hands and curse out loud. (yes, I do sometimes curse, usually when I'm not thinking and just reacting to what's happening before my eyes).
1-2, and one goal makes all the difference. Especially when, after your team has scored early in the game, the referee makes the call that your defender committed a foul (he totally didn't) and gives the other team a penalty kick, which then bounces off of two of our defenders, into our own goal.
Oh, we tried so hard to knock another goal in after that, but somehow we just couldn't make things happen. Instead, we let them score another one.
Soccer is the best sport in the universe, and when my team loses in a critical game (had we won today's game, we would have played in the championship match), I find that I feel very, very disappointed.
Today's emotions brought me back to the fourth grade, when my team made it all the way to state championships and lost by penalty kicks. I didn't cry like the rest of my teammates, but I was devastated. Today, I feel like that fourth grade girl, very sad inside--even pretty mad--but not showing the emotions on my face.
I don't usually consider myself a competitive person, and I owe that to 2 factors:
1) Growing up, I saw how competitive my mother and brother were, and I decided to not be that way
2) I'm a natural perfectionist, so the only way to not drive myself crazy is to not care too much.
Of course, neither perfectionism nor apathy is sustainable for too long, and I've lived most of my life somewhere in the middle. Life is about the pursuit of excellence with a grace-filled attitude. I expect good quality performance from myself and others, but when I fail to meet those standards, and when others do poorly, grace is there to acknowledge inability.
Today, though, I was feeling very competitive, and I so desperately wanted to win.
I think the pain in today's game lies in the fact that even the best things in life (soccer, teamwork, and the possibility of winning) bring severe disappointment. It's interesting how human a loss can make me feel. I am not invincible, and my team just got beat in semi-finals. It hurts, and it will take me a few days to get over it. But at least it's got me back on the blog again...
We lost a game today, and I find myself feeling strangely emotional about it. I keep replaying failed plays in my head, the kinds that make you hold your head in your hands and curse out loud. (yes, I do sometimes curse, usually when I'm not thinking and just reacting to what's happening before my eyes).
1-2, and one goal makes all the difference. Especially when, after your team has scored early in the game, the referee makes the call that your defender committed a foul (he totally didn't) and gives the other team a penalty kick, which then bounces off of two of our defenders, into our own goal.
Oh, we tried so hard to knock another goal in after that, but somehow we just couldn't make things happen. Instead, we let them score another one.
Soccer is the best sport in the universe, and when my team loses in a critical game (had we won today's game, we would have played in the championship match), I find that I feel very, very disappointed.
Today's emotions brought me back to the fourth grade, when my team made it all the way to state championships and lost by penalty kicks. I didn't cry like the rest of my teammates, but I was devastated. Today, I feel like that fourth grade girl, very sad inside--even pretty mad--but not showing the emotions on my face.
I don't usually consider myself a competitive person, and I owe that to 2 factors:
1) Growing up, I saw how competitive my mother and brother were, and I decided to not be that way
2) I'm a natural perfectionist, so the only way to not drive myself crazy is to not care too much.
Of course, neither perfectionism nor apathy is sustainable for too long, and I've lived most of my life somewhere in the middle. Life is about the pursuit of excellence with a grace-filled attitude. I expect good quality performance from myself and others, but when I fail to meet those standards, and when others do poorly, grace is there to acknowledge inability.
Today, though, I was feeling very competitive, and I so desperately wanted to win.
I think the pain in today's game lies in the fact that even the best things in life (soccer, teamwork, and the possibility of winning) bring severe disappointment. It's interesting how human a loss can make me feel. I am not invincible, and my team just got beat in semi-finals. It hurts, and it will take me a few days to get over it. But at least it's got me back on the blog again...
Tuesday, October 21, 2014
Too Much for Words
My "I" is beginning to get uncomfortable with how public blogging is making my "F".
I write poetry every now and then--bad poetry that no mind should ever read
but poetry nonetheless because it expresses what I feel in less direct ways.
When blogging has turned to venting…
I think it's time to hibernate from cyberspace and start putting words on private paper.
I started a new poetry journal today, one where I can express the frustrations that don't have patience for proper words.
There is power in poetry, and poetry is powerful.
Rest awhile, little blog. You've made it to 55 posts, so go take a vacation!
I write poetry every now and then--bad poetry that no mind should ever read
but poetry nonetheless because it expresses what I feel in less direct ways.
When blogging has turned to venting…
I think it's time to hibernate from cyberspace and start putting words on private paper.
I started a new poetry journal today, one where I can express the frustrations that don't have patience for proper words.
There is power in poetry, and poetry is powerful.
Rest awhile, little blog. You've made it to 55 posts, so go take a vacation!
Sunday, October 19, 2014
A Taste of Eternity
Have you ever laughed so hard you cried?
I have. Many times.
But this past Friday, I experienced for the first time what it's like to laugh so hard and so much that your chest muscles are sore the next day.
On Friday, I took a midterm and welcomed my parents to New Haven. (They are visiting me for Fall Break!) On Friday evening, I was invited to 2 house parties, and I brought my parents along. Not only did friends make an effort to make them feel at home, but they also shared the wonderful gift of humor. By the end of the night, all of us were doubled over laughing, slapping our thighs, and nearly crying from the hilarity of it all.
Both parties were made up of a diverse and international mix of friends. Self-deprecating humor and affectionate jokes bring people closer, and that night, I felt like I was hanging out with my spiritual and intellectual family. Some of the things said were so funny that I almost choked with laughter. I now know that it is possible to die laughing, simply because you can't catch your breath!
Heaven will be composed of people from every tribe, tongue, and nation. Our world is so fragmented, and it truly weighs me down when I think of the oppressive racial and cultural barriers humanity has erected for itself. Thank goodness for tiny glimpses of what things will one day look like. Thank goodness for the taste of eternity I got on Friday.
I look forward to laughing all the day long when I reach the Other Side. And I'll know I'm there because my chest muscles will be used to it, and I won't be sore the next day.
I have. Many times.
But this past Friday, I experienced for the first time what it's like to laugh so hard and so much that your chest muscles are sore the next day.
On Friday, I took a midterm and welcomed my parents to New Haven. (They are visiting me for Fall Break!) On Friday evening, I was invited to 2 house parties, and I brought my parents along. Not only did friends make an effort to make them feel at home, but they also shared the wonderful gift of humor. By the end of the night, all of us were doubled over laughing, slapping our thighs, and nearly crying from the hilarity of it all.
Both parties were made up of a diverse and international mix of friends. Self-deprecating humor and affectionate jokes bring people closer, and that night, I felt like I was hanging out with my spiritual and intellectual family. Some of the things said were so funny that I almost choked with laughter. I now know that it is possible to die laughing, simply because you can't catch your breath!
Heaven will be composed of people from every tribe, tongue, and nation. Our world is so fragmented, and it truly weighs me down when I think of the oppressive racial and cultural barriers humanity has erected for itself. Thank goodness for tiny glimpses of what things will one day look like. Thank goodness for the taste of eternity I got on Friday.
I look forward to laughing all the day long when I reach the Other Side. And I'll know I'm there because my chest muscles will be used to it, and I won't be sore the next day.
Introvert Heaven
Coming from Los Angeles to New Haven can be likened to the ascent from purgatory into heaven.
Finally, I am surrounded by introverts who give me space!
Living in Los Angeles can be so draining for an introvert. Everyone is so friendly and loves hanging out at all hours. But when I'm there, I feel guilty for not being more social, and my defenses are often up.
"Hey, are you doing anything tonight?" a text reads.
Unless I'm feeling especially spontaneous or social, I will tend to reply: "Hmmm….I kind of made plans already...." (with myself--I have this wonderful book that I'd like to read tonight).
Generally, I'm still more accustomed to making advance plans, at least 24 hours before something happens.
Call me cold and heartless, but that's how I roll.
Imagine my relief when I found that people at Yale are courteous but not especially friendly (yes! people are finally giving me space! haha, in fact, a little too much space, perhaps?). The friends I have made are content to only text me very occasionally or chat with me only if they run into me on campus. (Have I ever mentioned how much I hate it when someone wants to have a full-on conversation with me over text? Talk to me in person, or send me a long email. It's super draining to have to keep texting you back!)
Perhaps because my defenses are finally down now that I'm in New Haven, I've become more susceptible to the few instances when people do intrude on my space. And I've become even more aware of how much of a proud introvert I am. (I know--that sentence can be construed in more than one way. Feel free to interpret it however you wish.) When someone like me approaches introvert heaven, the purgatory that took so long to escape appears all the more terrible. Cigarette smoke is more offensive in the Swiss Alps than in New York City, right?
I'm sorry. I sound so mean. Extroverts are wonderful people. And the world would not be the same without them. But right now, for the first time in my life, my modus operandus is the social norm, and I don't constantly have to worry about engaging with a social framework that rewards extroverts and pressures introverts to conform.
Divinity school is a season of my life when I can celebrate my introversion without being thought of as antisocial or strange. I'm sure gonna enjoy it, because it ain't gonna last forever!
Finally, I am surrounded by introverts who give me space!
Living in Los Angeles can be so draining for an introvert. Everyone is so friendly and loves hanging out at all hours. But when I'm there, I feel guilty for not being more social, and my defenses are often up.
"Hey, are you doing anything tonight?" a text reads.
Unless I'm feeling especially spontaneous or social, I will tend to reply: "Hmmm….I kind of made plans already...." (with myself--I have this wonderful book that I'd like to read tonight).
Generally, I'm still more accustomed to making advance plans, at least 24 hours before something happens.
Call me cold and heartless, but that's how I roll.
Imagine my relief when I found that people at Yale are courteous but not especially friendly (yes! people are finally giving me space! haha, in fact, a little too much space, perhaps?). The friends I have made are content to only text me very occasionally or chat with me only if they run into me on campus. (Have I ever mentioned how much I hate it when someone wants to have a full-on conversation with me over text? Talk to me in person, or send me a long email. It's super draining to have to keep texting you back!)
Perhaps because my defenses are finally down now that I'm in New Haven, I've become more susceptible to the few instances when people do intrude on my space. And I've become even more aware of how much of a proud introvert I am. (I know--that sentence can be construed in more than one way. Feel free to interpret it however you wish.) When someone like me approaches introvert heaven, the purgatory that took so long to escape appears all the more terrible. Cigarette smoke is more offensive in the Swiss Alps than in New York City, right?
I'm sorry. I sound so mean. Extroverts are wonderful people. And the world would not be the same without them. But right now, for the first time in my life, my modus operandus is the social norm, and I don't constantly have to worry about engaging with a social framework that rewards extroverts and pressures introverts to conform.
Divinity school is a season of my life when I can celebrate my introversion without being thought of as antisocial or strange. I'm sure gonna enjoy it, because it ain't gonna last forever!
Just Because I Look Like You...
…does not in any way mean that we think or act the same.
Welcome to Familiarity Breeds Contempt Part 2
Even though my hometown is notoriously Asian, I have always had friends who did not look like me. While several of my good friends are Asian-American, and while I find it important to identify with people in America who look like me, I also have some critiques.
Personal Space:
I'm an introvert. I'm an Americanized Asian. I value personal space. So don't text me every day, and don't invite yourself into my space without permission. And please don't touch my stuff without asking, especial if it's my violin! Thanks.
Courtesy:
Yes, I may speak your language. But when someone who doesn't speak Chinese is with us, please speak English. I find it rude when you exclude someone on the basis of language. (I so appreciate the German and Korean students here at Yale. They always try to speak English if I'm around. And if ever they start speaking among themselves in their native language, they always apologize).
Just because I look like you does not in any way mean that I automatically think or act the same as you might. Get to know me a little better before you become so familiar as to merit my contempt.
Welcome to Familiarity Breeds Contempt Part 2
Even though my hometown is notoriously Asian, I have always had friends who did not look like me. While several of my good friends are Asian-American, and while I find it important to identify with people in America who look like me, I also have some critiques.
Personal Space:
I'm an introvert. I'm an Americanized Asian. I value personal space. So don't text me every day, and don't invite yourself into my space without permission. And please don't touch my stuff without asking, especial if it's my violin! Thanks.
Courtesy:
Yes, I may speak your language. But when someone who doesn't speak Chinese is with us, please speak English. I find it rude when you exclude someone on the basis of language. (I so appreciate the German and Korean students here at Yale. They always try to speak English if I'm around. And if ever they start speaking among themselves in their native language, they always apologize).
Just because I look like you does not in any way mean that I automatically think or act the same as you might. Get to know me a little better before you become so familiar as to merit my contempt.
Familiarity Breeds Contempt
It's always the same scenario.
I walk into a Chinese church as a first-time visitor. I am able to read the words on the screen during worship, and I can understand the sermon. Thanks to my upbringing and the diligence of my mom, my Chinese is pretty fluent, despite being born in America.
At the end of the service, during introductions, I am greeted by adult members of the congregation. A few exchanges produces the same sort of reactions from them:
1. "Wow, your Chinese is so good for someone born here! It's much better than my son/daughter's…"
2. "I hope you are able to come help our church with your musical/bilingual/theological background!"
3. "You look so young! I can't believe you are already __ . Wow!"
I have many bones to pick with Chinese people. This includes people of Chinese heritage in America as well as people in Taiwan whose ancestors were Chinese (as differentiated from the native people of the island). So let me explain what bothers me about the above statements:
1. Thanks for the compliment, but please recognize that I can't take the credit for this. Credit goes to my mom, who insisted that I know the language and be able to communicate with her in Chinese. Even though her English is quite good. The fact that so many American Born Chinese speak broken Chinese is the fault of their parents, and I think that's a tragedy.
2. If you think that the biggest incentive for a visitor to come back to your church is so that she can serve your congregation, then you're wrong. Do I even need to explain why?
3. If you are surprised that I look younger than my age, keep it to yourself. Do you think I'm oblivious to the fact that I look young? If you're trying to compliment me, I'm not taking it as such, so just stop.
All right. Enough complaining against Chinese in America. Let's talk about people in Taiwan.
It's always the same when I go back to Taiwan:
1. "What, you play soccer? Aren't you afraid your thighs will get thick?"
2. "Don't get a Ph.D. You'll never find a husband if you do that."
3. "The last time your brother was here he said this, which was so interesting! And wow, he posts things on Facebook that shows he has opinions about things. That's great!"
Clearly, my conception of what a modern woman can be is a little different.
1. What's wrong with having some muscle? I'm sorry if my legs look thicker than Taiwanese standards of beauty, but I'd rather look healthy and strong than skinny and weak. At least I won't topple over if the wind blows!
2. Well, too bad then. I'll just do without the husband! (How happy are you married people, huh?)
3. I love my brother, and this point isn't an attack on him but rather an attack on what people's comments about him reveal about their views on men and women. I refuse to accept that my brother has more entitlement to opinions than I do simply because he is male. And if your entire conversation with me is going to be about him, then I'll show myself the door. It's a very sick society that believes a woman's job is to stay thin and look pretty and that it is only respectable for a man to have an opinion and voice it.
Believe me, there are things about American society that bother me too. But if I'm going to criticize, I'll start with my own people. Familiarity breeds contempt, after all.
I walk into a Chinese church as a first-time visitor. I am able to read the words on the screen during worship, and I can understand the sermon. Thanks to my upbringing and the diligence of my mom, my Chinese is pretty fluent, despite being born in America.
At the end of the service, during introductions, I am greeted by adult members of the congregation. A few exchanges produces the same sort of reactions from them:
1. "Wow, your Chinese is so good for someone born here! It's much better than my son/daughter's…"
2. "I hope you are able to come help our church with your musical/bilingual/theological background!"
3. "You look so young! I can't believe you are already __ . Wow!"
I have many bones to pick with Chinese people. This includes people of Chinese heritage in America as well as people in Taiwan whose ancestors were Chinese (as differentiated from the native people of the island). So let me explain what bothers me about the above statements:
1. Thanks for the compliment, but please recognize that I can't take the credit for this. Credit goes to my mom, who insisted that I know the language and be able to communicate with her in Chinese. Even though her English is quite good. The fact that so many American Born Chinese speak broken Chinese is the fault of their parents, and I think that's a tragedy.
2. If you think that the biggest incentive for a visitor to come back to your church is so that she can serve your congregation, then you're wrong. Do I even need to explain why?
3. If you are surprised that I look younger than my age, keep it to yourself. Do you think I'm oblivious to the fact that I look young? If you're trying to compliment me, I'm not taking it as such, so just stop.
All right. Enough complaining against Chinese in America. Let's talk about people in Taiwan.
It's always the same when I go back to Taiwan:
1. "What, you play soccer? Aren't you afraid your thighs will get thick?"
2. "Don't get a Ph.D. You'll never find a husband if you do that."
3. "The last time your brother was here he said this, which was so interesting! And wow, he posts things on Facebook that shows he has opinions about things. That's great!"
Clearly, my conception of what a modern woman can be is a little different.
1. What's wrong with having some muscle? I'm sorry if my legs look thicker than Taiwanese standards of beauty, but I'd rather look healthy and strong than skinny and weak. At least I won't topple over if the wind blows!
2. Well, too bad then. I'll just do without the husband! (How happy are you married people, huh?)
3. I love my brother, and this point isn't an attack on him but rather an attack on what people's comments about him reveal about their views on men and women. I refuse to accept that my brother has more entitlement to opinions than I do simply because he is male. And if your entire conversation with me is going to be about him, then I'll show myself the door. It's a very sick society that believes a woman's job is to stay thin and look pretty and that it is only respectable for a man to have an opinion and voice it.
Believe me, there are things about American society that bother me too. But if I'm going to criticize, I'll start with my own people. Familiarity breeds contempt, after all.
Tuesday, October 14, 2014
Why Divinity School?
The short answer to the question, "why did you decide to go to Divinity School?" is this:
I don't have a formal academic background in religion, and I'd like to have one.
I have a pretty rich experiential background with religion, and I'd like to learn the language with which I can articulate my thoughts on those experiences, and to process those experiences "in community"--whether that be in the classroom, over lunch with classmates, or through books I'm reading.
When the desire to explore seminary was beginning to take shape, I was on a quest to locate myself within the geography of the Christian landscape of America. This meant taking into consideration my particular ethnicity, gender, personality type, and spiritual giftings. It meant sorting out my theology and the practical implications thereof.
I have had several fallouts with Christian communities in the last 8 years. Sometimes it had to do with issues of integrity in male spiritual leadership that I witnessed (dishonesty, sexual harrassment, power-mongering), sometimes it had to do with not feeling the freedom to exercise my spiritual giftings and being dismissed because I am single and because I am intuitively attuned to things not easily articulated before skeptical ears. In any case, I have had trouble finding a community in which I can truly speak what's on my heart.
To be fair, not all of my experiences have been as negative as they may sound. In my most recent phase of life in LA, Hope Christian Fellowship, Bible Study Fellowship, and a local women's Scripture Memory Group were all wonderful things. But some of the most emotionally invested seasons of spirituality of my 20s have ended in relational devastation.
Ironically, those experiences usually start out as smooth sailing. I connect quickly with leadership and participate in fellowship as candidly and as prudently as I know how. At first, I do feel that freedom to be me and to express my spiritual side in the way I feel called. Eventually, however, something always develops that seems to increasingly oppose what I'm about, and then male leadership will do something to discourage or mute any voice that I once had. A period of disillusionment usually follows, and then I must work up the energy to try again.
Currently, good things are happening in my spiritual life, and I'm grateful. God led me to a church in New Haven very quickly, and pretty soon after that I settled into a weekly Home Group. Things feel right, and I'm getting the spiritual support I need.
The words I speak in fellowship do not feel less valid because I am a woman, or because I am Asian. Men in the group, both married and not married, listen to what I'm saying, just like I listen to what they are saying. Women in the group, both married and not married, value my thoughts and my words, just like I value their thoughts and words. There is a joy that comes with being vulnerable and honest, with allowing others to speak from the depths of their experience (both of God and of life) without feeling intimidated or insecure.
Too, I've found solid friendships at the Divinity School where similar feelings of "safeness" are there. My "Ministry and the Disinherited" class has become the basis for several friendships--men and women who listen with their hearts as much as their minds. Roadtrips and study sessions have become opportunities to converse at length with friends about theology, personal history, and future inquiry. I have been blessed to find people here who are kind human beings that happen to be at Yale.
If you are reading this post, I hope you feel encouraged that if you keep searching for it, answers will eventually (sometimes at an agonizingly slow pace) begin to become available to you. And while community takes work and initiative on your part, it could also be a simple matter of location and timing. As in, don't blame yourself if you're not connecting with the community (or lack thereof) that happens to be most local/accessible to you. Don't be discouraged if you are stifled in your giftings and longing for deeper fellowship, but don't be okay with it either. Dig deep into your Source, and allow Him to refine you in foggy or dark places.
At some point, He just might bring you into the kind of community your heart so desires.
My current season is an unexpected blessing, one that I'm not taking for granted. I also know that it can be taken away or dissolve sometime down the road, and that ultimately the only thing that I can count on is my relationship with Christ. In the meantime, my quest has reached a "resting point", a safe spot where I can replenish myself and have fruitful give-and-take with others who are also staying temporarily in this place, this New Haven to searchers and seekers of faith and meaning.
I don't have a formal academic background in religion, and I'd like to have one.
I have a pretty rich experiential background with religion, and I'd like to learn the language with which I can articulate my thoughts on those experiences, and to process those experiences "in community"--whether that be in the classroom, over lunch with classmates, or through books I'm reading.
When the desire to explore seminary was beginning to take shape, I was on a quest to locate myself within the geography of the Christian landscape of America. This meant taking into consideration my particular ethnicity, gender, personality type, and spiritual giftings. It meant sorting out my theology and the practical implications thereof.
I have had several fallouts with Christian communities in the last 8 years. Sometimes it had to do with issues of integrity in male spiritual leadership that I witnessed (dishonesty, sexual harrassment, power-mongering), sometimes it had to do with not feeling the freedom to exercise my spiritual giftings and being dismissed because I am single and because I am intuitively attuned to things not easily articulated before skeptical ears. In any case, I have had trouble finding a community in which I can truly speak what's on my heart.
To be fair, not all of my experiences have been as negative as they may sound. In my most recent phase of life in LA, Hope Christian Fellowship, Bible Study Fellowship, and a local women's Scripture Memory Group were all wonderful things. But some of the most emotionally invested seasons of spirituality of my 20s have ended in relational devastation.
Ironically, those experiences usually start out as smooth sailing. I connect quickly with leadership and participate in fellowship as candidly and as prudently as I know how. At first, I do feel that freedom to be me and to express my spiritual side in the way I feel called. Eventually, however, something always develops that seems to increasingly oppose what I'm about, and then male leadership will do something to discourage or mute any voice that I once had. A period of disillusionment usually follows, and then I must work up the energy to try again.
Currently, good things are happening in my spiritual life, and I'm grateful. God led me to a church in New Haven very quickly, and pretty soon after that I settled into a weekly Home Group. Things feel right, and I'm getting the spiritual support I need.
The words I speak in fellowship do not feel less valid because I am a woman, or because I am Asian. Men in the group, both married and not married, listen to what I'm saying, just like I listen to what they are saying. Women in the group, both married and not married, value my thoughts and my words, just like I value their thoughts and words. There is a joy that comes with being vulnerable and honest, with allowing others to speak from the depths of their experience (both of God and of life) without feeling intimidated or insecure.
Too, I've found solid friendships at the Divinity School where similar feelings of "safeness" are there. My "Ministry and the Disinherited" class has become the basis for several friendships--men and women who listen with their hearts as much as their minds. Roadtrips and study sessions have become opportunities to converse at length with friends about theology, personal history, and future inquiry. I have been blessed to find people here who are kind human beings that happen to be at Yale.
If you are reading this post, I hope you feel encouraged that if you keep searching for it, answers will eventually (sometimes at an agonizingly slow pace) begin to become available to you. And while community takes work and initiative on your part, it could also be a simple matter of location and timing. As in, don't blame yourself if you're not connecting with the community (or lack thereof) that happens to be most local/accessible to you. Don't be discouraged if you are stifled in your giftings and longing for deeper fellowship, but don't be okay with it either. Dig deep into your Source, and allow Him to refine you in foggy or dark places.
At some point, He just might bring you into the kind of community your heart so desires.
My current season is an unexpected blessing, one that I'm not taking for granted. I also know that it can be taken away or dissolve sometime down the road, and that ultimately the only thing that I can count on is my relationship with Christ. In the meantime, my quest has reached a "resting point", a safe spot where I can replenish myself and have fruitful give-and-take with others who are also staying temporarily in this place, this New Haven to searchers and seekers of faith and meaning.
Monday, October 13, 2014
種族歧視
我常常覺得華人很有種族歧視。
來到美國，就是想要成功，不會想到別的種族的事情。Ferguson 發生後的禮拜天，我去了一家中國教會。講道當中連一次都沒提到這件事。我一點也不覺得奇怪，因為在美國的華人似乎本來就不太在乎這種社會問題。只要自己好就夠了。
我常聽華人女生說很希望能嫁給白人，才能生出美麗的混血兒，也有人說混血兒特別聰明。再說，來到美國，嫁給白人，應該會有些好處吧！
但是若是與其他種族結婚，或做朋友，就不太一樣咯！我還聽過華人說，如果跟黑人結婚，生出來的孩子不知道要長成什麼樣子！
想一想，這種態度好嗎？
來到美國，就是想要成功，不會想到別的種族的事情。Ferguson 發生後的禮拜天，我去了一家中國教會。講道當中連一次都沒提到這件事。我一點也不覺得奇怪，因為在美國的華人似乎本來就不太在乎這種社會問題。只要自己好就夠了。
我常聽華人女生說很希望能嫁給白人，才能生出美麗的混血兒，也有人說混血兒特別聰明。再說，來到美國，嫁給白人，應該會有些好處吧！
但是若是與其他種族結婚，或做朋友，就不太一樣咯！我還聽過華人說，如果跟黑人結婚，生出來的孩子不知道要長成什麼樣子！
想一想，這種態度好嗎？
Story of my Life
According to Myers-Briggs, I am an INFP*
Sometimes I think my lot in life is just to be people's listening ear. The story of my life is that I am often the receptacle of someone's external processing. There seems to be an invisible sign on my forehead that says, "Tell me your problems". Even as a child, adults would tell me things, so I quickly became precocious--or had pre-existing precocity reinforced by an inordinate amount of adult interaction. I was more comfortable among my elders than my peers.
During elementary school years, I spent most of my time around a mom and a brother who were both extroverted and opinionated (translated into my introverted perception as not being self-conscious enough and often offending others), so to compensate, I learned how to be a people-pleaser. I learned how to smooth over rough places and to diffuse conflict and tension.
Because my environment very much favored extroversion, I learned how to act like one. The results it that, in social settings, I know how to flit around from group to group, making small talk and banter and relating to many kinds of individuals. It's a social skill I've been blessed with--and one that I've honed over the years. I am a natural listener and a people-pleaser who has learned how to be a bridge between different groups of people.
The thing with being a bridge, though, is that people walk over you in order to get to the other side.
Do I resent that? I don't know.
What I will say is that something good better come out of the listening and bridging that I do.
At YDS, I have a certain amount of fluidity that allows me to not be pegged into a category of a specific social group. Seldom do I hang out with the same people on a consistent basis. I have loose friend-groups and also individual relationships, but I see myself as a free bird who flies solo but not alone.
The story of my life is still being written, and today's blog post is just one narrative that I have constructed to make sense of it all.
*Read one of the many descriptions of personality types here: http://www.personalitypage.com/INFP.html.
And if you're curious about what you might be, take one version of the test here: http://www.humanmetrics.com/cgi-win/JTypes2.asp
Sometimes I think my lot in life is just to be people's listening ear. The story of my life is that I am often the receptacle of someone's external processing. There seems to be an invisible sign on my forehead that says, "Tell me your problems". Even as a child, adults would tell me things, so I quickly became precocious--or had pre-existing precocity reinforced by an inordinate amount of adult interaction. I was more comfortable among my elders than my peers.
During elementary school years, I spent most of my time around a mom and a brother who were both extroverted and opinionated (translated into my introverted perception as not being self-conscious enough and often offending others), so to compensate, I learned how to be a people-pleaser. I learned how to smooth over rough places and to diffuse conflict and tension.
Because my environment very much favored extroversion, I learned how to act like one. The results it that, in social settings, I know how to flit around from group to group, making small talk and banter and relating to many kinds of individuals. It's a social skill I've been blessed with--and one that I've honed over the years. I am a natural listener and a people-pleaser who has learned how to be a bridge between different groups of people.
The thing with being a bridge, though, is that people walk over you in order to get to the other side.
Do I resent that? I don't know.
What I will say is that something good better come out of the listening and bridging that I do.
At YDS, I have a certain amount of fluidity that allows me to not be pegged into a category of a specific social group. Seldom do I hang out with the same people on a consistent basis. I have loose friend-groups and also individual relationships, but I see myself as a free bird who flies solo but not alone.
The story of my life is still being written, and today's blog post is just one narrative that I have constructed to make sense of it all.
*Read one of the many descriptions of personality types here: http://www.personalitypage.com/INFP.html.
And if you're curious about what you might be, take one version of the test here: http://www.humanmetrics.com/cgi-win/JTypes2.asp
Wednesday, October 8, 2014
Who Am I?
In the context of Yale Divinity School, I am a MAR Comprehensive who worked for nearly 5 years prior to coming here.
My degree is a Master's in Religion, with no focus, which means I can pretty much take whatever classes I want--an amazing thing when one is at a place like Yale!
My course load for this semester:
Introduction to New Testament Interpretation
Transitional Moments in Western Christian History
Ministry and the Disinherited
In the Face of Death: Worship, Music, Art
and I'm auditing a course at the Music School:
Music, Service, and Society
Each of the 5 is a "favorite" class. I'm learning a lot from each one, and I'm also drawing tons of connections on my own between them.
After Yale, I'd like to do some kind of work with dying people and their families. That could mean becoming a chaplain, but it also doesn't have to.
I'm also very open to the possibility of pursuing a Ph.D, but at this point, I don't really know what academic interests I have. It's rather exciting to not have pegged myself in a category just yet.
So, for the meantime, I'm really enjoying this Sabbatical of sorts from the Helping Profession (although I certainly miss having an income), and I'm also enjoying the Comprehensive nature of my academic life.
My degree is a Master's in Religion, with no focus, which means I can pretty much take whatever classes I want--an amazing thing when one is at a place like Yale!
My course load for this semester:
Introduction to New Testament Interpretation
Transitional Moments in Western Christian History
Ministry and the Disinherited
In the Face of Death: Worship, Music, Art
and I'm auditing a course at the Music School:
Music, Service, and Society
Each of the 5 is a "favorite" class. I'm learning a lot from each one, and I'm also drawing tons of connections on my own between them.
After Yale, I'd like to do some kind of work with dying people and their families. That could mean becoming a chaplain, but it also doesn't have to.
I'm also very open to the possibility of pursuing a Ph.D, but at this point, I don't really know what academic interests I have. It's rather exciting to not have pegged myself in a category just yet.
So, for the meantime, I'm really enjoying this Sabbatical of sorts from the Helping Profession (although I certainly miss having an income), and I'm also enjoying the Comprehensive nature of my academic life.
Process and Interpretation
So this morning, sitting in my Introduction to New Testament Introduction class, I wondered: "What if someone's only interpretation of me came from my blog posts--what would they think?"
Blogging is just one of the ways I process life. The most raw manner that things get processed is through self-talk or prayer, the internal dialogue that runs through my mind in any given moment or reaction. Most days, I also journal, which is a good way to put thoughts on paper without worrying about any of them being seen. I also draw, and sometimes the nonverbal processing works much more quickly than trying to put things in words. I enjoy discussion sections for my classes, because they allow me to process the material with my classmates. And at lunch today, I had a wonderful conversation with some friends born in Guatemala, Germany, and Jamaica in which we processed our views on America.
Many of my processes come and go with no tangible record, and yet something from each processing session makes its way into my development.
The early church had to process theology and experience in both written and oral ways, depending on who you were and what your role was. As we study primary texts in Divinity School, we miss out on so much of what was happening in the spiritual subconscious of early Christians, and what records we do have are surely only a snippet of the picture.
Processing often goes hand in hand with creation. When I start scribbling on paper to process emotions, I am also creating a piece of art. When I speak my thoughts to friends around the lunch table, I am creating conversation. And when I journal, and definitely when I blog, I am creating a paper trail of my experiences and memories.
It's interesting the things that I choose to blog about. I've been noticing that even though my mind is always drawing connections between material from each of my 5 classes, I rarely put those thoughts in to writing. In fact, I don't think I've even shared about any of the classes I'm taking, even though they are what take up most of my time!
Perhaps that will happen in blog posts to come. In the meantime, learning is definitely a process, one that I've longed for and one which I'm so happy to be engaged with.
Blogging is just one of the ways I process life. The most raw manner that things get processed is through self-talk or prayer, the internal dialogue that runs through my mind in any given moment or reaction. Most days, I also journal, which is a good way to put thoughts on paper without worrying about any of them being seen. I also draw, and sometimes the nonverbal processing works much more quickly than trying to put things in words. I enjoy discussion sections for my classes, because they allow me to process the material with my classmates. And at lunch today, I had a wonderful conversation with some friends born in Guatemala, Germany, and Jamaica in which we processed our views on America.
Many of my processes come and go with no tangible record, and yet something from each processing session makes its way into my development.
The early church had to process theology and experience in both written and oral ways, depending on who you were and what your role was. As we study primary texts in Divinity School, we miss out on so much of what was happening in the spiritual subconscious of early Christians, and what records we do have are surely only a snippet of the picture.
Processing often goes hand in hand with creation. When I start scribbling on paper to process emotions, I am also creating a piece of art. When I speak my thoughts to friends around the lunch table, I am creating conversation. And when I journal, and definitely when I blog, I am creating a paper trail of my experiences and memories.
It's interesting the things that I choose to blog about. I've been noticing that even though my mind is always drawing connections between material from each of my 5 classes, I rarely put those thoughts in to writing. In fact, I don't think I've even shared about any of the classes I'm taking, even though they are what take up most of my time!
Perhaps that will happen in blog posts to come. In the meantime, learning is definitely a process, one that I've longed for and one which I'm so happy to be engaged with.
 |
| Trees in the process of changing color. Once they peak, the leaves then begin to fall off the branches. Perhaps our thoughts are most interesting "in the process", and once we've "arrived" at a conclusion, we're really just settling for something less vibrant and colorful. Just an idea to process... |
Monday, October 6, 2014
Reset
We are entering into Midterm Season here at school, a rush of assignments and exams before Fall Break arrives. The past 2 weeks (since my last post) have gone by in a blur, filled with ups and downs. I've had so much fun (and expended so much energy) bantering with friends that the next time we saw each other, we had nothing more to say and could only smile. I've had enough interactions with one individual to get into conflict--and then to have conflict resolved. Overall, it's been exhausting.
One Friday, I decided to take a break from schoolwork for an entire day. I drove up to East Rock, a nearby overlook, and enjoyed a solitary walk in the woods. The start of Fall was beginning to show, and I soaked up the golden sunlight filtering in through the foliage. The next day, the weather happened to be warm, and I spontaneously took 2 friends to a local beach and did my run there.
And then, 3 days ago, I suddenly had this crazy urge to drive out of Connecticut to catch the peak foliage in New Hampshire and Vermont. I worked hard all afternoon and evening on Friday, skipping soccer practice and studying until 11:30 pm. I pushed myself to finish assignments on a rainy Saturday. And on Sunday, accompanied by a fellow introvert, I drove 4 hours away to hike Artist's Bluff in the White Mountains of New Hampshire. We swung 30 minutes west to St. Johnsbury, Vermont to have late lunch at Anthony's Diner and to visit the Maple Museum and Dog Mountain. And we got back to Connecticut just before 10 pm, ready to face a new week.
I was exhausted but refreshed. It did me good to get away, and the foliage was beautiful. Now, I just have to make it through this week and next week before Fall Break, and then I can push "pause" on school for a week and then hit the "reset" button for the next portion of the semester.
One Friday, I decided to take a break from schoolwork for an entire day. I drove up to East Rock, a nearby overlook, and enjoyed a solitary walk in the woods. The start of Fall was beginning to show, and I soaked up the golden sunlight filtering in through the foliage. The next day, the weather happened to be warm, and I spontaneously took 2 friends to a local beach and did my run there.
And then, 3 days ago, I suddenly had this crazy urge to drive out of Connecticut to catch the peak foliage in New Hampshire and Vermont. I worked hard all afternoon and evening on Friday, skipping soccer practice and studying until 11:30 pm. I pushed myself to finish assignments on a rainy Saturday. And on Sunday, accompanied by a fellow introvert, I drove 4 hours away to hike Artist's Bluff in the White Mountains of New Hampshire. We swung 30 minutes west to St. Johnsbury, Vermont to have late lunch at Anthony's Diner and to visit the Maple Museum and Dog Mountain. And we got back to Connecticut just before 10 pm, ready to face a new week.
I was exhausted but refreshed. It did me good to get away, and the foliage was beautiful. Now, I just have to make it through this week and next week before Fall Break, and then I can push "pause" on school for a week and then hit the "reset" button for the next portion of the semester.
Thursday, September 25, 2014
From Handshakes to Hugs
This past Monday, our chapel service honored the International Day of Peace with a service that incorporated an opening litany where four individuals described experiences with war; multi-lingual responses to those litanies; hymns and songs about justice and peace and goodness being stronger than evil; and a hands-on offering involving writing down one's prayer for peace onto an origami paper and creating a pinwheel out of that with the help of a pencil and a pin. (see the pinwheels in the picture above?)
Normally, at the end of every chapel service, the community both greets and departs with handshakes and "Peace be with you"s. After this particular service, a service in which I'd seen the most raw emotion--real tears and relived feelings from sights of battle, refugee camps, and leaving family behind in war-torn places--handshakes melted into hugs, and the simultaneous frailty and strength of humanity gripped me as I connected on a bodily level with my classmates.
We were all at chapel that day because it was something offered to our community on a daily basis. We greeted one another with handshakes because that was a way of connecting and blessing each other in a manner congruent to our faith. But hugging--that took things to a whole new level.
I hugged not because it was the polite thing to do with my community. I hugged because hugging is a very human thing to do. In a season of life where I don't have access to the hugs of my family of origin, it was an unspeakable blessing to embrace and be embraced by my Divinity School community. I knew that, in the ebb and flow of things, hugs would most likely fan out into handshakes again after we'd dispersed and forgotten about the intensity of that shared chapel experience, but for that day, I got what I needed from the humanity of my community.
 |
| Later that day: attending a talk by the President of the Republic of Macedonia on "The Macedonian Model of Coexistence: Tradition of Respect for Diversity" and getting a performance by Yale's Slavic Women's Chorus at the reception afterwards. |
Camaraderie within Community
A shared experience does not necessarily good friends make. As well, commonality does not automatically knit people together, because sometimes that commonality is the only thing those people have in common.
That's how I felt last week during the Divinity School intramural soccer team's practice. I was spending time with a bunch of guys and one other girl on a Friday afternoon. We were trying to build teamwork so as to play better at the upcoming game. Our team captain gave us pointers, and people were communicating on the field. But I felt pretty disconnected.
During our scrimmage, I had been the first person to score a goal. I also tried my best to keep up with the guys' pace and play defense the way I'd been trained by my childhood soccer coaches. But at the end of the practice, I came away feeling discouraged and disheartened. I felt that as much as I communicated verbally, sometimes my teammates just didn't see me--or want to pass the ball my way. What did all these dudes studying theology have to do with the likes of me? I skipped the game, thinking that I was a dispensable member of the team.
This past week, I ran into two team members who said the team missed me at the game. (We'd lost by one point at the very last minute, during a penalty kick). When I expressed my frustrations, they encouraged me to still show up and affirmed that I am a needed and valued team member. I think I'll give soccer another chance this weekend.
Classes at Yale are in full swing now, but I am still introducing myself to new people on a weekly basis. (Meaning, people aren't content with cliquishness and are still willing to notice new faces). We have chapel every weekday, as well as lunches and dinners that bring the community together. Class discussions allow us to bounce ideas off of one another in lively and respectful ways. People are quite polite, mostly because that's the PC thing to do, I suspect, and because to fail in that regard would make one seem boorish, like the Sadducees. In case you're wondering, that's an inside joke with people in my New Testament class...
Speaking of inside jokes, aren't they the best thing ever?
Well, for the people on the "inside" they are, and it is up to them to bring "outsiders" in to the atmosphere of the joke. At lunch yesterday, I happened to run into several of my favorite people on campus, the people that bring an instant smile to my face. We ended up forming a big circle on the grass and sharing our meal together, and joking and laughter abounded. Sometimes all I'd have to do was look over at a friend and wink, and we'd know exactly what we were laughing about. As best as we could, those who were laughing explained the backstories to those out of the loop so that they could join in the merriment, and soon the circle was just bustling with fun energy.
Good community is important; it grounds an individual into a sense of purpose and a desire to play a role. Camaraderie with people within that community brings a sense of belonging and a feeling of safety--safety to be oneself, to be silly, and to make (and laugh about) mistakes with one another. In a community like YDS where people are so serious about their spiritual and intellectual pursuits, it's a huge blessing to have a small (ever-expanding, fluid, and inclusive) circle of friends with whom I have camaraderie.
That's how I felt last week during the Divinity School intramural soccer team's practice. I was spending time with a bunch of guys and one other girl on a Friday afternoon. We were trying to build teamwork so as to play better at the upcoming game. Our team captain gave us pointers, and people were communicating on the field. But I felt pretty disconnected.
During our scrimmage, I had been the first person to score a goal. I also tried my best to keep up with the guys' pace and play defense the way I'd been trained by my childhood soccer coaches. But at the end of the practice, I came away feeling discouraged and disheartened. I felt that as much as I communicated verbally, sometimes my teammates just didn't see me--or want to pass the ball my way. What did all these dudes studying theology have to do with the likes of me? I skipped the game, thinking that I was a dispensable member of the team.
This past week, I ran into two team members who said the team missed me at the game. (We'd lost by one point at the very last minute, during a penalty kick). When I expressed my frustrations, they encouraged me to still show up and affirmed that I am a needed and valued team member. I think I'll give soccer another chance this weekend.
Classes at Yale are in full swing now, but I am still introducing myself to new people on a weekly basis. (Meaning, people aren't content with cliquishness and are still willing to notice new faces). We have chapel every weekday, as well as lunches and dinners that bring the community together. Class discussions allow us to bounce ideas off of one another in lively and respectful ways. People are quite polite, mostly because that's the PC thing to do, I suspect, and because to fail in that regard would make one seem boorish, like the Sadducees. In case you're wondering, that's an inside joke with people in my New Testament class...
Speaking of inside jokes, aren't they the best thing ever?
Well, for the people on the "inside" they are, and it is up to them to bring "outsiders" in to the atmosphere of the joke. At lunch yesterday, I happened to run into several of my favorite people on campus, the people that bring an instant smile to my face. We ended up forming a big circle on the grass and sharing our meal together, and joking and laughter abounded. Sometimes all I'd have to do was look over at a friend and wink, and we'd know exactly what we were laughing about. As best as we could, those who were laughing explained the backstories to those out of the loop so that they could join in the merriment, and soon the circle was just bustling with fun energy.
Good community is important; it grounds an individual into a sense of purpose and a desire to play a role. Camaraderie with people within that community brings a sense of belonging and a feeling of safety--safety to be oneself, to be silly, and to make (and laugh about) mistakes with one another. In a community like YDS where people are so serious about their spiritual and intellectual pursuits, it's a huge blessing to have a small (ever-expanding, fluid, and inclusive) circle of friends with whom I have camaraderie.
Sunday, September 21, 2014
Keepin' it Real
My previous blog post was probably the first time I put into writing some of the frustrations I've had with contemporary Christian worship services. Which is why I came out a little strong. A few hours after writing the post, I found myself worshipping at a church which, though contemporary in style, was definitely musically proficient. I also thought back to my previous church, where the worship leader was such a musically sensitive person and put care and thought into preparing for services and in training his team to improve. And so the repenting began.
I knew that as soon as I came home and had dinner, I would need to make amends by writing another post. My tendency to dichotomize things is really gonna get me in trouble one of these days. It's incredibly not cool to associate musical professionalism with high church and amateur musical performance with contemporary worship. So here goes my thought process, done in a spirit of penance:
What is true authenticity?
Is it replicating a musical style as closely to the original as one can, so as to respect tradition?
Is it bringing oneself to the table, with all one's performance flaws and quirks, so as to express oneself before God with no facade of perfection?
Is it practicing as professionally as possible, yet celebrating room for humanity to shine through with stray notes and occasionally un-synced beats?
Is it more "authentic" to sing in a head voice, knowing that "proper" singing techniques may prune away one's rawness in coming before the Lord in brokenness?
Or is is more "authentic" to master classical singing styles so as to increase one's range of dynamic and timbre, thus bringing emotions to the Divine in a musically sophisticated way that expresses complexity?
My aesthetic perceptions are so influenced (tainted?) by my upbringing and my highly individualized taste. How I wish I would get out of my own way and just allow myself to appreciate worship for the intent and effort behind it!
Scripture shows that God honors commitment to excellence, but that He also accepts us just as we are when we approach His throne. I suppose there will always be a (healthy!) tension between wanting to please God with our efforts and admitting that we will never measure up. I hope that this tension will continue to drive me to the Source of true Good Taste (Ps. 34:8--"taste and see") and allow Christ to live through me, defeating both self-reliant pride and self-defeating perfectionism.
I knew that as soon as I came home and had dinner, I would need to make amends by writing another post. My tendency to dichotomize things is really gonna get me in trouble one of these days. It's incredibly not cool to associate musical professionalism with high church and amateur musical performance with contemporary worship. So here goes my thought process, done in a spirit of penance:
What is true authenticity?
Is it replicating a musical style as closely to the original as one can, so as to respect tradition?
Is it bringing oneself to the table, with all one's performance flaws and quirks, so as to express oneself before God with no facade of perfection?
Is it practicing as professionally as possible, yet celebrating room for humanity to shine through with stray notes and occasionally un-synced beats?
Is it more "authentic" to sing in a head voice, knowing that "proper" singing techniques may prune away one's rawness in coming before the Lord in brokenness?
Or is is more "authentic" to master classical singing styles so as to increase one's range of dynamic and timbre, thus bringing emotions to the Divine in a musically sophisticated way that expresses complexity?
My aesthetic perceptions are so influenced (tainted?) by my upbringing and my highly individualized taste. How I wish I would get out of my own way and just allow myself to appreciate worship for the intent and effort behind it!
Scripture shows that God honors commitment to excellence, but that He also accepts us just as we are when we approach His throne. I suppose there will always be a (healthy!) tension between wanting to please God with our efforts and admitting that we will never measure up. I hope that this tension will continue to drive me to the Source of true Good Taste (Ps. 34:8--"taste and see") and allow Christ to live through me, defeating both self-reliant pride and self-defeating perfectionism.
In Search of Authenticity
I've posted quite often about my thoughts on identity. Today, I'd like to gather some ideas about authenticity.
It may seem strange, but I'm not really going to offer a definition of what authenticity means. Instead, I'm going to try to sort out my own intellectual and experiential history with the notion of authenticity--whatever it means!
One of the books I enjoyed reading the most during my graduate studies in modern Chinese history at USC was titled: Sovereignty and Authenticity: Manchuko and the East Asian Modern. It's been a while since I read it, but the most important thing that remains with me from my reading of it is that authenticity--and more importantly, claims to authenticity--have powerful effects.
I'm getting snippets of this in my Introduction to New Testament Interpretation course, where we are learning about the historical backdrop of the Gospels and the conjectures surrounding issues of authorship and audience. Which Gospel was written first? At what time? For what audience? No, really. We truly want to know the who, when, what, why, and where of all of this!
I attended a conference yesterday on Sustainability in New Haven, hosted at the Divinity School. One of the speakers presented ideas of embodiment and authenticity within Christian liturgy--specifically in the context of communion. He mentioned that authenticity involves embodiment and is always considered to be "better" than non-authenticity. Authenticity is also culturally generated and has a moral component.
What is "authentic" for one group of people may be completely contrived for another, and I've begun to pick up on this as I attend chapels and concerts involving ritual and/or performance. When I first arrived at Yale, chapel services were an amazing breath of fresh air. Coming from evangelical churches in Southern California, my soul was starving for a worship sequence that was acoustic rather than amplified, intuitive rather than explained. And I got exactly what I wanted.
I remember being blown away during my very first chapel service at the musical competency and sensitivity of both those leading and those participating in worship. A simple breath or hand gesture on the part of the song leader was adequate enough of a signal to the congregation to slow down or soften its singing. Human voices, accompanied by a piano or djembe, came together in unison (and moments of harmony) in an enclosed yet airy space lighted by the sun coming in from large windows, reverberating and surrounding us in an organic way. In the Evangelical services I was used to, the singing of the congregation was often overpowered by the amped-up voices of the worship leader, shattered by the haphazard beating of the drum set, and undergirded claustrophobically by the bass guitar. Only in select moments, when the worship leader motioned to his band to stop playing, would one actually heard the congregation singing.
As a classically trained musician, the Evangelical way of worship as an aesthetic experience never sat well with me. My ears were insulted at every turn by some musical blunder--or simply by the un-sublime feeling that the sounds created in my being. But worship is worship, and once I turned off my ears "in the flesh", as it were, and allowed my spirit to posture itself under what the true meaning of worship was, I became a willing part of the service, able to be touched to the core by what I was experiencing. I was able to experience authentic worship with my whole being.
Still, I longed to experience a more liturgical/"traditional" style of doing church. The few times in my life that I'd attended church with Catholics or Episcopalians, I'd appreciated the timbre of acoustic instruments and the sound of voices that were singing properly--from the diaphragm and not the throat, hitting the right pitches without sliding up and down between notes. For someone who has adverse physiological reactions to certain types of sounds, these services were a healing balm for a body that was too often "hurting" because of "bad music" in the church.
But last night, sitting inside an Episcopal church and listening to Oxford's "Schola Cantorium" perform various (unaccompanied) choral works in English and Latin, I found myself strangely uncomfortable. Looking around the sea of (mostly white) faces around me, and at the choir in front, directed by a congenial man with a British accent, I felt a bit alienated from it all--and then got upset with myself for feeling that way. The performance was professional and well-done, the audience courteous and quiet. Wasn't that as good as it gets?
My mind flitted back to a folk music festival in the park that I'd attended a few weeks back with friends. I thought about my trip to Nashville back in April and my love for country music. In that moment, the folk and country styles of music felt more "real" to me--more authentic…
It may seem strange, but I'm not really going to offer a definition of what authenticity means. Instead, I'm going to try to sort out my own intellectual and experiential history with the notion of authenticity--whatever it means!
One of the books I enjoyed reading the most during my graduate studies in modern Chinese history at USC was titled: Sovereignty and Authenticity: Manchuko and the East Asian Modern. It's been a while since I read it, but the most important thing that remains with me from my reading of it is that authenticity--and more importantly, claims to authenticity--have powerful effects.
I'm getting snippets of this in my Introduction to New Testament Interpretation course, where we are learning about the historical backdrop of the Gospels and the conjectures surrounding issues of authorship and audience. Which Gospel was written first? At what time? For what audience? No, really. We truly want to know the who, when, what, why, and where of all of this!
 |
| So much reading to do!! |
I attended a conference yesterday on Sustainability in New Haven, hosted at the Divinity School. One of the speakers presented ideas of embodiment and authenticity within Christian liturgy--specifically in the context of communion. He mentioned that authenticity involves embodiment and is always considered to be "better" than non-authenticity. Authenticity is also culturally generated and has a moral component.
What is "authentic" for one group of people may be completely contrived for another, and I've begun to pick up on this as I attend chapels and concerts involving ritual and/or performance. When I first arrived at Yale, chapel services were an amazing breath of fresh air. Coming from evangelical churches in Southern California, my soul was starving for a worship sequence that was acoustic rather than amplified, intuitive rather than explained. And I got exactly what I wanted.
I remember being blown away during my very first chapel service at the musical competency and sensitivity of both those leading and those participating in worship. A simple breath or hand gesture on the part of the song leader was adequate enough of a signal to the congregation to slow down or soften its singing. Human voices, accompanied by a piano or djembe, came together in unison (and moments of harmony) in an enclosed yet airy space lighted by the sun coming in from large windows, reverberating and surrounding us in an organic way. In the Evangelical services I was used to, the singing of the congregation was often overpowered by the amped-up voices of the worship leader, shattered by the haphazard beating of the drum set, and undergirded claustrophobically by the bass guitar. Only in select moments, when the worship leader motioned to his band to stop playing, would one actually heard the congregation singing.
As a classically trained musician, the Evangelical way of worship as an aesthetic experience never sat well with me. My ears were insulted at every turn by some musical blunder--or simply by the un-sublime feeling that the sounds created in my being. But worship is worship, and once I turned off my ears "in the flesh", as it were, and allowed my spirit to posture itself under what the true meaning of worship was, I became a willing part of the service, able to be touched to the core by what I was experiencing. I was able to experience authentic worship with my whole being.
Still, I longed to experience a more liturgical/"traditional" style of doing church. The few times in my life that I'd attended church with Catholics or Episcopalians, I'd appreciated the timbre of acoustic instruments and the sound of voices that were singing properly--from the diaphragm and not the throat, hitting the right pitches without sliding up and down between notes. For someone who has adverse physiological reactions to certain types of sounds, these services were a healing balm for a body that was too often "hurting" because of "bad music" in the church.
 |
| The beginning of fall obstructing my view of Marquand Chapel on the Divinity School campus. See the steeple behind the leaves? Is fall as a phenomenon more "authentic" in places like Connecticut than in my native state of California? |
But last night, sitting inside an Episcopal church and listening to Oxford's "Schola Cantorium" perform various (unaccompanied) choral works in English and Latin, I found myself strangely uncomfortable. Looking around the sea of (mostly white) faces around me, and at the choir in front, directed by a congenial man with a British accent, I felt a bit alienated from it all--and then got upset with myself for feeling that way. The performance was professional and well-done, the audience courteous and quiet. Wasn't that as good as it gets?
My mind flitted back to a folk music festival in the park that I'd attended a few weeks back with friends. I thought about my trip to Nashville back in April and my love for country music. In that moment, the folk and country styles of music felt more "real" to me--more authentic…
 |
| Inside Christ Church |
This morning, I navigated my way through several chapters of John Dewey's Art as Experience. I reflected on his notion that "an esthetic experience, the work of art in its actuality, is perception" (169). My perception of the concert last night (initially, at least), was that it was a very white affair. I could not situate myself in that experience as a young woman of color, even though my classical music sensibilities should have been thrilled at the quality of "authentic" music and performance. Interestingly, though, in the spirit of Dewey's ideas that “all objects of art are matters of perception and perception is not instantaneous” (191), I found myself more amenable to the music by the second half of the concert. I discovered that if I closed my eyes and simply listened to the music, that it spoke to me and allowed me to integrate and process the thoughts going through my head. When
something is art, says John Dewey, “integration is always effected” (270).
“ Art is a quality that permeates experience”, and “esthetic experience is always more than esthetic”…**
I'd like to end this post with a reflection on silence and how silence may be the most authentic kind of sound, when all is said and done. (If I had time, I'd go through all the examples of silence in Scripture...perhaps another project for another day!)
As mentioned in my previous post, I attended a performance of Mahler's "Resurrection Symphony" on Friday evening. After the first movement, the conductor observed a 5-minute period of silence, something that, according to the program notes, "Mahler requests" but is "rarely observed in performance". In Mahler's ideal world, I suppose, that 5-minute silence would be just that…"so that the audience may collect their thoughts" (Berlien, Ben. "Gustav Mahler 1860-1911: Symphony No. 2, 'Resurrection'." Notes on the Program. Yale Philharmonia. Woolsey Hall, New Haven. 19 September 2014.) But in this performance, many things were happening during that span of time. The orchestra tuned for a bit. People coughed and shuffled their feet. Audience members glanced around to see what was going on and finally resorted to their program notes for a clue. It wasn't the best environment in which to collect one's thoughts on the life that precedes both death and resurrection, but it was, for me at least, a pretty authentic way to take in what going to a concert was all about--the stage, the audience, and the sounds produced by each.
I have a feeling that my search for the layers of authenticity in aesthetic and religious experience is going to be an ongoing process during my time in Divinity School. Stay tuned for more thoughts in the coming days!
*
* p. 339
Saturday, September 20, 2014
Beyond "How are You?"
I had a great Friday yesterday. In the morning, I had lunch with my roommate on a cute little street named Orange. This was the first time we'd hung out outside of making trips to the grocery store and WalMart. In the afternoon, I played soccer with the Divinity School intramural team. And in the evening, I attended a (student-priced $5) concert of Mahler's Resurrection Symphony along with much of the rest of the Yale community. After the concert, I went out for pizza with a bunch of friends. What a great way to end the week!
The best part of the night, though, took place on my trek back to the apartment after pizza. A friend and I were talking about asking good questions of people, questions that go beyond the usual greeting. Good questions take thought on both the part of the asker and the answerer. For example: "What was the most stretching part of your week?" can add so much to a conversation than, "How are you?"
When in transition in a new place, one meets tons of new people and has to answer many of the same questions over and over again. For me, this means telling people where I'm from (Los Angeles), what I did before Divinity school (worked for almost 5 years), and what degree program I'm (MAR Comprehensive). I ask the same questions of those I meet, and that establishes a baseline for further communication.
A month in to my time at Yale, I'm starting to distinguish between acquaintances and friends, between those I just say hi to at school and those I make time for to hang out with on weekends. Friendships take intentionality, so yesterday's conversation about asking meaningful questions was a great reminder for how to make my interactions with friends more sincere.
The friend with whom I had the conversation about asking good questions is one of the most sincere people I've met here at YDS. In an environment where people are brilliant, quick-witted, passionate, and proactive, something as simple as sincerity is a sigh of relief that allows for restful (yet purposeful) interaction in the midst of a packed student life.
May I grow in my sincerity towards others, and may I practice the good habit of asking thoughtful questions!
Thursday, September 18, 2014
My Facebook Status for Today:
Tips for being a student:
1) Break up reading into smaller chunks rather than trying to do it all at once
2) Stand up for periods of time while reading--better circulation and breathing
3) Cook yourself a nice meal in the middle of a long stretch of reading
4) Go out for a walk to clear your head
5) Open the windows to get fresh air
6) Breathe
2) Stand up for periods of time while reading--better circulation and breathing
3) Cook yourself a nice meal in the middle of a long stretch of reading
4) Go out for a walk to clear your head
5) Open the windows to get fresh air
6) Breathe
#5 and #6 came from a conversation with Sari Sarah and Kevin A. McKoy
#YaliesNeverTooSmartforBasicReminders
#YaliesNeverTooSmartforBasicReminders
We have just finished week 4 of classes at the Div school, and reading is getting heavier by the day. Papers and midterms also loom on the horizon, so I decided to remind myself of ways that I stay sane as a student by way of a Facebook status update. (There's a saying in Chinese--and I'm sure in English, too--that the best way to reinforce or review something is to share or teach it to others).
I'll add here that everyone has specific ways they study (or don't study). A few of my individualized study preferences include:
I can't study with music on. With the exception of Gregorian chants--sometimes. My ears are way too sensitive.
It's hard to study in a library. I love the atmosphere, but I feel a bit cloistered. Plus, there's no fresh air!
It's also hard to study outdoors. I've tried, because I love the outdoors. Problem is, it's just too wonderful, and I get easily distracted by sunlight, foliage, and critters.
So, I study in my room, with the windows open and no music on :)
 |
| One of my favorite meals to cook for myself: pork chops and string beans! I also love to start cooking at 4 and have dinner at 5! |
Wednesday, September 17, 2014
Missing Home
I've been in New Haven for just over a month, and as the crispness of fall has quite suddenly overtaken summer warmth, homesickness has also descended upon my heart.
Generally, I love to hate LA, but I am also proud to claim it as my roots. I'm not a fan of the culture, the smog, or the traffic, but I have history with and strong ties to both places and people there.
Here is a list of things I miss from home:
Generally, I love to hate LA, but I am also proud to claim it as my roots. I'm not a fan of the culture, the smog, or the traffic, but I have history with and strong ties to both places and people there.
Here is a list of things I miss from home:
- My family. My parents are the cutest, and I miss seeing them interact with each other and interacting with them.
- My former roommate, and the apartment we shared. I miss the brown floors of the apartment and the brown that is her hair!
- My violin. I think I'm going to go crazy if I don't play one soon. Thankfully, it will be arriving sometime next month, along with my parents, who are visiting me during my fall break.
- Palm trees! The tall mountains of SoCal.
- Being at home when my mom teaches piano students. She had a student piano recital this past weekend, and I was quite sad to miss it.
- My ultimate frisbee crew. Love my Asian American dudes (and dudettes)--and the fact that my brother and I got to play sports together for a season!
- My Scripture Memory Group, whom I affectionally dub "Sierra Madre Gals".
- My church, and the prayer team there.
- My job. My coworkers and my clients!
I have been so blessed to have a roommate, friends, a church, and a small group here in New Haven. In a way, though, being able to slide into my new role and "belongingness" here has made all the more poignant how much away from home I am now….
...I am getting along well with my new roommate, which makes me think back to my former roommate
...I hear quality music on an almost daily basis at Marquand Chapel, which makes me long to play my violin
…I have taken a day trip across 2 states with friends, which drives home the fact that New Haven is now my point of departure
…I am a member of the Divinity School soccer team, which makes me miss my ultimate frisbee friends
…I have joined a home group at church, which makes me miss the prayer team at my old church
…I am learning so much in my classes, which makes me nostalgic for my BSF days
…I am reading Hebrews during personal quiet times, which makes me so grateful for the Scripture Memory accountability I had in LA while memorizing Hebrews 11
…I am enjoying the more flexible schedule I have as a student, which reminds me of the job I left to come here…
As I settle in this New Haven of mine, may I never forget the warm home I had in LA and the sunny faces that still wish me well from across the country. They were some of the best people in the world, and they treated me like gold. I can't wait to fly westward on December 18th for Christmas Break!
Relational Introvert, Emphasis Introvert
Being back in school has provided me with the kind of organic community that I'd been missing and longing for ever since college ended. Social interactions around campus are fluid and friendly, and the structure of class and chapel and special seminars creates space for meaningful dialogue. On weeknights and weekends, I even venture outside of campus with friends, bonding quickly and easily as we explore New Haven, run errands together, or embark on an ambitious day trip to Cape Cod, Massachusetts.
As relational as I am, though, I cannot escape the fact that I am an introvert.
Being around people, no matter how intelligent, sensitive, and wonderful they are, ultimately drains my battery. And after consecutive days of lively and fun social interactions, I'm pooped. Amidst spending time with my friends, I've also neglected the most important Friend of all. Sure, I've kept my internal conversation with Him going all throughout my daily moments. But I haven't really sat down with Him and given Him undivided attention for a few days, and it hurts. My emotions feel raw and numb at the same time, and I miss Him.
At least two things are going on here: I need to exercise some self-care and alone-time tonight; but more importantly, I need to spend a chunk of time with my best Friend, the only One who never drains me. After driving my friends around New Haven and New England, I need to quiet my heart and stay put in His love and presence.
So that's what I'm going to do now. I'm going to close my computer lid, and I'm going to crack open the cover of the Word and commune with the Word become Flesh.
As relational as I am, though, I cannot escape the fact that I am an introvert.
Being around people, no matter how intelligent, sensitive, and wonderful they are, ultimately drains my battery. And after consecutive days of lively and fun social interactions, I'm pooped. Amidst spending time with my friends, I've also neglected the most important Friend of all. Sure, I've kept my internal conversation with Him going all throughout my daily moments. But I haven't really sat down with Him and given Him undivided attention for a few days, and it hurts. My emotions feel raw and numb at the same time, and I miss Him.
At least two things are going on here: I need to exercise some self-care and alone-time tonight; but more importantly, I need to spend a chunk of time with my best Friend, the only One who never drains me. After driving my friends around New Haven and New England, I need to quiet my heart and stay put in His love and presence.
So that's what I'm going to do now. I'm going to close my computer lid, and I'm going to crack open the cover of the Word and commune with the Word become Flesh.
Tuesday, September 9, 2014
Relational Introvert, Emphasis Relational
I think I write about introversion a bit too much. Please don't get the impression that I don't like people :)
I love walking around the Divinity school and running into people I know. I love even the simplest human interaction of smiling at someone.
The last two Fridays, I've not really done any schoolwork or any introverted recharging. I was too busy playing soccer, playing ultimate frisbee, swing dancing, and attending Shakespeare in the Park with friends.
I really enjoy my weekly shopping trips to WalMart and the grocery store with my roommate and find that it's a really neat time for us to be together.
As an auditory learner and a relational learner, I absorb class-related information when hearing a lecture or having a discussion about the material. I can't just rely on solitary times of reading.
Hmmm…what else? I'm kind of dorky, kind of silly, and I look way younger than my age.
I've really enjoyed getting to know different people at YDS and taking people up on their invitations to hang out. It's amazing to me how quickly I've connected with certain people here and how eager I am to get to know more of my colleagues. For while I love this opportunity to study a subject that fascinates me, I believe that I can learn just as much outside of the classroom through social interactions with my friends. As long as it's not stagnant small talk and pointless hanging out, then I'm game. (And I suspect that my fellow Divvies feel the same).
I've also been so blessed to have found a church in New Haven to call my spiritual home. I think that cooking for/contributing to a church potluck pretty much shows that I have some level of commitment there! And I'll probable be visiting a church small group sometime soon as well.
So really, I do love people, and I love relating to them in fun and meaningful ways. It's just that, sometimes, I need to be with just me too, so that I the introvert within can be recharged in order to continue being relational :)
I love walking around the Divinity school and running into people I know. I love even the simplest human interaction of smiling at someone.
The last two Fridays, I've not really done any schoolwork or any introverted recharging. I was too busy playing soccer, playing ultimate frisbee, swing dancing, and attending Shakespeare in the Park with friends.
I really enjoy my weekly shopping trips to WalMart and the grocery store with my roommate and find that it's a really neat time for us to be together.
As an auditory learner and a relational learner, I absorb class-related information when hearing a lecture or having a discussion about the material. I can't just rely on solitary times of reading.
Hmmm…what else? I'm kind of dorky, kind of silly, and I look way younger than my age.
I've really enjoyed getting to know different people at YDS and taking people up on their invitations to hang out. It's amazing to me how quickly I've connected with certain people here and how eager I am to get to know more of my colleagues. For while I love this opportunity to study a subject that fascinates me, I believe that I can learn just as much outside of the classroom through social interactions with my friends. As long as it's not stagnant small talk and pointless hanging out, then I'm game. (And I suspect that my fellow Divvies feel the same).
I've also been so blessed to have found a church in New Haven to call my spiritual home. I think that cooking for/contributing to a church potluck pretty much shows that I have some level of commitment there! And I'll probable be visiting a church small group sometime soon as well.
So really, I do love people, and I love relating to them in fun and meaningful ways. It's just that, sometimes, I need to be with just me too, so that I the introvert within can be recharged in order to continue being relational :)
Monday, September 8, 2014
Speaking Up
In college, I was terrified of speaking up in class.
That was a terrible problem to have, because the Thematic Option Honors General Education program in which I was enrolled had as its very lifeblood USC's very own version of the Socratic Method: essentially, each class started off with the instructor asking open-ended questions about the primary texts. Then, for the rest of the class, students were expected to contribute their opinions and to interact with one another in vigorous discussion and debate.
If I remember correctly, there weren't that many Asians in Thematic Option (I guess it didn't really behoove pre-med, engineering, or music majors to spend that much time engaging in Western classics when they should be coasting through normal GE courses in order to make time for more "important" things, like studying for the MCAT, doing equations, or practicing 8 hours of violin a day.) I wasn't pre-med or an engineer, and I was probably the worst violinist in the music department. So here I was, in the General Education Honors Program, "branching out" from the Asian crowd in fear and trembling. Perhaps being a minority in a program that took a postmodern approach to Western texts just wasn't up my alley. Perhaps being homeschooled for the 2 years leading up to college had undermined my academic and social confidence. Or perhaps the internal-processing-introvert part of me simply preferred to hash things out in private and on paper, rather than engage in "dialectic processing" in a group with people I didn't know (and often didn't care for).
At any rate, the discussion portions of my grades were usually mediocre, and I always came away from classes feeling frustrated. I went through college loving the readings, loving discussions on the readings that took place with friends outside the classroom, but dreading classes themselves. Graduate school didn't do much to solve that problem. Classes--also heavily discussion-based--still proved to be frustrating and intimidating, and professors still told me I was too silent. My favorite part about my Master's in East Asian Languages and Cultures was the research and writing of my thesis, because it was a solitary endeavor.
Now, six years after taking my last class at USC, I find myself to be surprisingly confident and enthusiastic about speaking up in class at Divinity School. What's changed, and what's brought about that change?
A few things, I think:
That was a terrible problem to have, because the Thematic Option Honors General Education program in which I was enrolled had as its very lifeblood USC's very own version of the Socratic Method: essentially, each class started off with the instructor asking open-ended questions about the primary texts. Then, for the rest of the class, students were expected to contribute their opinions and to interact with one another in vigorous discussion and debate.
If I remember correctly, there weren't that many Asians in Thematic Option (I guess it didn't really behoove pre-med, engineering, or music majors to spend that much time engaging in Western classics when they should be coasting through normal GE courses in order to make time for more "important" things, like studying for the MCAT, doing equations, or practicing 8 hours of violin a day.) I wasn't pre-med or an engineer, and I was probably the worst violinist in the music department. So here I was, in the General Education Honors Program, "branching out" from the Asian crowd in fear and trembling. Perhaps being a minority in a program that took a postmodern approach to Western texts just wasn't up my alley. Perhaps being homeschooled for the 2 years leading up to college had undermined my academic and social confidence. Or perhaps the internal-processing-introvert part of me simply preferred to hash things out in private and on paper, rather than engage in "dialectic processing" in a group with people I didn't know (and often didn't care for).
At any rate, the discussion portions of my grades were usually mediocre, and I always came away from classes feeling frustrated. I went through college loving the readings, loving discussions on the readings that took place with friends outside the classroom, but dreading classes themselves. Graduate school didn't do much to solve that problem. Classes--also heavily discussion-based--still proved to be frustrating and intimidating, and professors still told me I was too silent. My favorite part about my Master's in East Asian Languages and Cultures was the research and writing of my thesis, because it was a solitary endeavor.
Now, six years after taking my last class at USC, I find myself to be surprisingly confident and enthusiastic about speaking up in class at Divinity School. What's changed, and what's brought about that change?
A few things, I think:
- Graduating into the working world, and having to participate at work meetings. Whereas much of what had been discussed in my classrooms was theoretical or hypothetical, meetings at work addressed pressing issues that had real implications for clients that I cared about. That definitely spurred me on to speak up! I've discovered that advocating for issues and people is something that makes me lose inhibitions of voicing my opinions.
- Participating in BSF (Bible Study Fellowship International) for 5 1/2 years. This is an involved Bible study that entails weekly homework, discussion, and lectures. Talking about portions of Scripture with a group of ladies once a week became one of the few forms of "intellectual inquiry" I had once I started working, so I savored each opportunity to share my thoughts!
- Family talks around the dinner table. Each member of my family is pretty opinionated, likes to read, and likes to think, so that makes for lively--sometimes heated--conversations! Also, my brother attended a Christian liberal arts college where he had plenty of spiritual material to engage with, so I got a tiny glimpse of certain kinds of inquiry through him.
I really admire my classmates at Yale who are coming straight from undergrad. I don't think I would have had the courage and the confidence to do this kind of thing back when I finished at USC. I'm really glad to have had a few years away from academia, because now that I'm back, I'm ready to soak in every moment and to speak up.
Rest
The day after Labor Day, I took a little mini-daytrip to Jennings Beach, 26 miles north of New Haven.
It was a wonderful time of being by myself, and with myself. I really enjoy my own company :)
I settled onto the sand, taking in the feel the beach. Compared to the vastness of SoCal beaches, things here seemed cozy and calm. Mostly families with children and retired couples occupied the shoreline, and the Long Island Sound that we faced had small waves that were soothing and gentle compared to the excitement of crashing waves that I was used to.
The waters beckoned to me, and soon I found myself first wading, then swimming, dog paddle-style, in the shallow area near the shore. As my body met with the push and pull of the waves, my muscles relaxed even as they worked to keep me afloat. The sun was warm but not too strong, and the waters were cool and refreshing. I found myself smiling wide, smiling up at the sun and smiling towards the horizon where blue sky met blue water.
An hour passed, and still I swam in the water, submerging my head and attempting strokes in freestyle. The wrinkling skin on my fingertips told me that I should seek rest ashore, so reluctantly, I made my way back to my mini encampment on the sand. Lounging comfortably, I read a few chapters from Kate Chopin's The Awakening, enjoying the changing landscape of the clouds above.
The sun played hide-and-seek!
Rest is something I greatly value but am still seeking to understand and practice.
A few of my personal takes on what rest means for me:
Hebrews 4
Therefore, since the promise of entering his rest still stands, let us be careful that none of you be found to have fallen short of it. 2 For we also have had the good news proclaimed to us, just as they did; but the message they heard was of no value to them, because they did not share the faith of those who obeyed. 3 Now we who have believed enter that rest, just as God has said,
“So I declared on oath in my anger,
‘They shall never enter my rest.’”
And yet his works have been finished since the creation of the world. 4 For somewhere he has spoken about the seventh day in these words: “On the seventh day God rested from all his works.” 5 And again in the passage above he says, “They shall never enter my rest.”
6 Therefore since it still remains for some to enter that rest, and since those who formerly had the good news proclaimed to them did not go in because of their disobedience, 7 God again set a certain day, calling it “Today.” This he did when a long time later he spoke through David, as in the passage already quoted:
“Today, if you hear his voice,
do not harden your hearts.”
8 For if Joshua had given them rest, God would not have spoken later about another day. 9 There remains, then, a Sabbath-rest for the people of God; 10 for anyone who enters God’s rest also rests from their works, just as God did from his. 11 Let us, therefore, make every effort to enter that rest, so that no one will perish by following their example of disobedience.
It was a wonderful time of being by myself, and with myself. I really enjoy my own company :)
I settled onto the sand, taking in the feel the beach. Compared to the vastness of SoCal beaches, things here seemed cozy and calm. Mostly families with children and retired couples occupied the shoreline, and the Long Island Sound that we faced had small waves that were soothing and gentle compared to the excitement of crashing waves that I was used to.
The waters beckoned to me, and soon I found myself first wading, then swimming, dog paddle-style, in the shallow area near the shore. As my body met with the push and pull of the waves, my muscles relaxed even as they worked to keep me afloat. The sun was warm but not too strong, and the waters were cool and refreshing. I found myself smiling wide, smiling up at the sun and smiling towards the horizon where blue sky met blue water.
An hour passed, and still I swam in the water, submerging my head and attempting strokes in freestyle. The wrinkling skin on my fingertips told me that I should seek rest ashore, so reluctantly, I made my way back to my mini encampment on the sand. Lounging comfortably, I read a few chapters from Kate Chopin's The Awakening, enjoying the changing landscape of the clouds above.
The sun played hide-and-seek!
It brought me tremendous glee to think that, on a day when most people were getting back to their routine, I was taking time off to rejuvenate myself and to rest my soul.
Interestingly, the sermon on church over the past weekend had been on rest, and it challenged me to find ways and rhythms of incorporating rest into my schedule.
Rest is something I greatly value but am still seeking to understand and practice.
A few of my personal takes on what rest means for me:
- Rest can happen even in the midst of busyness. It's more of a mindset rather than a behavior, although mindset does influence behavior.
- Rest is a surrendering of things that weigh us down, an ordering of priorities towards what is eternal and important.
- Rest is not the same as being lazy, nor does it necessarily entail leisure activity. There are days when I have very little on my schedule but do not feel rested.
- Rest requires a trust in God to provide for me and an obedience to the necessity of tackling the demands of life with both soberness and joy.
I don't always succeed in this practice of rest, but on the days that I do, I am much happier and more productive.
A few other thoughts on rest and what it means:
A few other thoughts on rest and what it means:
- Nature brings rest, but does one necessarily need to get out into nature in order to achieve rest? What about people who live in the inner city or the slums, with no means of getting outside of that environment? Surely, there must be a way to have rest in any kind of situation.
- Days off certainly help with finding rest, but there are so many people around the world who must work around the clock to even put food on the table. How does rest happen for people like that?
Clearly, rest must be something that takes an amount of intentionality to achieve, and perhaps for some, even a kind of supernatural grace to find.
A final passage on which to end, a passage which I don't fully understand and intend to use for meditation:
A final passage on which to end, a passage which I don't fully understand and intend to use for meditation:
Hebrews 4
Therefore, since the promise of entering his rest still stands, let us be careful that none of you be found to have fallen short of it. 2 For we also have had the good news proclaimed to us, just as they did; but the message they heard was of no value to them, because they did not share the faith of those who obeyed. 3 Now we who have believed enter that rest, just as God has said,
“So I declared on oath in my anger,
‘They shall never enter my rest.’”
And yet his works have been finished since the creation of the world. 4 For somewhere he has spoken about the seventh day in these words: “On the seventh day God rested from all his works.” 5 And again in the passage above he says, “They shall never enter my rest.”
6 Therefore since it still remains for some to enter that rest, and since those who formerly had the good news proclaimed to them did not go in because of their disobedience, 7 God again set a certain day, calling it “Today.” This he did when a long time later he spoke through David, as in the passage already quoted:
“Today, if you hear his voice,
do not harden your hearts.”
8 For if Joshua had given them rest, God would not have spoken later about another day. 9 There remains, then, a Sabbath-rest for the people of God; 10 for anyone who enters God’s rest also rests from their works, just as God did from his. 11 Let us, therefore, make every effort to enter that rest, so that no one will perish by following their example of disobedience.
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