musings.

I’m sitting in my luggage-strewn bedroom at home with a comforting cup of jasmine tea on my desk.  The thunderstorm outside hammers raindrops on the roof over my head.  When I look out the window, I see a muggy green jungle rather than the usual suburban scenery I am accustomed to.  My surrounding environment sets the mood for imagination and introspection… suddenly, I am catapulted into a tide of flashbacks.  But rather than impart to you fond memories, I decided to engineer a working list of lessons learned during my four years in college.  Here goes!

1. Listen to your mama.  She’s chock full of wisdom that you don’t even know about.  Mine’s always right, at least.

2. If you don’t have a mother, defer to the older ones whom you respect and trust.  Chances are, they see things that you don’t.

3. Never underestimate the little people.  The ones who were always picked last for gym class, bullied by queen bees, taken advantage of because they are weak, the ones who don’t look particularly special or extraordinary.  They are the ones who will inherit the earth.

4. Money can motivate you towards your way to success but it cannot provide you with content.  An education or career attained by sheer desire for an income is transient in comparison to a life ambition attained by love or passion.

5. The people we dislike the most are the ones we have the most in common with.

6. Those who agonize over their inadequacies never fully understand the depth of grace and the paramount freedom we are meant to embrace.

7. There are issues in our world that command a black-or-white answer and there are dilemmas for which our answers will remain forever gray, but there is always one truth for every problem in this world… And it is a matter of kings to search out that truth.

8. It is possible for a woman to be as fierce as a lioness in her will but as tender as a lamb in her heart.  Not all feminists want to be in charge of the world, you know.

9. To resolve to never love another is to resolve to never be loved.  The one who resolves never to love should be the one we pity the most.

10. There are noble men in this world who believe that beautiful things do not always require a beautiful appearance; that lovehandles and skin disorders and imperfect hair are trivial.  Such men admire women for their strength, intelligence, courage, and humor.

11. It is better to judge yourself before you accuse someone else of doing wrong.  Chances are, it is you who needs to change, not the other person.

12. Miracles. Really. Do. Happen.

13. Never value the gift more than you value the Giver.  Nothing on this earth belongs to us.

14. Every “hello,” every lateness to class, every lunch conversation, every argument, every misunderstanding, every assignment, every spontaneous volleyball game, every rainstorm without an umbrella, every accident or urge to complain is yet another opportunity to demonstrate the wonderful human ability to love, forgive, and be thankful for what you have.

15. It’s always a process… just make sure you’re progressing forward, not backwards.

Well it stopped raining and my introspective mood has been killed.  More or less distracted, I should probably say.  Perhaps I will continue this later.

i dream in nightmares.

I’m one of those people who talk in their sleep.  It probably has to do with the fact that the majority of my dreams are extremely vivid and graphic nightmares, all of which are more bizarre and believable than the next.  I dream in color, high resolution and all, and I also hear music and play music in my dreams.  Most of the times, I’m in a ridiculous situation where I’m running for my life and trying to convince someone not to kill me or someone I love.  If anyone ever tried to psychoanalyze my dreams, I’m pretty sure I’d end up in an insane asylum.  But just for fun, here are some of my more recent REM ramblings and motion pictures…

Weird Dream No. 1:
There’s a party in the church basement and several of my WCEC friends are there.  I’m there with Ryan’s family, but I when someone asks me who I’m with, I tell them I’m with “the Elgars.”  While we’re in this basement, Angela leans all over me and I realize that she’s drunk.  Ryan realizes that all of the drinks are spiked, and neither he nor I had anything to drink.  He goes to find whoever spiked the drinks and tells me to run, because someone is after us (this is going to become a common theme in my dreams, so prepare yourself).  I run to the top floor of the church and realize that Ryan’s not coming with me; escape is on my own.
I try to escape; I cross to the adjacent building on wooden slats (no idea how), and all of the sudden I am in another house.  My brother shows up out of nowhere and suddenly I know we have to hide.  Also in the house, a woman named Mariam and her two little boys are also in hiding.  They are from Kabul; Mariam wears a hijab and neither she nor her sons speak to us.  It begins to get dark outside.

I notice that the neighbors are migrating out of their homes; everything that happened in the church seemed like years and years ago.  Soon, I begin to see everyone I know walking out on the lawn.  I see my friends from college moving together in packs, all of them trying to escape what seems like an attack or invasion.  Everyone is trying to escape death.  My friends from high school show up outside the window and tell me that they are going to France.  We say goodbye and part ways.  Someone is coming, and somehow I know that we have to do our best to prepare for the worst.
Frank and I try to clean up the house as much as possible, we shut all the curtains and try to convince Marian and her sons to hide.  I realize that we are minutes away our death because they are coming.  Whoever “they” are, they are different than the people who tried to hunt Ryan and I in the church.  Before we know it, gunmen break down the door and begin shooting everywhere.

I wake up.

Weird Dream No.2:
I am swimming in a large pool with a great white shark tailing my feet.  Somehow, I know the shark is malicious and that if I didn’t get out of the pool soon, that I’d die.  I overtake the shark and jump out of the water as if I was doing a stunt.  The shark follows me out of the pool — we fly into the air and out of the nearest window — I look down and realize that we were on the highest floor of an urban hotel — and as soon as we begin to fall, I blow up the hotel and the shark dies.

I wake up.

Weird Dream No.3:
I walk into an empty bedroom early in the morning, armed.  The bedsheets are rumpled and the room is a mess, indicating that an intruder was here earlier.  The only sound that I hear is a constant beeping — there’s a bomb in the room.  I quickly hurry towards the source of the beeping and discover that the bomb is in the Little Mermaid alarm clock, which has been placed on the nightstand besides the bed.  The beeping gets louder and louder, and I frantically try to turn the Little Mermaid alarm clock bomb off but I can’t.  I’m gonna die.

I wake up, and realize that the perpetually beeping Little Mermaid bomb is actually my own alarm, telling me to get up.

Weird Dream No.4:
All of my friends from InterVarsity and I are hanging out during dinner in the cafeteria.  We’re in a place that resembles Camp Andrew’s, except there is a newly installed retro diner on the campgrounds.  I grab my meal and start eating with Meredith.  By the end of our conversation, everyone begins to move outside.  The sun has set, and all of the lamps on the campground are on.  It’s uncannily quiet outside, and I notice that people stop what they were doing in order to come and join our moving herd.  We are all moving towards one direction.

The lamps on the campground begin to flicker off.  Something is definitely wrong; there is an intruder on the campgrounds.  Suddenly, all 100 or so of us there stop in our tracks: we notice a man hiding behind some bushes in the distance.  He is armed.  Ryan starts walking towards the hidden and armed man, exposing him from his spot.  Before we all know it, gunshots fire everywhere and Ryan is in hot pursuit of the assassin — we all run and follow them.

Soon, the campgrounds turn into a parking lot, and we are running across the parking lot of a large airport.  I’m at the front of the pack now, trying to catch Ryan so I can tell him not to get hurt.  But I stop in my tracks — Ryan finally caught up to the assassin, and the two had breached the airport security checkpoint and were engaged in some seriously bloody hand-to-hand combat… [insert gross and graphic picture of hand-to-hand combat here].  I scream.

The next thing I know, all 100 or so of us are walking around in the hallways of an anonymous high school with paper bags on our heads.  I guess we’d be in trouble if they found us out.

I think 4 weird dreams are enough to post for now.  Seriously though, I think I watch too many action movies…

pinning the problem.

War is not the problem.

Murder is not the problem.

Nuclear weapons are not the problem.

Economy is not the problem.

Exploitation is not the problem.

Money is not the problem.

Communism is not the problem.

Mass starvation is not the problem.

AIDS Pandemic is not the problem.

Human trafficking is not the problem.

Prostitution is not the problem.

Teenage pregnancy is not the problem.

Masturbation is not the problem.

Premarital sex is not the problem.

Abortion is not the problem.

Single-parent headed homes are not the problem.

Unfaithful spouses are not the problem.

Divorce is not the problem.

Extra-marital affairs are not the problem.

Marijuana is not the problem.

Alcohol is not the problem.

Racism is not the problem.

Chauvinism is not the problem.

Feminism is not the problem. (Nor the solution, mind you).

Obama is not the problem.

Neither is Kim Jong Il.

Homosexuality is not the problem.

Poverty is not the problem.

The problem is this.

The problem is our lust, which leads to adultery.

The problem is our anger, which leads to hatred.

The problem is our pride, which leads to manipulation,

contempt, defensiveness, bitterness, ability to hurt others.

The problem is our selfishness, which leads to thievery,

avarice, pursuit of misplaced desires, mentalities of ’self’ as first.

The problem is this.

It is our capability to produce war for the wrong reasons.

Our capability to create nuclear weapons for the wrong reasons.

Our capability to use money selfishly, maniputively, foolishly.

The problem is our inclination to hoard and not give,

defend and be invincible, gain power but not humility;

seek instant gratification of pleasure, give in during the heat of the moment–

instead of waiting in expectation for something better and much more

fulfilling.

The problem is our unquenchable need to feel significant, competent, adequate, affirmed–

our capability to extort and to scheme, not to think about our brothers and sisters in need.

The problem is our tendency to make assumptions about one another before we even know their names

we like to feel important and mighty, always right, always in control.

The problem is this:

that we look to other men and women to satisfy our loneliness, our need for emotional and sexual fulfillment;

that we spend our lives building fake empires that burn down at the end of the day because they are but an

ARTIFICE

The problem is this:

that we are offered one, single, solo, amazing; breathtaking; indescribable; incomparable life…

and we don’t give credit where credit is due,

we forget to thank the Giver for the Gift,

and we screw it all up–

The problem is us

The problem is us

The problem

is

us.

twenty-five beliefs & more.

So I’ve been tagged several times by friends to scribe “25 things” about myself for the world to know.  Once you are tagged, you are supposed to join the club and write “25 things” about yourself and go tag 25 others… some of these are serious, some of these are just weird.  Anyways, enjoy — and know that your thoughts are always welcome!

1. I love incorporating big and new words into my vocabulary.  I’m not trying to be obnoxious, rather, it makes me happy to season my daily conversations with words such as “ecumenical” or “vainglorious” or even “Machiavellian.”

2. Sometimes I am convinced that I was born in the wrong era.  I love listening to Ella Fitzgerald, Billie Holiday, and jazz from the early to mid-20th century.

3. I keep an LSAT Logic Games Workbook on my desk when I need a mental break.  Last year, I was seriously considering going to law school for human rights and I began to study for the LSATs — though the law school plan never happened, the logic games are addictive and so much fun!

4. Though I am a Christian, I do not identify myself as one who practices a religion.  The emphasis of religion is an adherence to laws, whereas the emphasis of true Christianity is redemption and grace.

5. I believe that something which is not fully true is false.  Part-truths are no truths.  I’ve hurt significant people in the past by not being honest with them.  As a result, I have resolved to be honest and honor others with the truth.  Some people are hurt when I am blunt with them, but I won’t mince up what needs to be said.  This also causes me to wear my feelings on my face — I can’t betray how I really feel about something if it upsets me… so usually it’s no secret when I’m angry.  Or really happy.

6. I have listened to John Williams ever since I was 5 and am addicted to soundtrack music.  Alexandre Desplat, Hans Zimmer, HGW, Thomas Newman, and so many others continue to populate my iTunes.  Despite my love for soundtrack music, I am peeved by the fact that all of the famous movie score composers are all old white men.  I’m a little tempted to move out to Hollywood and mix it up a little.

7. I am ashamed of the way some Christians in our society have treated and judged gays and lesbians, including myself at one point in time if I am honest.  Because of my own spiritual convictions, I cannot believe that a holy God would look at homosexuality and say, “Yes, this is good”–but it breaks my heart to see “Christians” attack and ostracize fellow men and women for their sexual preferences.

8. In 5th grade, my friend Connie and I told everyone including our teachers that we were cousins.  Everyone believed us because we are Chinese, and a few of our friends believed us all the way up till high school.  Just because Asian people look alike does not mean that they are all related!

9. I love to cook!

10. I practice piano in the dark sometimes because I want to be able to play without relying on sight.  If I ever go blind (which I’d prefer over going deaf), I would still be able to perform.

11. Some days I wake up and I really wish that my parents didn’t name me “Grace.”  “Grace” is such an intricate, loaded, vast and heavy concept.  In the moments that I finally do understand (God’s) grace, I feel unworthy of its weight.

12. If I was a character in a famous piece of literature, my hamartia would most definitely be stubbornness.  My mom thinks I will have trouble finding a husband because I am so stubborn.

13. I have written stories since I was 6.  Of course, they were just stories about princesses and happy families back then (and there were more illustrations than text), but I have kept a folder of ideas for when I complete my novel.  In fact, I have kept tidy profiles of potential characters for my novel for more than 7 years… you might end up in there somewhere, who knows?!

14. I am an introvert working on being more extroverted.  It is often draining for me to spend time with large groups of people and it fulfills me to get to know someone one-on-one or in groups of four.

15. I believe that sex is meant for marriage.  I am not saving my virginity out of fear of repercussions or “because that’s what good Christian girls do,” but I am doing so because waiting is an act of worship in and of itself.  In a way, I am loving my future husband by saving all of me — but most of all, I believe that God has our best interests at heart when He warns us against sex outside of marriage.  He knows what’s up.  (Plus, I don’t think God created Neisseria gonorrhoeae for aesthetic purposes.)

16. I don’t have pinky knuckles.  So don’t ask me to show them to you.  They’re not there.

17. I love the rain.  People gripe and complain about the rain and bad weather all the time, but every time it rains or storms, I am humbly reminded of how God is in control and how humans will never be able to control the course of their lives.  Rain is good.

18. I eat a lot of apples.  They are the perfect snack — made to-go, a burst of sweet and natural energy, refreshing and hydrating all at once.  I try to munch on one every day. I’m rather picky though, so I usually stick with Fuji, Pink Lady, tart and juicy apples that have a bit of a crunch factor.

19. I tore my right ACL twice in the summer of 2006.  The pain that accompanied the tearing, surgery, post-surgery, and rehab is so fresh in my mind that it causes me to be ever grateful to God for blessing me with a healthy recovery and the ability to walk and run today.  Seriously… you don’t know how valuable something is until you lose it.

20. I am a feminist and I am pro-God.  On most occasions, this makes me an anomaly in Women’s Studies classes.  But to those of you who proclaim, “Keep your God off my body,” I would like to say in response, “My God created your body.”  Don’t get me wrong: I am not using this space to condemn any pro-choicers but merely to state my position.

21. I really despise it when girls call each other “bitch,” “slut monkey,” “whore,” etc.  Hearing such demeaning language evokes a strong gag reflex in me.

22. If God blesses me with motherhood, I intend to name my daughter “Naomi.”  Still working on the boy’s name.

23. I enjoy doing push-ups and tend do sets if I’ve been sitting for too long.  Sometimes I’ll pull out the jump rope — but that can get kind of crazy.  If I’m really buckling down for an exam, I’ll brush my teeth before I crack open a textbook.

24. I can tell you the pitches in a fire alarm, police car siren, lamp buzz, radiator hum, human yell, and other obscure sounds.  The only sound I can’t identify pitch with is the sound of a door knock.

25. I met some of the most amazing people and best friends in my life during college.  I can honestly say that, if I had not met them, I would not be the person I am today.  Thanks, ladies and gents — you know who you are!

Thanks for reading!

g.

i disagree with your feminism, professor.

this time of the year about 2 winters ago…

“…You did… WHAT??” he asked, his voice quavering with suppressed anger. This is it, I think to myself. I have committed the unthinkable. I brace myself, preparing for the worst.
“I… I dropped my Biology major. I’m not passionate about it, Dad.” (Steam begins to rise from Dad’s head). He draws in a very deep and calculating breath.
“And?? And what are you doing instead??” he questioned, the tone of his voice rising dangerously. I blink.
“Women’s Studies. I’m a Women’s Studies major, Dad.” (The deep and calculated breath hisses out from his teeth. He is turning red).
“Are you trying to tell me… that you aren’t a Biology major anymore… and that you are now a major in this–this–whatever this is called, this Women’s Studies–what the hell is Women’s Studies?!? You mean you’re going to study LESBIANS?!?” he sputters angrily. I gulp.
“Umm… well, it’s a very broad subject, it includes everything from politics to uh, science… we study women’s issues, feminism, and society… ” I trailed off, because even I was unclear what Women’s Studies majors actually do. He gives me an outrageous look.
“You are going to regret this,” he says before storming out of the kitchen. (He didn’t talk to me for almost a month and a half).

My boyfriend at the time (now ex-) wasn’t enthusiastic about it either:

“Wait–you mean, you’re gonna become one of THEM? A FEMINAZI?!?” he said, looking incredulous. I nodded meekly.
“Why would you ever do THAT?” he says with a scoff. (He walks away).

fast-forward to the present, the year 2009…

I’ve gotten a lot of looks and unsolicited comments in the past two-and-a-half years for being a Women’s Studies major, and possibly more for the fact that I consider myself a feminist. Truthfully, I never really considered myself a feminist before college and I definitely never pictured myself being a student of feminist theory and politics. Maybe it was the fact that I was tired of working towards a degree that someone else wanted for me to attain; maybe it was because I was sick of being silenced into an empty shell by someone I thought I could trust. Perhaps it was a combination of both. Regardless, the reason why I roped myself into a world where “liberal” means “conservative” and Simone de Beauvoir and Chandra Mohanty are both considered light reading is merely that I disagreed with my professor’s feminism.

You see, there is a feminist solution for every problem in the world. If the government places a higher value in the opinion and well-being of males, we address this inequality with a feminism that reflects the practice of liberal humanism. When women’s bodies being exploited and abused, when their voices being suffocated, and when they are restricted by societal expectations of womanhood and wivery, the answer is radical feminism. Are all men manipulative, let-downs, jerks who are incapable of love? Then let’s fix it with lesbian feminism. Do social structures in the workforce and economy reflect unequal power structures between men and women? Let’s use Marxist feminism to fix that. Has society brainwashed women on what it means to be feminine, has feminism blotted out all of their sociocultural ambiguities, and has feminism lobbed women into the category of the white and middle-class? Then let’s deconstruct every known notion of femininity and make our own identities through post-structuralist feminism. Oh but this isn’t enough – Black women and Latina women want an identity of their own – let’s fix this with Black feminism and Chicana feminism. Has Western feminism swallowed up the voices of women living across the globe and marginalized women of Bengali, Viet, Turkish, or Algerian descent? Let’s tackle this problem with post-colonial feminism. But if we address women of different races and cultures, we need to address issues faced by women (and men) of gender ambiguities — let’s make a transgender feminism. And for anyone else whose voice or identity crisis has not been heard, there is standpoint feminism to make your point. So we’ve touched on all intersections of race, class, and gender. But our world still faces problems of the environment – let’s form an ecofeminism to address our globe’s more dire needs. What if you just hate pornography with a passion? There’s an anti-porn feminism for that. What if you love sex and think sex work is a tribute to our freedom of expression? There’s a sex-positive feminism for that. Are you an adherent of Islam yet un-supportive of Western feminism? There’s an Islamic feminism for you. Are you French? You can stick with French feminism. Not a feminist at all but still supportive of its cause? Well my friend, that makes you part of the pro-feminism sect.

In every WOMS class I take, there is a great debate about a hot-button issues of our day. Abort or not to abort? Gardasil or no Gardasil? Surrogacy or no surrogacy? ERA or no ERA? To veil or not to veil? To assimilate or not to assimilate? To colonize or not to colonize? To report (rape) or not to report? To deconstruct or not to deconstruct? To wed or not to wed? To censor (pornography) or not to censor? To kill (chivalry) or not to kill? To propose or not to propose? To go to war or not to go to war? To prostitute or not to prostitute? To come out or not to come out???

The solutions that feminism has to offer are great in ambition and academically persuasive. But feminist solutions will never bring about egalitarian ideals of peace and harmony. And that is because the feminist theorist believes that mankind’s problems stem from socialized concepts of inferiority and superiority, institutionalized gender stratas and the dominant nature of male-bolstering patriarchy. To the feminist scholar, the problem is a lack of adherence to egalitarian beliefs and a lack of executive commitment to change. To the feminist historian, the problem lies in the centuries and centuries of woman-hating baggage, from King Henry the VIII to Eminem. But if you ask me, I’d tell you that the problem is much deeper… so deep, actually, that no feminist solution would barely even brush the surface of it if it tried.

the thesis to Grace’s final WOMS exam, 2 years ago…

“…The problem is neither rooted in the lack of women’s status or power, nor in our ignorance of other cultures. The problem is entrenched in our hearts-that, as the two entities of the human race, men and women alike do not understand that we are specifically purposed for community with each other; that often what is disguised as an imbalance of power in both gender and culture is in fact, a misunderstanding of who we are.”

If men knew how much of a contribution they can make in the world; if men knew how much they are purposed for, how imperative it is for them to protect the ones they love and be leaders…
If women knew how much the world can learn from their souls; if women knew how strong they are only when they admit they are weak, if women knew how essential it is for them to support and to grow the ones they love and be free in the knowledge of who they are…
If humans knew how much value they have as individuals to their Creator, if we knew how much purpose and significance and identity we rightfully have in the name of Christ, and how indispensable we are to one another in this short life…

Au contraire, dear professor, but I totally disagree with your feminism. We are the ones responsible for power imbalances in the world; we are the ones who reap what we sow. Your feminism says that by increasing the good in all people by making them aware and tolerant, we can solve the world’s afflictions. My feminism says that by confessing to Jesus our poor misunderstanding of who we were meant to be, we can move towards a renewal and restoration process that leads to righteousness. Change doesn’t begin with the Constitution. It doesn’t begin with society. It begins with us: admitting that we aren’t perfect and that we need a Savior.

So my Dad eventually got over the fact that I am a WOMS major. He’s shed that image of feminism being all about lesbians somewhat — I am thankful, in the very least. My ex-boyfriend was the first of many to call me a feminazi and give me weird stares. Some of my friends are still baffled at how I can be a feminist and a Christian at the same time. Other people just think I’m an alien. The professor who graded my final exam didn’t fail me like I expected her to (after all, I spent 12 pages arguing against feminism). As a matter of fact, I have been her Teaching Assistant for more than a year and a half. I will graduate in May with no intention of obtaining auxiliary degrees in Women’s Studies or Feminist Theory, though I highly enjoy the academic prowess required to converse in theories. It’s been an adventurous journey so far. I’d end here but there really is never an end to these such stories… so, to be continued, in a way. At least till I write next.

deconstructing the princess.

I’m glad the Brothers Grimm are quite dead, because I think Rapunzel was a hoax.  Furthermore, I think Sleeping Beauty is a tale of lies, and that every familiar damsel-in-distress story needs to be debunked.  Sure, there is a Prince Charming in each escapade, and let’s not forget the timeless tower in which the princess is locked.  But not one of those renditions is the truth.

First of all, there was never a witch.  “Witch” is just an easy category to classify any old and cantankerous woman who tires of being wrinkly and desires to be youthful and vibrant once more.  That, or they are just jealous that they can’t have babies anymore so they force unlucky families to surrender their daughters.  Fairy-tale writers need to stop typecasting the old women and leave them in peace.  Second of all, Prince Charming never fought a witch.  He might have encountered a dragon here or there, but they are irrelevant.  And most of all, the princess isn’t placed in the tower by an evil enchantress.  She isn’t induced to sleep for 100 years in the highest room in the highest tower and she sure isn’t imprisoned against her will.  Or confined to a closet by her evil stepmother.  Rather, it is quite the opposite.

You see, the princess makes her own tower.  She builds her own room away from the rest of the world.  Fairy tales have ruined everything, you see, because they paint a picture of a hopeless girl who is in dire need of a rescue.  No.  The real princess digs her own foundation, sets her own base, mixes her own concrete and slabs it on one after the other until it’s high enough to ward off the outside world.  Her tower is her haven, her security, her habitat and her comfort zone.  She is there by choice.

You see, the princess is not unfamiliar with the pangs of love.  She knows what disappointment feels like — particularly after her parents traded her in for a bunch of rapunzel leaves.  Furthermore, she has seen the horrors that occur as an outcome of love: Helen falls in love with Paris and starts a war, Bertha marries Rochester and he proceeds to lock her up in his attic, and Eponine dies for Marius despite the fact that her love is unrequited.  Oh no no no no no no… the princess is determined to avoid such tragedy.  And so she builds her own tower, plants her own bramble bushes around the tower, and makes sure to bring lots of books and albums with her so that she can enjoy Hemingway with a glass of Merlot while listening to Debussy preludes in the background.  Mmm-hmm.

Everything is hunky-dory, that is, until Prince Charming-and-a-Half arrives from over the hill with a great big demolition ball with the words “COME AWAY WITH ME” emblazoned on it.

I guess sometimes it takes smarter Prince Charmings (hence, that is why I added “and-a-Half” at the end) to woo us.  Instead of glistening white stallions and glittering ruby-studded swords, he comes with a demolition ball.  And his own copy of Hemingway and a score of Ravel’s Sonatine.

It’s a pity that the princess didn’t foresee the need for an escape latch.

That’s when you realize that you’re in deep.

his eye is on the sparrow, part one.

So… we are studying fairy tales in my very feminist, academic, and postmodern class this semester.  We’ve examined original tales of Cinderella from China, Russia, Germany, England, and Thailand… all of which seem to include aspects of gore and decapitation, not to mention brave heroines who defy all gender norms and expectations.  Not only so, but we’ve talked about Bluebeard, a wicked blue-bearded pimp who murders all of unfortunate wives in a slaughter room (quite similar to the one in Disturbia), and addressed how modern-day fairy tales seem to exclude certain facets of husband infidelity, murderous intent, and violence.  My teacher (and I say “teacher” because she is not yet a “professor”) had much to say about how all of the Disney movie princesses glorify marriage and finding Prince Charming (in her opinion, why can’t a Disney princess fall in love with a “Prin-cess Charming”?).  Needless to say, fairy tales depress her, because they institutionalize certain gender roles and convince little girls that if they sleep for 100 years, their knight-in-shining-armor will hurdle all of the bramble bushes in order to climb into their tower to give them a wake-up kiss.  While I have beef with Disney heroines for reasons that do not fit in this already very long post, I would agree with her that fairy tales are just… rather disappointing and unrealistic on the whole.

The best stories are epic stories that contain truth — whether these truths are expressed through allegories or allusions, as long as it contains truth, I think it is a good story.  Though I’m not much of a literature buff, I do enjoy letting my own imagination run for a bit.  I’m not submitting this for class, because I am pretty sure the allegories and allusions I use will be attacked most fervently, but here is my venture into story-telling (otherwise known as the product of an afternoon of not wanting to read for class).  I might and might not finish it, but regardless, I hope you can pick out a few parallels…

Once upon a time in a land far away, (totally redundant and overused starting phrase)

Sometime during the heat of the Bohemian era, alongside of multi-colored gypsy caravans, jangling bells and tambourines, a rather notorious freak circus would often venture into the rat-infested city to find social pariahs desperate to avoid gawking stares from passerbys.  Of the individuals welcomed to join the freak circus, there were men who swallowed swords and women who resembled apes; half-giants and mermaids, children with two heads or four legs, and even those who ate fire.  The master who founded the circus retrieved each and every member of his company himself.  They called him “The Prince,” and regarded him as their benefactor.  “In exchange for your performances,” the Prince said, “I promise you a life in which you will taste the most extravagant of foods and wines, the kind of my very own stock.  You will never again beg on the streets or suffer for your deformities; HERE, your deformities become your pride, your glory, and your identity; HERE, you have a name, you have significance, and you have eternity.”

The freak circus lived and journeyed together, and, under the direction of the Prince, they were never without extravagant food or drink or merriment — that is, if they complied with the regulations of the show.  They were to never leave the show for any given circumstances, and the consequences for the one who attempted such an act of treason were at minimum, very severe.  Despite these things, the circus was a unit, a family, and a lifestyle — and so they went about their days as such.

Now, the gem of the freak circus was a girl whose impoverished parents sold her when she was but a child.  She was blind in both eyes and walked with a limp, but her voice was very lovely.  The Prince, who was very knowledgeable in the ways of the world, persuaded her parents to sell her to him and spare her the shame of being mocked for the rest of her life.  Her parents did not know that at the time, the Prince was already brewing ideas for an entire tour through the city to feature his newly-bought sparrow.  The Prince promised to raise the child to know of her parents’ sacrifice and to one day bring her home.  And with tears in their eyes, the child’s parents wept their goodbyes and watched as the circus caravan fade from sight.

Now the Prince had an evil heart and was only ever concerned about himself.  He decided to keep the girl in the circus for as long as she lived, for his eyes were set only on the profit she would bring for his business.  In order to discourage her from ever leaving his company, the Prince tied ropes and bells around her wrists and ankles so that she would not be able to run away.  Furthermore, the Prince told her that her parents did not want her and that she was to regard him as her guardian from now on, for he would be the one to provide for her anything she should desire.

And so she grew.  As she grew, the fame and reputation of the freak circus grew as well.  Not only did Bohemians and aristocrats from near and far flock to listen to the girl sing, but also foreigners from other lands, who often came with gold and other such treasures to give to the Prince and his sparrow.  The rest of the circus grumbled quite a bit, for the Prince never doted on them quite as much as he did his new starlet.  However, their complaints were short-lived, as the Prince had a very nasty temper and often resorted to cruel and unusual punishments for acts of insubordination.  Instead, they harassed the girl all day and all night, making fun of her limping gait and blindness and saying awful things about the Prince (”Surely he will tire of you one day and feast upon another freak’s abilities!  your parents did not love you, for they sold you to the Prince!  The Prince only dotes on you because you can sing, you just wait until he forgets about you!”).

Now it pained the girl in her heart to hear these claims, for she was very aware of her limp and the fact that she was blind.  Their scornful mockery and claims sired doubt deep within her heart, for she truly desired to know who she was before she began to live with the Prince and his company.  On one particular evening, after the circus gave a successful performance and the company were merrily counting their coins and carousing, the girl mustered up her courage to approach the Prince in his private room.  Upon hearing the bells jangling at her wrists and her ankles, the Prince opened the door and permitted her to come into his lair.

“What is troubling you, my singing sparrow, that you should come and seek me when your friends are celebrating their success?” he said with a smile.
“Who am I?” the girl spoke, her voice quavering just slightly.  The Prince’s smile stretched a little wider across his face, appearing though as if it were strained.
“Why, you are my starlet!  You are the crown jewel of the circus!  You are the show-stopper, the featurette, the icon of my freak circus!” he said.  But the girl looked troubled.
“Where are my parents?” she asked.  The Prince’s smile turned into ice and his brow furrowed in anger.  He replied in a cool and dangerous voice.
“Why my child, I am your guardian.  Your parents did not want you, they threw you away onto the streets, and it was I who collected you from the filth and gave you a second chance,” he said.  “Your parents did not love you, they did not want to love you, and I took you in — after all that I have done for you, providing you with imperishable and extravagant food and drink, shelter and a place to belong, how can you even dare to question my generosity towards you?” the Prince’s voice ended in a snarl.  But for too long had her questions been unanswered; the girl barreled on:
“You say you care for me yet you bind my wrists and ankles with ropes so that I am never out of your sight.  You tied bells on my binds so that I can never escape.  The food and drink that you give us is indeed imperishable, but it is never satisfactory.  We eat and eat but cannot be satisfied; we are always in want of more.  We drink and drink but our thirst is never quenched; we are always in want of more.  You promised us a place to belong, but you exploit our weaknesses and profit from them at our expense.  I don’t have an identity here,” the girl said, “because you have claimed everything that is rightfully mine and have been telling me lies from the day you took me away.”

The Prince’s anger escalated upon hearing these words — never had a member of his company been so forthright in his presence.  He leaned closely towards the girl as if to tell her a secret.  He said:
“So you have figured it out.  I feast off of your ugliness, your deformities, and your ignorance… I provide you with imperishable food that never satisfies and drink that never quenches thirst.  They call me ‘the Prince’ but do not know that I am truly the Prince of Lies and Deception… and the moment you are mine, you can never not be mine… you and the rest of your freak friends are mine forever, my freak performers and social deviants for the rest of eternity!” and with a maniacal laugh, the evil Prince threw the girl out of his private room and tied her to the back of the circus caravan, where she would be forced to limp behind the caravan as they drove from city to city.  He said to her then: “This is your life.  I did not make you the way you are, but you did yourself, you stupid, wretched, blind and limping girl.  You brought this upon yourself!”

Upon receiving her punishment, the girl cried for the rest of the night as she realized the gravity of her very-bad-situation.  The next day, none of the circus company dared to visit or help her (they did not want to end up in the same situation) and so the poor girl straggled behind the caravan as they rode from city to city.  The Prince, in his nasty temper, forbid any circus members to release the girl from her binds.  So the poor girl was forced to endure mud and dirt; cold and scorching heat — as the caravan rode on towards their destination.  As days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, the girl began to lose her once lovely voice.  And as months became years, she was no longer known as the starlet of the circus, but rather, the blind and limping girl who trails behind the circus caravan.

One one particularly starry night, when the caravan was stopped and the Prince and the entire company were fast asleep, the girl looked up into the sky and lamented over her plight:
“Is there any hope for those who are hopeless?  What does one do when one loses the will to live, yet cannot die because they encounter worse things than death even as they live?  Surely I am cursed, surely I am beyond saving.  No one will come to my aid, for what worth is it to save a blind and limping girl from an evil Prince?”

(to be continued…)

eros and agape.

To many, love is passion.

Love is power.  Love is strength.  It is an explosion of endorphins, a means of security and validation, and it is a support column.  Love is an excuse for people to do stupid things just as it is a reason for people to do mighty things.  Some argue that “love” is their religion, their way of life in a world of poor and broken people.  Some speak love with their words, some show love by their actions.  While these descriptions of love are legit, “love” continues to be something we misunderstand and misconceptualize too often in the world.

Don’t get me wrong: I totally believe in love.  What compels me to write about love is not my unbelief of love but rather, recent conversations, thoughts, and scenarios that have motivated me to share a few of my own convictions.  Neither will I profess to be an expert on love nor will I pretend to have a lot of knowledge in this area, but rather, I will attempt to give a fresh perspective on something that touches all people and all things in this world.  As a college student in her senior year, I’ll be the first to admit that there are many other older and wiser folks who are much more fluent in the language of love than I will ever be at this point in life – age notwithstanding, this is what I have to offer.  As always, comments and criticisms are welcome!

But first, a little background.  I grew up in an environment where love was conditional and rewarded to me if I successfully produced a good grade, good behavior, achievement, and perfection.  To me, love was a weighted and subjective transfer of goods.  It was earned.  On the occasion that I could not produce anything worthy of love, I was slammed, rejected, put down, and threatened.  I began to process “love” on a system of fear, where I would make decisions based on the fear of losing favor in someone else’s eyes; losing priority and standing in someone else’s life, and with that, significance.  This misguided system of “love” transpired in every aspect of my life, particularly as I began my first serious relationship in college.  Like most girls, I equated “love” with “security” in such that part of me believed my value and ability to be loved could be validated if a guy told me I was beautiful and worth it.  But because my understanding of love was founded upon fears, the relationship did not grow and eventually ended in a very painful breakup.  To be fair, I was not alone in my warped system of love, as he struggled too to understand love in his own personal way.  To make a long story short, the journey I then took afterward was a hard one in which a deconstruction of my understanding of “love” began to occur.  In the midst of that experience, I gained a new awareness of myself and of others.  It is still a process, in which I continually tear down the distorted conceptions of love (e.g., “he’ll love me if I give him what he wants,” “he’ll love me if I look more perfect or beautiful,” etc.) and allow a bigger perception of love to redefine what is and what isn’t true.

This should sound familiar to all of you collegians out there.  Some of you are entering significant relationships.  Some of you are parting ways after spending a summer together.  Some of you are in or have been in relationships that are entering the second, third, fourth or fifth year (or more) — you’ve seen it all, the fights and the arguments, the pseudo breakups and the many “I’m sorry”s and “I love you”s exchanged.  Some of you are emerging into a new phase of life: recently graduated, hard hit with reality and the uncertainty of the future; every question imaginable within your line of vision: what will happen to us?  Will we make it through this one?  Is he as serious about me as I am with him?  Does she really love me?  Can I trust her?  Do we love each other enough?

Maybe you haven’t been in a relationship.  Perhaps it is something you desire so much that you are daily consumed by the want to be loved and to be pursued.  You are tired of having your patience tested, particularly when all of your friends are engaged or married.  But maybe a relationship is something you don’t want to experience at the moment, or ever.  You’ve got other plans for your life; you want to go to med school or law school and you don’t need any distractions right now.  Regardless of where you stand, this is still directed at you.

The truth is, you can choose to see what you want to see in someone just as you can be something that someone else wants to see.  Before you know it, you are dating an empty shell with a depth you never want to know.  That person was who you wanted them to be and never who they really were instead.  You can spend two, three, seven or ten years with someone who you really don’t love and who really doesn’t love you.  But you won’t realize it until much later, when you wish that you could take back the things you’ve done or said that have made irrevocable etches on their heart.

The truth is, you can search high and low for the right man or woman to spend the rest of your life with just as you can spend the rest of your life with who you think is the right man or woman and never know love the way it was meant to be perceived.  You can let your heart become embittered because you have no lover right now just as you can let your heart be aggravated because the lover you are currently with knows exactly how to push your buttons.

So you’re scared that they’ll eventually meet someone else they will actually love and want to spend the rest of their life with.  So you’re scared that he’ll cheat on you; you’re scared that you actually can’t trust her like you wish you could.  So you’re scared that you will never find “the one,” scared that you’ll never be happily married.  Humans are so delicate, like glass-blown figurines in an antique armoire.  We are too easily broken, too easily shattered, and too easily begrimed.

Our definition and understanding of love is too small.  It’s dull, it’s bland, and it’s insufficient.  It’s the kind of definition that settles.  Let me say it this way.  We SETTLE for inadequate definitions of love.  The truth is, even the purest of all eros relationships barely even brush the surface of love at its finest…

Love is made up of choices.  More than it is made up of chemical pathways, dopamine-induced rushes, chocolate and roses.  While eros love can be a feeling, agape love covers over all.  Agape chooses to know no boundaries.  Agape is choosing to be a part of something greater than yourself.  It is choosing to give yourself up for another, for a cause that is bigger than life.  Agape chooses to lose a part of yourself — only to gain it back times a hundred.  This kind of love requires you to give someone the benefit of the doubt; it requires you to believe and to hope even when it hurts.  It requires you to choose forgiveness over guilt-trips; humility over anger; vulnerability over masked emotions; a clean record over a tally of how you’ve been wronged.  This kind of love knows no games.  It knows no impurities.  It accepts and does not reject; it gives even when it is not returned; it bleeds for you even if you do not want it to touch you.

Being born on Earth automatically implies that you can expect to be heartbroken and disenchanted; it implies that sooner or later, someone you love will let you down and invade your sense of security and purpose.  It implies that, the very second you give your heart away, you can expect to be bruised.  But being born on Earth also implies that you are offered to experience agape love, though not by any human means.  It is available to you through the very author and giver of Love.  And you can take it today.

Okay.  I have to go to class.

totally knit together.

It’s a typical morning.  I slip back into the room as quietly as I can, which usually involves the door shutting louder than I can help it.  My flip-flops squish and squeak on their own accord as I make it back to the dresser to grab a change of clothes.  Once dressed, I push the On button and get excited as the rich aroma of hazelnut wafts around my nose.  I check the mail while the coffee machine burbles.  At 8AM, my roommate’s alarm starts to jingle.  She hits the snooze button within 10 seconds, rolls onto her side, and continues to sleep.  Another typical morning.

Lately all I’ve been able to think about are the things-I-have-to-do.  Write the paper, conclude that paper, begin researching for the other paper, revise the introduction on this paper.  Learn the voice part for this song, practice these pieces for someone’s jury.  Lead that meeting, delegate these tasks, figure out next week’s plans; study for those exams, freak out about studying for that one exam, then begin studying for it.  And while I’m at it, why not fret about my schedule in the fall and wonder what the heck I’m doing after graduation even though it’s a year away.  Not before long, a well of panic starts to rise up within me – and all I can do is to fight the urge to cry about how much I have yet to do and how much uncertainty I have…

My roommate’s alarm goes off again, the familiar jingle stuck in my head.  She hits snooze again, breathes out and rolls over again.  She goes through this routine about three times on a regular morning.  But if she’s been up an extra hour or two, it will take many more snooze-hits and bed-rolls for her to climb down the top bunk.  Not that I’m keeping track or anything…

And that’s when I notice the Verse Of The Day on top of my homepage.  I know it even before I click on it – Psalm 139:13-14 has already been inscribed on a piece of cardboard on my wall.  I click on it anyways.  For You created me in my inmost being; You knit me together in my mother’s womb.  I praise You because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; Your works are wonderful, I know that full well.

I’m chuckling now, because it hits me that God is not one bit surprised by my typical morning, my mornings that consist of waking up early to hit the gym, my mornings that involve a daily anticipation of yummy coffee and a track record of how many times Shelly hits the alarm.  If that doesn’t surprise God, then my worrying shouldn’t surprise Him either.  I guess He would know every thought and insecurity that flashes through my mind: where I’ll be headed next May and what I’ll do when I grow up (which is never, of course).  I guess He would know how scared I am of running meetings and being in charge, how inadequate I feel sometimes in regard to my abilities.  Only He would know that even though I hide it, I still care about how other people perceive me, especially other girls.  He knows all of that.

My frame was not hidden from You when I was made in the secret place.  When I was woven together in the depths of the earth, Your eyes saw my unformed body.  All the days for me were written in Your book before one of them came to be.

It shouldn’t be so hard for me to believe that God is in control – He has totally knit me together.  I’m still a working creation, I am fully functional (except when I am delirious).  Junior year is finally drawing to a close.  The older I get, the longer I walk with God, the less control I seem to have; the more room there is for faith to grow.  How bizarre!

My roommate’s awake now.  It’s time for me to go to class.  No surprise there – everything will work out.  I just have to work on remembering that every day.

adequate and accepted.

I’m a pusher.  If it’s not good enough, I’ll push you to make it better.  I’m a prover.  If you’re not convinced, I’ll prove it to you that it is good enough.  Eager to please, eager to jump.  Driven to excellence, minimal failure rate, A-pluses.  I’m one of those girls who leave little room to cry; I”ll repair it myself.  My boyfriend laughs when he tells me that I’m an overachiever; I don’t deny it.  It’s in my blood.

But then I get tired.  Tired of doing 110%, tired of running ahead so much that I’m running alone.  Enough is never enough, best is never the best… and then I crash: why isn’t everyone else trying as hard?  They’re just lazy, they’re just apathetic – they don’t care, because they’re not trying as hard.  Look how hard I’m trying, and I’m still not getting anywhere near where I want to be.  I don’t have what it takes to get there; therefore, I’ve messed it up.  I’ve just given you another reason why I’m not. worth. it.

Sound familiar?

And then I start getting mean.  I avoid the people who love me the most – they must be nuts for wanting to hang out with me (read: FAILURE).  I snap at the people who care about me the most – they don’t know how much I’ve (read: SCREW-UP) botched it up again.  I get angry with them, because I haven’t given them a reason to be so nice to me.  They don’t see that I’m trying to save them, relieve them, of a massive load of junk (read: ME) – the same junk that I try so hard to erase every day by proving that I am good enough.

But it’s not so much the people who love me that I have a problem with; it’s not so much their kindness that I have a problem with.  It’s the whole entire concept of grace that I have a problem with – God’s grace – the kind that is poured out and exploded all over me regardless of how much I think I don’t deserve it.  It’s the kind of grace that I can’t justify on my own terms: not with an A-plus, not with a scholarship; not with someone else’s opinion, and not with a perfect body.  This kind of grace is just there.  Always.  Forever.  Unlimited.

If life handed you lemons, I got a couple that were just rotten.  The message of my childhood seemed to be “you-are-never-going-to-be-good-enough.”  My grades were never enough.  My personality was never enough.  My talents were never enough.  There were no excuses for weakness or flaws.  And while every other kid on the block played four-square or dodgeball, I played the game of catch-up: catching up to be the kind of girl that would make my father proud, because his happiness and satisfaction in me was near-unattainable.  And that chase, that wretched chase of proving my worth to him and to others and to God – has left me disenchanted.

And that is why the cross of Jesus Christ is absolutely beautiful.  The cross of Jesus Christ says, “When you are weak, then I am strong.”  The cross of Jesus Christ says, “When you deserved to be punished, I died for you.”  The cross of Jesus Christ says, “I am your adequacy.  I am your justification.”  The cross of Jesus Christ says, “I remove every stain and blemish from your body onto mine; you belong to God now.”  Reclaimed.  Renamed.  Restored.  Repaired.  Reworked.  Remade.  Renewed.  Refreshed.  Replenished.  Relieved.  Rebuilt.  Refurbished.  Revamped.  Resurrected.  Repainted.  Redeemed.

So much for rotten lemons.  I guess you’ll always have a bit of awful-aftertaste in your mouth, but it’s nothing that Christ’s love can’t beat.  I’m still a pusher.  I’m still an overachiever.  I’m still eager to jump.  And I still have an issue with letting others do the repairing.  It’s hard to understand why my Christian friends live with all of my junk.  They tell me that they don’t live with my junk – they are just loving me with my junk.  Cute, huh?

In Christ, I am adequate and accepted.  When you leave no room for failure, you are committing the biggest failure.  It’s God’s job to be strong amidst those failures.  I wish I could hear myself say this every day.  Better yet, I wish I remembered it every time I wrote my name at the top right-hand corner of every xerox or handout I get in class.  Grace.  What does ‘grace’ mean, anyways?

Something too wonderful for me to contain, that’s for sure.