You’re Wearing Red Today.

You’re wearing Red today.

I usually alternate between two pajammies: an oversized green T-shirt from my sister’s university, with light silk bottoms that flow past my ankles. The other pair is an oversized loose maroon shirt that could almost slip past my shoulders, with a thick cotton candy colored PJ bottom that is much too big for me.

Very comfy.

But I couldn’t find the latter outfit and saw this old red tiger T shirt from years ago, when I was maybe 7, from a time when Koreans are much too obsessed with soccer championships. I threw that on, plugged in my headphones, and out of the mundane I heard, and remembered, the most normal detail.

(I wrote this some months ago, but I never published for some reason, so here it is now.)

You’re wearing Red today.

A Womban

A womban is someone who gives birth to the future generations: a vessel of life, her womb stretches and contracts like a silk cocoon.

Her value determined by the House – cooking in it, cleaning it, caring for it, birthing it.

She is borne to scrutiny of other womben. Man may dictate and oppress, but nothing survives under the familiar eyes who watch her. She must hold hands with the same whimmen who pierce her palms with an embedded needle, clasping ever so tightly.

The womban, already assigned a worth from the moment she is born, until she rends her abdomen, is no longer useful.

When other womben complain of wombaches, when their House wriggles and prepares for the next guest, another womban is ransacked, stripped of her clothes, her belongings, left on the streets to rot, and many womben pass her by.

They scorn her, with those familiar eyes.

So she knocks on her House. She politely excuses herself for her disturbance. She hesitates knocking twice. But there is no fear when she tells it through the broken glass:

“We’ve been through a lot, but you can’t live here anymore. When I lose you, I’ll lose a part of myself. I’ll lose a part of my identity. I’ll lose the respect of other womben in this world. But if I lose the rest of myself, then my worth means nothing. Take it, and I will find my own.”

And so she leaves, her House barren, her worth the lowest of the low, but she does not look back.

2019 – A Reunion with God

So, I kinda did a last minute fast (a fast minute?) for Passion Week – I honestly forgot.

But in the two-ish days I had been fasting, I think it was a much needed escapade from technology, and also a tormenting one.

It was full of aching and hurting from being sick, but there was also an anxious ache from in game stuff. It appears that they will be resolved at about the same time.

But this is about God, or it should be at least. I genuinely, and honestly, devoted some time to God, and to learning more about Him. I opened up The Bible Project, in hopes that wisdom may inspire me. I may have learned some answers about how to move forward from this anxiety, which is good.

(On a side note, I absolutely love TBP’s explainer videos – the animations, art, and motion graphics are stunning and that is just the epitome of everything I want to do!)

When I was a child, I earnestly asked for wisdom. That was my first request that was ever fulfilled and that was when I knew God. When I grew older, I stopped. I’m still stagnant, if not retreating backwards in time – I’m not maturing spiritually.

So every time I get sick, I have this habit: I pray to God. I suppose that sounds natural to most, but it’s one of the worst habits. Imagine a friend who only talks to you when they need something from you. I do have friends like these even now, and while I can tolerate them, I think when they are the most obvious about it is when I feel the most hurt and annoyed. I am that, to God.

What’s funny is that the following day my pulsating headache disappeared. My cold was finally starting to take a turn for recovery. This happens every time I do get sick. I turn to God, and it’s like voila! You’re healed. Sometimes I’m cautiously wary, and brush it off because I knew I could get over the sickness. But in my moment of weakness, I still prayed to God. What does that say about me?

I dreamt vividly last night, a rather odd dream. I dreamt of my dad first, and then of Ilse. A disturbing dream in the first, and then rather mundane for the second. I didn’t know what to think of it. These are the two people I would never be able to converse and interact just as simply as that. But it is as simple as that. It can be. But I don’t believe it to be.

When I awoke, my eyes didn’t feel like they were going to pop from the headache. It was gone, relieved, and I let out a scratchy gasp. I continued to sleep and sleep. In such a chaotic world, I never seem to have time for God. Not even in my dreams.

So I sometimes wonder if He is the one who puts them there. The ones that recur every so often, or every other year. The ones that I know what will happen, and still fear. I love this connection with writing down my dreams, but sometimes they hold a scary power. Not of premonition, but of interlinking realms. Have I been reading and watching too much weird fiction? Perhaps.

But I love it too. My connection to God can be seen as vividly as fiction fans to their magical realism novels. Neither realms bow to the order and law of human logic and reason, or understanding for that matter. Almost like its random. I don’t mean, Pokémon Emerald pseudo-random seed generator “random”, but random in its purest essence. In other words, God’s will and design. Something we cannot understand or ever comprehend.

Yup, this is definitely late night writing again. But I wanted to write something about the past two days. I think there is going to be a big change. I don’t quite know what this unrest is, but I regret purchasing Sharn almost. I regret that my friends have went and got me the Season Pass. I always have been telling myself and wondering, will it ever end?

I watched an odd array of movies. Joseph: King of Dreams was a film I watched as a kid, I enjoyed rewatching that. I forgot DreamWorks produced that and Prince of Egypt. Somehow I thought watching Christian films would be a good idea afterwards, but halfway into God is For Real, and I curled back in distaste at some of the lines. Even for a Christian as myself. Blegh.

Themes of forgiveness, and the choice by free will have been circling my mind all day. What does God want me to do? Resounds like the cheesy WWJD bracelets, but I think about Him seriously. I want to be humble, kind, loving, and come from that place of love. It’s not easy.

I’m sick in the heart, mind, body, and soul. I clearly need Him, but I don’t know how to let go. So help me God, in my next transition.


Artistic Influences & Inspirations of the Day

On a separate side note, I came across a couple cool new Christian songs. Yes, they are not exactly worship hymns, but Passion Week is when I discover underground songs like these particularly under the electronic genre. Love it!

Who Says? – Joshua Micah

More than Air – Local Sound

And finally, one that I’ve been listening to lately. The Veldt, by deadmau5 ft. Chris James. I only recently stumbled across this one, and came to learn of its inspirational reference and Chris James’ instant hit. Reminded me of Chris Tomlin’s rise, through a cover of David Crowder’s song. This one calms me, and is probably my favorite of deadmau5, given that his most popular one Strobe wasn’t one that I really connected with, if I had to be blunt.

The films that I’ve watched today gave birth to so many artistic inspirations. The Bible Project’s Ecclesiastes’ caricature, Joseph: King of Dreams’ artistic renditions, and even the cinematography of Pan’s Labyrinth. I learned, loved, and resonated lots today!

Time Capsule: Memories of Stained Glass

4AM has me writing from a Time Capsule, from me to you. Enjoy.

Growing up, my circle of friends were mostly Indians. I had a best friend from the 3rd grade to the 6th, and when I had my fall out with her, I joined my circle of Indians. They were warm, smart, and everything I aspired to be, and there were many of them. It was an easy decision. Give up one toy, and get 10. When my own mother pushed me to make that decision, I felt a little less bad about it.

But it wasn’t necessarily a wrong decision either. I grew up with wonderful people. Sure, maybe Taniya played a cruel prank on me, when she got our P.E. gang to all give me the silent treatment for half a year. I was so distraught, and Munirah would be the “spy”, talking with me when they weren’t around and I had felt so torn when she’d run back alongside them. Then at the end of the year, they would say that it was all just a prank. It was such torment that I instantly forgave them all, and moved on.

But that was close to around the time I told them what was going on in my life. Asians can be cruel and heartless, you know. They must have judged me silently, and wanted to have nothing to do with me until it was the end of the year, and heartrendingly, understandably so. Shortly after, Taniya never associated with me again as she went into sports, but I still hung out with Sabrina. Munirah left to a prestigious special school that would allow her to graduate faster than the average student. I started becoming closer with my other group of friends; Rachana, Nishi, and soon I’d meet Alekhya and Harshini, both whom lived at the same apartment complex as I did.

They kinda saved me. I think I had thrown away my warmth in friendships when I threw away Ilse. I knew I would never match them intellectually, no matter how hard I’d try, or want to try. Beyond that, I was slipping from family home life. No more dad, and soon to be a half absent mom, I slept and slept. But it was Harshini and Alekhya who would call me every morning to make sure I wouldn’t be any more late than I already was, receiving a truancy notice, and it was Alekhya’s mom who noticed I wasn’t eating anything for breakfast, and so she’d make me a crispy toast with Nutella every morning. It was my friends who accompanied me, validated me, and laughed with me, so naturally and seamlessly that I was not nearly as thankful as I am today for them.

Perhaps they too knew what had happened. Perhaps God was giving me something in exchange for my nothing. I wondered if word had spread, but instead of them maliciously gossiping, they became the better people in my life to better me too. I love them from the bottom of my heart, as they were the ones who taught me by example to love and cherish others. They taught me friendship, even though during those days the world the was gray to me. I wouldn’t have cared if they even left me behind, as it was already something I was used to for half a year.

Why did they want to be my friends so badly? I remember thinking that. I was selfish and cold. I just didn’t understand why they treated me so well. And sadly, as the division of AP and IB separated us, I no longer got to hang out with them anymore. But they still reside in my heart with warmth. Even to this day, I still get a yearly birthday e-card from Rachana, and Nishi always greets me with a radiant smile. They still text me, check up on me, every once in a while, even if it’s not all the time. And that works, I’m the kind of person who hates constant interaction for some reason. I need alone time, as that’s what I’ve been used to and need for recharging, but I can also be afraid of the lonely space. High school was 10 times less lonelier with my Indian friends.

So when Ilse sent me that text, I knew it was the most beautiful ending to our friendship. We made up in our senior year of high school, when my government and art classes coincided with hers. Our fall out lasted about 5 years, from a very close best friends sorta relationship, to a complete and utter block. Yet, I had already forgiven her deep down in my heart since about the time I entered high school. I can never hold grudges for long, but I was too stubborn to be the first one to break. I didn’t want to lose face, not after being treated as if I had none in the first place. In a sense, that silent treatment was traumatizing. And so, in order to not get hurt in the first place, I stopped allowing myself to.

Ilse was the first one to talk to me, back when iPads were becoming a regular commodity at your typical rich white high school. I was eager to make up, and soon we were talking again. But we didn’t go back to best friends, there was no time for that. Instead, we sat side by side at a bench, talking and laughing like normal friends, enjoying the “now” of each other, before we went our separate ways. I would have wanted to go back, but part of me held myself back knowing that maybe this was for the better. I didn’t deserve redemption, but forgiveness, and so she forgave me; her first words, were “I forgive you.” And I forgave her back. We didn’t argue over who was wrong first, we mutually met each other halfway, and that was a beautiful ending to our friendship.

So when I look back, did I have a dramatic school life? Hardly. I’ve heard worse around me, especially within my Indian circle past the 9th grade in their IB program, but I’ve had my ups and downs. It was mostly around home life and family, and that’s partly how I got so addicted to DDO in the first place. But I sometimes have moments, such as tonight, or as I’m on the way back home from school, when I think about how much my friends have done for me, and supported me, past all of this, and treated me kindly. Why is it in my paranoid nature to always assume people are worse than they actually are? It’s not like I’ve met someone worse, other than seeing the ugly sides of my family. And yet, I am touched by the warmth they extend to me.

I love them. Thank you Ilse for teaching me humility and forgiveness, I would have never thought that I could ever cross that bridge with you. Thank you Alekhya, for the day you confronted me about how cold I seemed with you, that I wasn’t treating you with the same warmth as Harshini. And Harshini, thank you for the many laughs, you were like an older sister to me that didn’t have to grow up too fast. Munirah, thank you for being there for me, walking alongside me when no one else would. Nishi for confiding in me about your troubles, for allowing me to find a clear head to trust in your words and to become impartial. For opening up your insecurities that matched mine. No matter how cold, distant, and gray I felt and radiated, you all have made my life just a little brighter.

My beautiful world of gray is at least adorned with shards of stained glass.