Silence penetrates beneath bright lights,

and something creaks beneath my sight.

Is it the floor? I can’t be too sure anymore.

Left or right, my knees don’t move like before.


The hinges creak with bend and stretch,

old age has found its way inside.

As injury makes a final sketch

upon my youthful, easy stride.


Time passes fast, each stretch I do

just serves to help me follow through.

The ball sits, watching, near the wall,

in pondering thought of if I’ll fall.


I make my way to feel the sphere,

its leather face and dusty suit.

And back I walk, heart full of fear,

Can I bend my knees to shoot?


The Blame Game.

As I sit on the Amtrak, listening to BreakBot, I find myself reflecting on the topic of bereavement.  After all, that’s the sole purpose of this solitary voyage back home.  I consider all that’s happened within the past month – the passing of a dear brother at my home church as well as his elderly mother, the Ferguson incident and the recent #icantbreathe fiasco, the now seemingly forgotten presence of ISIS and the events that have transpired in relation to the organization.  I began realizing that we as a generation and indeed as a race have forgotten how to grieve.  We should grieve the passing of loved ones, we should grieve the state of our humanity when the nation is polarized by tragedy, we should grieve the plight of our fellow human beings across the world.

While we do have some semblance of grief when we go through personal loss, the actuality is that the dead are always forgotten – rare are the souls who have the capacity to bear the burden of a living memory until they meet their own demise.  The memory of the living serves not for the sake of honoring the deceased, but the proliferation of one’s own experiences as fuel for an individual stance on present circumstances.  Multiple agendas begin to undermine the tragedies we are presented with, as sorrow turns to bitter fury.  Instead of reflecting upon the lives lived by those taken from us, we begin to construct angles from which to view the situation with the intent of assigning fault, and we become more involved with our perception of setting the record straight rather than using the time we have to properly entomb the past dearly in our hearts.

This is not to say that this post itself has no agenda because to do so would be entirely hypocritical.  However, it is a transparent plea for our modern generation to stop resorting to anger instead of understanding.  People rage at God, bicker with society, and renounce the pillars on which they’ve built their lives – and to what end?  We offend each other with the positions that we take, and in times where solidarity is the first stepping stone to recovery, we stomp off the path onto the clearer, more passionate route.  People who were of one mind find themselves at odds over a situation that should not be divisive, but rather decisive; there needs to be a change. But, being as fickle as we are, we are apprehensive of letting hesitation and pondering cool the fire that burns within us, and so we look for the quick fixes.  We swiftly blame the authorities, scorn the party that is “clearly” at fault, and crucify the most vulnerable target.  We don’t bother to examine ourselves as a society and see that these problems began with ourselves.  When we teach our youth to respond with vitriol and animosity, we damage any prospect of improving the society we perceive to be so riddled with flaws.  When we encourage the open opposition of authority, what kind of message are we sending to those we will take care of this world after us?  Is what we want a world filled with people seeking recompense and retribution instead of a human race willing to have its heart broken, truly broken, so that from that heartache we may advance?

To remember the dead is now a mere societal obligation.  It seems like we pursue the next crime scene in more earnest than we choose to remember and understand the losses we’ve endured.  The fact of the matter is, we have forgotten how to mourn. We hurt our brothers and our sisters, and yet we dare not say that we were at fault because what we continue failing to see is that the solution lies not with us.  We need to admit our fallen state, and look ahead to our shared future inheritance.  If a nation chooses unity for its youth instead of the pretense of justice, it will provide for the foundation of our true mutual understanding of one another as humans – not as colors, cultures, or creeds – and it is the greatest good we can render unto the preservation of this world when it comes time for our children to mourn us.  The hope is that in their time, their mourning of us might not beget more mourning, but silent consideration and appreciation for the lessons we’ve left behind.


World 1.

Anywhere the eye glanced, unyielding trees stood sentinel, unspeaking but all-seeing.  Only one clearing existed, and a small stack of firewood was centered amidst the open space, prepared to burn at a moment.  Around the acres of forest, an entire range of mountains, known as the Shifting Mountains, engulfed the malleable land, the stone guardians to the secluded land of Gyr.  The only opening to Gyr was frozen once a year, a large river that cut a small opening in the rocky impasse.  If not by this river, which the indigenous people called the Silent Pathway, the only method to gain access to Gyr was by traversing the chaotic terrain.  Legends say that the mountains are called the Shifting Mountains because those who have attempted to scale them have found themselves further off mark than they thought, closer to their start than conceivable, and a long way from making any kind of progress.  The few who made it over the mountains and down into the land learned from the natives that the easiest course of action was to wait a season for the Silent Pathway to bubble with vigor before proceeding. As for the winged creatures, however, passage was no easier – the howling winds atop the peaks denied any course of nature, blowing in a manner that would most inconvenience the sojourner.  These winds they called the Calm Harm – so named because of how silent but forceful the winds were, like an invisible hand of discipline.

Within the mountains, one found an abundance of arboreal greenery.  If trees were not chief, then the vines that outgrew the patience of boulders reigned.  Although the rocky formation encircling the forest within was breathtakingly massive, the amount of overgrowth utterly overwhelmed all of Gyr’s visitors. Each tree, though all of one species, had different lines in its bark.  Some trees had holes to house the wandering critters that moved about during the day, while others remained unscathed for years, accumulating a thick natural armor.  Within the boughs of the trees lay many a nest, happily filled with eggs or meticulously prepared to uphold the weight of the future.  The gloom of a winter sky loomed near, and escaping birds flitted across the darkened sky as rain cascaded down from above, looking for these same boughs to find shelter under. The thick, tall trees began to glisten under the moonlight, illuminated with the sweat of the sky.  As the low rumble began to amble across the lands, the mountains sighed in the background underneath the thunderous roar.


We’ve Lost.

It vanishes with passing time,
How simple we were before.
Owned only by the young and brave,
Perhaps it’s now a bore.
Each mem’ry stored is now long gone -
Never to draw another tear.
Oppressed, each day, without reprieve,
Mirthless we greet the coming year,
Origins of youth’s delight.
Remember when our hope burned bright?
Each one has since denied the sight.


On Gratitude.

He was just the weird kid that sat with the group during lunches, always a little to the left of you – far enough where he wasn’t sitting next to you, but close enough for it to be obvious where he wanted to be.  No one really spoke to him, and people always whispered about how weird he was, how he never said a word, and they wondered why he even bothered sitting there.  You always wondered about him, but you never felt like he was doing anything out of place, so you left him alone.  You sometimes wondered about his expression, often catching him looking at you as well, but he would glance away just as your eyes fell upon his face.  It was difficult to discern what went on behind his long hair, but any time you did catch a glimpse into his soul, it seemed familiar. Somehow, you knew what you saw; you both walked through the same trials, but you chose instead to put on a different mask.  You smiled through the abuse, the tears, the screaming fear.  You deflected invitations to lounge at your place, choosing instead the guise of mock humility in hopes that flattery would divert attention away from your broken household.  You almost wanted to ask him how he was doing, but you feared that the resulting empathy would weaken your defense.

And so you went on living.

All through high school, he just sat there.  Every lunch period, he would wordlessly sidle over to your general left, letting the backpack strap slip off his right shoulder to the ground, and sit.  People stopped whispering about him eventually, sharing the belief that he wasn’t hurting anyone, so why bother?  Yet you knew how much he hurt himself – you saw a scar that peeked out from underneath his long sleeves, and you could only imagine how much it hurt to be so near to friendship but never partake.  You understood. And you never tried to change it.

And so you went on living.

You walked home everyday from school, opting to take the scenic route so that you could prolong the time spent away from home.  You’d see him get picked up every day, looking straight ahead wordlessly as his mother drove off.  You felt the silence in the car, and grimaced.  Even if it was a forty minute walk, it was definitely preferable to the suffocation of that disapproving, insatiable silence.  You exhaled as you found yourself at your own doorstep, apprehensive of the conditions that lay behind the slightly dented door.  It stuck if you didn’t push down on it as it was opening, but it wasn’t too bad.  Sometimes you’d be home alone, and you could actually do your homework in quiet.  You’d make yourself a sandwich, and fiddle with your guitar, playing things mindlessly until you heard footsteps at the door.  Putting away the guitar, you’d sigh and spread out on your bed, praying that the door to your room would stay closed.

There was no such luck today as you opened the door to the cries of your mother screaming at your father. Rushing forward to hold him back from killing her, you bit your lip as blow after blow rained on you.  You crumpled.  As you fell on your knees, hunched over, you felt your spine give out from the beating.  With your eyes shut tight, all you could see was black and red, clenching your jaw so tight your teeth groaned under the pressure.  Your breath leaves you and you fall forward onto the musty carpet, unable to respond to fading calls of your name.

You’re dying.

As you come to, you realize immediately that you’d been taken to the emergency room.  You sigh grimly, wondering when your life came to the point when you worried first about the medical bills that couldn’t be paid before you worried about your own health.  You look over at the small table beside you, and you see a card with your name roughly scrawled on the cover.  Curious, you open it, and begin to read.

Dear John,

By this point, I’m fairly sure you still don’t know my name.  But that’s okay.  I’m happy to be known as the quiet kid who sits on your left hand side at lunch.  It always felt like we had a connection.  It must be some kind of inescapable fate that led me to writing this card.  I know you don’t know much about my life – I’m not even sure if you care, but I feel like I need to tell you this because maybe you do.  Here goes nothing.

Every day at school, I walk around and try to keep a low profile. I stay quiet, and I try not to do anything weird, other than stay really quiet.  At lunch, I go over to where you and the other people sit.  If you’ve ever wondered why I’ve been drawn to your group, it’s mainly because of you.  There was a moment, I think it was sophomore year, when you put your mask down, and I recognized myself in your eyes.  I was walking in the hall, and caught sight of you opening the door to the bathroom.  But what I saw wasn’t typical you.  Your eyes gave it away; I saw the hurt you kept inside.  I didn’t know what to do.  At first, I just hung out with your group because you were the only one who would let me sit there and not ask questions or tell me to leave.  I think your friends caught on, and so I sat there with you guys all through high school.  Something about watching how you talked to your friends and how you paid close attention to what they said was really admirable.  It’s like you held onto every word they said as if it was the last thing you’d hear them say.  You rarely talked much about yourself, and I wondered why your friends never noticed that you would always dance around their questions about you – especially the questions about your home and your family.  I wanted to talk to you, to have you listen to what I had to say, but I couldn’t even hold eye contact with you longer than an instant.  And so I just watched.

I never would have guessed that you’d be going through something like this.  Even though my parents are divorced, they’ve never laid a hand on me physically.  It’s the emotional abuse that did me in.  Feelings of worthlessness, abandonment, the desire to just be accepted for who I am and not what I do, I’ve thought it all.  Eventually, I started cutting, and the peace that filled me in those moments was the only thing I looked forward to at home.  My mom stopped talking to me since my dad left us, and she either works or sleeps.  She never knew about my hobby.  My dad, well, who knows where he is?  I try not to think about him because I don’t want to run the risk of becoming anything like him.  One day, my mom overslept, and so I had to walk home.  It’s about a thirty minute walk, and along the way, I stopped by the ER.  I don’t even know why.  I stayed to see patients being rushed in, usually unconscious, and as I went in more and more after school, the staff grew to recognize me.  They would let me in the back sometimes to see the people being taken care of, and I wondered what it’d be like if I was the one laying in the bed.  Would anyone come see me?  So, I began staying longer and longer, hoping for people to wake up so that I could hear their story.  These people became my daily friends.

Still, I cut.  Some days, I could go without it, but some days, I would spend as long as I could in the bathroom, watching my anxieties flow away in a crimson calm.  Today, I avoided cutting, and went to the ER instead.  I met Henry, who was paralyzed from the neck down, and Mary, who suffered third degree burns all along the left side of her body.  And then, I met you.  At first, I couldn’t even recognize you because you were swollen.  Your mom was crying about how your dad beat you, but once she saw that you were being taken care of, she left.  The nurses said that you needed a blood transfusion, and went to look for your mom, but she was nowhere to be found.  I wondered out loud if  I was a match, and the doctor searched for your records.  We’re both O-negative.  They set me up and drew blood, and the blood transfusion was under way.  Guess it was a good thing I didn’t cut today, huh? 

Anyhow, they drew enough blood and sent me on my way.  I stayed in the lobby to write this card, hopefully my story didn’t annoy you too much.  I just wanted to say thank you for not pushing me away, and just letting me be who I am comfortable with being.  My mom was often silent at home, and it killed me; it seemed like she never forgave me for my dad abandoning us.  But when you were quiet, I understood it as an invitation to do as I pleased, and I’ll never forget that.  Hope you get better soon.


Stunned, you put the card down.  You never realized that this was how he felt, and you began to regret not asking him how he was.  It might have cracked your defenses, but you now understood that you needed one another more than you expected to help each other get through the circumstances you were both in.  You lay in bed with your left hand still holding the card by your side, and you felt like reaching for the remote.  As you turned on the television, the first thing that was on was a news report about a vehicular homicide.  You tried your best to sit up, but froze as you heard the identification of the victim.  It was Joshua.  Apparently, he felt faint as he walked up the hill from the emergency room, and fell into the street, where a car, unable to see past the crest of the hill, unknowingly ran over his limp body, killing him.  You broke down.  You tried your best to yell, but your body denied you the capacity to.  You covered your face with your hands, clutching desperately at your hair, not understanding why this happened.  Each breath you drew brought you more pain as anguish racked your body.  You cried quietly until the tears no longer frequented your face.  When the last staggered breaths were drawn, you realized that Joshua, this complete stranger to you, gave his life that you might live.  With that knowledge, you fought to find closure through it all.  You found disbelief, you found anger, you found humiliation, and you found guilt.  But finally, after everything, you found gratefulness.

And so you went on living.


Hey, There’s a Verse on That Bottle.

So, tonight, my fellowship, AACF (Asian American Christian Fellowship), had a Halloween outreach event at around 10PM in front of Jesus Burgers, a nearby locale that serves the people of IV by cooking burgers for them on Friday evenings. What the event entailed was grouping up and passing out water bottles to people ambling the streets of IV, looking for parties or walking off the alcohol they’ve consumed, and the general sense of the night was to show love to the citizens of IV by serving them and attempting to share the Gospel with them.  Going off my experience last year with the event, I only ended up passing out water bottles without saying a word, and making someone cry; I wasn’t exactly thrilled with the idea of a repeat performance.

This year, if I’m honest, I only went in support of and to stand in solidarity with the leaders of inreach/outreach ministry.  My heart in the matter was just to make sure to set an example for other AACFers in giving God’s work a chance no matter the environment.  I didn’t really expect to talk to anyone at all, and I was fairly cynical about the whole situation producing any productive conversations because I was convinced that these people roaming the streets were the rocky places spoken of in Mark 4:5.  However, God was faithful to His work and humbled me in my assumption that the night would be another night of unfortunate silence, producing three memorable instances (among many) where I was able to really launch into a quality conversation with a complete stranger.

The night started off rather poorly, as a brother of mine felt understandably uneasy with the theology of some of the people we were working alongside, and it set a daunting tone for the rest of the evening.  I told the brother to pray over it and follow God’s peace, then set to pass out water bottles quietly. At first, the water bottles were handed out without any allusion or mention of the Gospel, but I guess Jeremiah 20:9 really spoke to and through me tonight, and the mentioning of Christ was indeed like a fire shut up in my bones that I could not hold in.  Soon, God gave me the idea to just tell people to even read the verse on the bottle, using it as an opener to anyone who might be interested in getting deeper in what I had to share with them.  This little tactic led to three conversations, each entirely unique and completely encouraging.

The first conversation was with a guy who came up to me, asking for water.  As I gave it to him, I told him to try and check out the verse that was on the bottle, and he actually stopped at the corner of Jesus Burgers with me, and read it.  Curious, I asked him what verse he read, and he told me it was John 16:33 (I have said these things to you, that in me you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world.). I asked him if he knew what it meant, and he shook his head, and then I proceeded to tell him about a God who loves us and gave His Son to die for us that we might overcome the chaos in this world through the knowledge of him, which brings peace to our hearts.  He seemed interested in what I had to say, and thanked me for the water before proceeding to the rest of his evening.

The second conversation was with another guy I handed water to.  This person seemed considerably more intoxicated than the first guy, but not obnoxiously so.  I told him to read the verse, and he glanced at it, then began to talk about the Bible. I asked him if he was brought up in the church, and he told me that he was brought up Catholic, but converted to Christianity on the basis that Catholicism had too many ceremonies and rituals whereas Christianity allowed for the freedom to love God in any way.  He began sharing a bit of his life story, saying he’d been struggling with his faith, having a father who left him when he was eleven years old, and realizing that that departure was God providing him with strength, and he wanted to use that strength to help people who were weaker than him be as strong as he was.  He talked about how he believed God gave us strength so we could help others, and spread positivity around the world.  Although I might have judged him a little based on how liberally he was speaking, I did pray that God would straighten his path and bring back that brother to Himself.

The final memorable conversation that I had was with Patrick from Germany, the only name I managed to get all evening. He was wearing a demon jester costume, and stopped by for rehydration.  I asked him as well to read the verse, and he opened by asking me about how I felt about the Pope changing the Church’s stance on evolution.  I told him my opinion, which does potentially clash with creationist views; I explained that I believed the two need not necessarily be mutually exclusive, but to use one to explain the other would be difficult because they are fundamentally on two different planes of thought and experience.  He agreed with what I had to say, and told me that he was Christian as well, but admitted that he wasn’t the most devout Christian.  He told me that hearing about this new Pope gave him some hope and some pride in being a Christian because the Pope seems to be a legitimately good person, and I agreed, the Pope was a very good Pope.  I then asked him where he was from and discovered he was from Germany, and we talked soccer for a bit before he clutched my shoulder gently and said that he was glad to have met me, and then we exchanged names.  I bid him a good evening, and he and his friend walked away.  I would later see them, and they cheerily greeted me.

All told, tonight’s Halloween outreach was definitely humbling and eye-opening. It humbled me because I thought I knew what God had planned for the evening, and I guess I lost hope in the salvation of IV during the Halloween season; it was eye-opening because it showed me how I was unknowingly limiting God’s power to work through me by using me as a vessel to try and speak truth into the lives of total strangers.  I’m definitely grateful that He guided me to go out to the water bottle outreach this year, and I just praise Him for the aforementioned conversations; without God’s help, I would have been rendered just as mute as the previous year, but by His grace, I was able to speak of Him to at least two or three people in Isla Vista.  If it seems like I’m boasting, I hope it seems like a boast in Christ because that is what I intended to convey.  God brought me low expectations only to surpass them greatly and prove that Christ’s love cannot be shackled by human apprehension.  Again, like it is written in Jeremiah 20:9, holding it in will wear you out, and eventually you can’t help but speak in His name.  May this spirit of sharing the Gospel continue more and more through the year within AACF.  Praise Him.


Patient as a Rock.

So I fell off the rock wall again today.  Thank God, I wasn’t injured by it, but I didn’t leave unscathed.  This wasn’t the white V1 that I had been struggling with for weeks, and eventually tried to complete with a daring leap of faith.  This was the pink V1 route that I had consistently been sending.  Something was not right about my climbing methodology.

In reality, it might not even be the methodology that was flawed; it was the philosophy.  Simply put, I got cocky. Having come a few centimeters within sending the white V1, I guess somewhere in my subconscious, I thought I was good to go on all the other routes; I forgot how terrifying that few centimeters became as I hurtled down towards the crash pad.  As I jumped to reach the top, the exultation of finally solving the problem began crumbling as I realized that I was going down much faster than I had anticipated.  I looked down and saw my landing space dwindle to the very corner of the crash pad.  As I landed, my thighs smashed together and ended the lives of untold numbers of progeny. I collapsed onto the crash pad and lay sideways, fetal position, for a good three minutes, feeling the pain travel up to the stomach.  This second fall was nowhere as bad, but it told of worse things to come; I had become too arrogant, no longer humble before the rock, and I was no longer focused in my moves.  While daring is always a welcome characteristic in any artist, the cost of daring can prove to be a daunting price to pay.  However, this daring wasn’t what propelled me to half-heartedly reach for the top hold in the pink route – that daring was displayed on the white route.  This pink-route plunge was laziness; this was complacency.  Complacency kills.

And so, I was handed a blood-pressure spike as a warning. My time will come if I just approach climbing with the same diligence and poise as when I first started.  I just need to be patient as the rock is patient.