¡@ 001 Drummer
To reach a hill-top quick seems to be a life motto of many, who aspire to be successful at young age. Amid the bustling crossroads in Central, one easily moves on involuntarily as the majority are in desperate haste to move on and on. Yesterday, moew was telling me yesterday the stress (be it illusionary or not) from people who believe she needs to hurry her thesis. Being a little water-drop in the waves of the sea, one does not seem have the sense of pace one desires.
Last night, before bed, a little article came under my eyelids. Now, I am quoting to share with you, in particular with meow.
"Why should we be in such desperate haste to succeed and in such desperate enterprises? If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music which he hears, however measured or far away." -- by Henry David Thoreau.
Keeping up with the Jones is so damn tiring. Perhaps everyone of us does have a drummer and all we need to do is to follow the rhythms that fit our heart most. Waltz comfortably according to the bits of yours.
Churches often seem to be tornadoes to me. They suck you in and keeps you spiraling up, if you would let yourself in totally.
Last night, I dinned with some of the classmates at the evening courses. As usual, the chatty duck asked a stream of questions.
Being someone who has only believed in Christ for half a year, I told the rest of classmates (most of them having been Christian for decades) that church is really a weird entity.
Most of them laughed, and some smiled.
I sat there asking and hearing a lot of different things about different churches. And my feeling is that churches are like tornadoes, once you got suck in, you involuntarily spin around it. Sometimes you even lose sense of why you are spinning around there.
Skeptical as I have always been, I do question a lot -- what matters in church life indeed?
I don't know if my brothers and sisters at church notice, I timidly step in slightly with my toes lest the tornado will drift me in before I have figured out why I have to be there.
What matters really?
¡@ 003 ¹¦â©Ê¤]When all distractions are moved--no friends, no entertainment, no books, no plan, no appointments, no a particular thing that must be done--a person will expose to the very basic cravings--food and sex. I read that trappists who begin monastery life often claim that when they have less to do, the cravings become stronger.
¹¦â©Ê¤]--seems quite universally applicable.
¡@ 004 EasterEaster holidays welcome me with a lot of work to do.
Oh man, hope the students won't give me too much hard times.
¡@
005 PotterIt's a poem I read this morning.
I watched the wheel turn.
Then the clay was applied
For the clay took shape
He added some here
For the image before me
I wept for the Potter
The pedal pumped steadily.
The eyes so intent,
the hand so ready.
as the wheel span and span.
And then it happened
in the Potters dear hands.
as it went round and round
and the Potters hands
they went up and down.
and there took away
and when He was done
what could I say.
was who I should be.
for the dirt on His hands.
If only I would listen
and begin again.
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·Å¥«¸Ö¤HJohn Donlan»¡, "How seldom we want to be completely here."
To be completely here, not there, not anywhere, is a lesson to learn.
"Papa and mama, when are we leaving!?" her little agitated sweet voice pierced through the ceiling of the dining room. "Darling, soon, just wait until mama has finished packing, " her mother answered from the bedroom upstairs where she was feeding the little brother of Vanessa.
"Sweetie, let's have breakfast first," her dad smiled, kissing the rosy cheek of the little girl. "It's too early, the zoo is not open yet."
It's just another Saturday.
We tend to think that the week ends on Sunday and begins on Monday. No. The week begins on Sunday indeed. The seventh day of the week, the day to rest, is supposed to be Saturday. Saturday, the resting of the week is the restless day for the angel.
It's not just another Saturday to the little 3-year-old with a long ponytail caressing gently the back of her pinkish dress. It's a day to the zoo, a place where casts an attraction beyond our understanding to little souls who grow unnaturally close to animals.
The Sunday was shining unceasingly-- sweats streaming down the back of the mother who's pushing the pram for the little brother. The daddy and the little girl watched together while looking at the map of the zoo.
"I want to go to see this and that and this and that and this and that," she cheerfully shouted while using her chubby index finger pointing to every little location in which a sign of animal was shown--virtually all over the zoo.
"Sure," he replied, smiling broadly.
CHIMPANZEE
"Look Daddy," Vanessa pointed towards the chimpanzees. The girl requested to have herself put on the shoulders of her daddy, so that she could have a better view of the chimps.
The chimps looked at the daddy with the little girl on his shoulders beyond the cage.
"Look, look at that dude, " Chimp One told Chimp Two. "Oh, the girl is pretty, isn't she?" Chimp Two replied. "Yes, the dude is a lucky guy." -To Be Continued-
It's not quite April, but I am already pretty drained. I just want to get out of the rat race.
Father,
God knows how tiring it's to struggle with oneself. Sometimes I sit down and try to find out why I have to try so hard, only to no avail.
They said being a Christian means sending the burdens to You because your york is light. Silly I am, taking more on my shoulders. Things relevant or irrelevant. Could you please take some out of my little backpack? My friends often laugh at me because I carry a backpack with lots. I want to hand it to you, you know.
For some days I sat quietly at the balcony, not knowing what more to pray for.
You don't mind reading, I hope.
My spoken words are few and dull; yet you kindly offer me a brilliant hand to muster words together.
Dad, it's a nice dinner with my sister tonight. She's surprised upon hearing that I choose to turn down the offers from graduate school. Confident, she said: If you can go for a year, just go for a year.
Dad, I thank you for sending me a supportive sister like such.
Last night, I could hardly sleep, only to use books to keep myself in focus. Five hours straight, I finished Rich Dad Poor Dad, A Brief History of Time (a reader's companion) together with the last few chapters of the book of Job.
No matter how I dislike the idea of the Robert, I managed to finish Rich Dad Poor Dad. The guy really knows how to sell.
Hawking, having discovered that he's got ALS disease in his final years at Cambridge graduate school, which would give him an estimation of a life duration of two and a half years, said it was his marriage to his wife, that kept him moving on.
Viktor Frankl has reiterated many times, one needs a mission to substain oneself. With a clear mission in life, whatever obstacles he can confront and endure.
I sat quietly and asked myself softly--what the heck do I want from it? A train of ideas arrived and sirened: new experience? a qualification? an unfinished dream? a calling? a desire to taste the US life? an examination or test to see if counseling fits? a challenge to myself? a proof of something or some sort.
I searched, like little kids searching nice seashells on a beach. I picked one up, put it in my little bucket; picked another, put inside as well; picked three; picked four; and picked a bucketful.
Seashells.
Am I being too demanding?
Can one just go because one just wants to go?
The process of growing up comes unexpectedly.
All transformation takes some kind of pain and adjustment.
The first growing up process came with the first menstrual pain. I was only 12. No one, neither teachers nor parents nor classmates, has warned me. Frightened, I was hiding myself in the washroom. Only much later did my sister arrive and explain things clearly to me.
Does growing always come as such, so unexpectedly?
Or, are they deep-ridden fears that one has not faced bravely in the past? They come and go.
For many times, whenever I faced a decision, my guts and emotions overshadow a logical mind. I bumped into a place to another; a person to another. Some I don't regret; some I still don't feel very easy.
I spend a few days looking at the little Dora inside me, wondering what this little Dora of the past is doing to me now. Why should I live for the past, I wonder? When will I feel totally incongruent with myself?
I look at Dora, the one struggling endlessly to prove to someone for something. I look at her and smile at this little girl.
Why am I climbing? To prove to others that I am not what they think?
Where is the sense of peace and serenity? In exile, somewhere?
Dora lives a few inches away from Dora. A few miles?
I told him last night, "You know, all I am learning is to be being in where I am being. Just to be where I am wherever I am instead of living for somewhere else.
He gently replied,"Dora, you are getting old."
Hahaha, yes.
Accept myself as myself. It's not because of circumstances that are putting me into a pigeonholes. It's a true acceptance of who I am that I am trying to search for.
Wanted, a 25-year-old Chinese girl, Dora, Last seen somewhere in the Universe. Anyone who knows where she is, please contact Dora.
The greatest plight in life is to have one soul living away from oneself.
I will be back, you know. The girl with confidence is still there. She's not giving up or in. She's simply learning to grow.
Cacoon is a movie isn't it?
The most scary part of living is when one realizes one's mistake, and one has the mistake stabbing at the heart over and over again.
To learn to stop is not easy, especially to someone so silly.
Father, do you know what's in my heart?
I impatiently skimmed through the advice Job's three friends have given them. They are draining Job as well as me.
You said to Job no one would have the ability to change your plan.
I feel a little relieved.
Sometimes I wish so hard to see ahead of time, all I see is emptiness.
At times I shout and wonder where you are. Where you are indeed?
It's the time of change. The time of change. April is the time of change. And I am growing out of the cacoon soon. The process is painful. But what needs to be done needs to done. Period.
¡@ 03.25.2002 ¯µ±K¤¤
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Before students started streaming in, I was sitting at the desk of 4B classroom, on which two assignment books were put.
Out of boredom, and in fact bossy curiosity, I flipped over one--a simple journal entry, you know, the kind we used to write to our language teachers once a week in secondary school.
The first few entries seemed quite general. The girl wrote about 911 attack, about student suicides, about things happening in those days. At the end of each entry, the teacher wrote some comments, like "Do you know that lots of people are losing job now?" "Do you know the terrorist attack was initiated by Muslim?" "Don't play too many games."
There's one entry as follows:
"6 March, 2002.
I felt so bored. Nothing special has happened, except that we have changed seats. Now I cannot sit with my friends.
I went to a grocery store to buy food."
The teacher commented as follows:
"No mindset at all. What kind of journal writing is it?"
Instantly, I think teachers as such should be locked up in an institute honestly. They would be too harmful to students and society.
¡@ 002 An Islamic IndianChatting cautiously online with an Islamic Indian, I told him I almost wanted to free from hangs-up, and stop fighting for my plan.
He said anxiously, "no no Dora, pray to God and He would help."
At an instant, I felt a little warm and a little strange.
Warm is because I know God's my shelter, always. He reminds me that I need to pray.
Strange because I don't know if he's suggesting me to pray to my God, or his God; or I even wonder if my God's so different from his.
I know, as a Christian, I should not ask such questions.
Oh Bother, said the Pooh.
I know my Faith. Yet, sometimes I question if the God in the OT, the one which the Jews believed is the same as the one I believe.
Are they believing in the same God I believe, despite they don't believe in Christ?
Even more strange is that the Jews, the Christian and the Muslim all read the OT. Do we all perceive the God in OT among us differently?
God, you are probably angry at me from above questions that I should not dare to say.
I know I know. Christ ma.
John 14:6: Jesus answered, "I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.
¡@ 003 TrustWhat's the difference between truthful trust and blind trust? So hard to tell, so easy to fake. The line is hard to draw. Or I am fooling myself sometimes
¡@ 004 Love is disarmamentLove is a total disarmament--leaving your weapons and exposing your vulnerability to others.
A harsh word, a selfish request, a past bad memory--could be the weapons we use to hurt others.
Exposing our utmost vulnerable self is even more difficult than not hurting others. But real love calls upon us to leave our weapons and meet others with our nakedness.
I wish one day I can disarm and sleep sweetly.
¡@ 005 My Little Coin
Father,
I have one coin in hand, holding tight like a mad woman.
Once, twice, thrice, and thousand times, I said I would give it to you.
But not for a milli-second would I open my palm.
The coin almost cuts into my fresh; I don't know why I am still grabbing it like mad.
You stand there, with so many gifts in hand, waiting for me to let go of the little coin. I stubbornly kept my hands close refusing your kind offer.
You stand there still patiently, smiling at this stubborn child.
Sometimes I thought, why didn't you ask a few robust guys to get me, and force open my hands.
You give me freedom, even it pains you at times to see your child being hurt. You wish I acquire transformation from the core of my heart. You hope that I will open the hand gently and voluntarily.
For some time, I went numb in my prayers.
I sat and sat. I tried to say things, but I knew they weren't things from heart.
I choose to be silent wishing you'd hear me from inside.
For some time, I thought I put my trust on you. These days I found out my trust was so fake. I lie to myself, and to You.
One day, I would come to you. With my heart totally torn by struggles, with my ankle kneeling to the floor, with tears streaming down my cheeks, that one day, I would come to you and open my hand.
Father, your child knows the direction, yet she keeps bumping into the wall unceasingly.
Sometimes I am mute, just because I have too much to say. Love you Lord. Amen.
¡@ 006 StrangerA stranger who has been through my hp words and came to chat with me.
He asked me for photo. I said no photo. He said you must be pretty. I said I am just ordinary.
"Pretty not only tell from outside," he said.
I could be very rotten inside, you know? Hahaha.
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¡@ 03.21.02 ¡@ Life is not a problem to be solved, but a mystery to enter. ¡@ 001
The balcony of my room is facing Tolo highway, with KCR and vehicles meandering it every minute.
This morning at six, I tried to sit there and closed my eyes, voiding myself of words and visual experiences. Just concentrated on listening.
And I found--amid the noisy highway, I could hear the morning birds, the early breeze, the budding morning; I could also sense the early morning sun beams caressing gently on my face as well as the light penetrating my closed eyes; I could smell the ocean, the trees, and the fresh air.
When we concentrate and be silent, we can get through a lot of things.
No one can force anyone. We aren't supposed to do that anyway. But simulations, I think, are good to people.
I don't know Darwinism indeed, honestly. Yet, if you think that Genesis is impossible, just try to explain why it cannot be true?
Try to answer this question.
This question is more difficult to verify, than the validity of Darwinism.
People interested in Genesis or Evolution can take a look @ http://www.answersingenesis.org/intro.asp
Don't just read what I suggest, open your eyes and expose yourself to more information. Never cease your search. Don't mummify your brain too quick.
For some time, I question if I should talk too many spiritual things here in my hp lest I should scare away readers.
Later I thought--damn it! If I can't even speak out because I get hangs up from people's reaction, I may as well not to write.
Self-censorship is suffocating.
It's your freedom to come and read, as well as freedom to leave and look for other more appealing words. Being pretentious to please others is just not what the duck could stand.
This morning, my roommate said, "Dora, your hair grows real fast!" It's not the first time she said that. Given she sees me on a daily basis, I guess my hair does grow fast.
"Jiwai," I said, "I wash my hair everyday and I swim ma."
She went, "Ha, like flowers, your hair is like flowers, they grow fast with lots of water."
"One more thing," I continued, "You heard of the Chinese proverb--Ù]]§Uªø?" That's what I do to my hair--I bundle it into a pony tail, making it grow fast.
"Ha ha ha," she laughed.
I think I am very grateful to be given the chance to live in that dormitory. It gives me a great experience mingling with mainlanders and a lot of stimulating conversations.
Spiritual books always say being submissive to God's words is good.
Yet, sometimes I find it more enjoying to wrestle with Him. I know I will never win, but the wrestling makes me more willing to give in at final last.
Just like the way Jacob wrestled with the angel.
Mum knows me well. She knows as a little gal, her daughter wrestled with her on everything.
Sometimes, I will get quite burned out. Wrestling tires down people, sometimes.
Fox wrote: ¨ì©³¡A¸t¸g¬O¤@³¡¤å¾Ç§@«~¡AÅÞ¿è¤W¥Î²zª¾¥h¤ÀªR¨C¥y¨C¦r¡Aµ²ªG¬OªPµMªº¡C
I can't agree with it indeed. The writing style may be literary; yet, for me, it's not a literature, not a history, not a bed-time story, not a problem-solving menu.
We can regard it as whatever it's -- subjected that we mention it's our way of interpretation. For me, the Bible is just God's words. Nothing more, nothing less.
Our interpretations, no matter how strong we stick to the historic-grammatical approach to tear down the Bible and read them, are bound to be quite different.
That is always what makes The Book so interesting.
But it's true that I want to learn Latin, given I could squeeze out some time.
Madison Madison.
Without funding, I will not make it.
Damn it.
Give in the idea of holding things tight.
He is the boss, I would just listen to Him.
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There is a difference between Religion (©v±Ð) and Faith («H¥õ), I believe.
Most religions, as many people claim, are good religions as long as they make better people. But I think we cannot let go of "truth".
Religion is an entity we create, we human beings create.
Yet, Faith comes down to a very personal level--between the believer and the believed. It's not mud that clings on a plant; it's not a bunch of people that clings to a church on Sunday. Faith is just between you and Him.
03.19.02
The lunch topic this afternoon among the duck, the meow and the mouse was on raising kids. None of us indeed qualifies to comment.
Yet we were babbling--meow said that she'd rather take kids to Ocean Park instead of asking them to do homework; mouse said she'd give the kids lots of freedom.
Mothers (including my mum) always say to me: when you were a mum, you would take back your words and do otherwise, just like us.
Would I? I wonder.
I went to the library this morning, and got a few books on biblical stories, stories that I would like use to brain-wash my nephew when going home on Sunday. For my other P.4 student, I have got the children series of Shakespeare, and she'd have to play the three sisters in King Lear, and I'd of course be Lear (ha ha ha!).
I admire parents who genuinely care for their kids. Yet, they always end up killing the best possession of the little genius -- curiosity, initiatives, weird thoughts, gutsy mind, creative genes--long before they notice their mistakes.
It's easy to make a kid: it only takes a man and woman fight passionately in bed and an extra ten months for the woman to bear in the womb. Raising one is another matter.
The ten memos below are from Kangaroo, who always shared much with me about child-raising, despite I may never have one. If you're parents, or are to be one, or you happen to teach little kids or you simple love them, take a quick look:
1. DON'T SPOIL ME. I know quite well that I ought not to have all that I ask for. I'm only testing you.
I once told a partner. This list does not work for kid and it works for me too--don't spoil me, don't nag, don't correct me in front of others, and I need lots of understandings, and not to mention -- LOVE! (hehe, I am quite easily pleased, like little kids).
One day if such a gift were to be dropped down from Heaven, I would make sure that the little folk would love Him a lot more than I do.
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2. DON'T BE AFRAID TO BE FIRM WITH ME. I prefer it; it makes me fell more secure.
3. DON'T LET ME FORM BAD HABITS. I have to rely on you to detect them in the early stages.
4. DON'T CORRECT ME IN FRONT OF PEOPLE, IF YOU CAN HELP IT. I'll take much more notice if you talk quietly with me in private.
5. DON'T PROTECT ME FROM CONSEQUENCES. I need to learn the painful way, sometimes.
6. DON'T NAG. If you do, I shall have to protect myself by appearing deaf.
7. DON'T FORGET THAT I CANNOT EXPLAIN MYSELF AS WELL AS I SHOULD LIKE. This is why I am not always very accurate.
8. DON'T BE INCONSISTENT. That completely confuses me and makes me lose faith in you.
9. DON'T PUT ME OFF WHEN I ASK QUESTIONS. If you do, you will find that I stop asking and seek information elsewhere.
10. DON'T FORGET THAT I CAN'T THRIVE WITHOUT LOTS OF UNDERSTANDING, LOVE BUT I DON'T NEED TO TELL YOU, DO I ?
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001
I spent some time this morning in the balcony. I just looked at the trees, the ocean and a handful boats, against the misty mountains in the background.
¡@
I ate an orange. Unpalatably sweet, it is.
¡@
003
Susan said when she read the article about my mum in office over and over again; she almost cried. I don't expect that my writings would carry weight.
004
I don't why I am frigtened, I know my way around here.
005 Canadian Prime Minister Mackenzie King says, "If some countries have too much history, we have too much geography."
006 ¦w¦wÀRÀR§¤¦b®üÃä
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¡@ 001 Abyssal DepthI don't always admire doctors; yet, doctors who work with sincerity, I do admire, just like the way I admire a gardener to trim a tree faithfully and delicately.
Shiuto, I am not familiar with the medical profession; however, I do sense your real passion in the bustles of hospital. Keep it up.
We really don't need to be big at all; like what you say, by being a "little potato" who works in his/her arena with passion, things will turn out nice. A police does well as a police; a cook makes good dishes; a swimmer races with his strength--that's what we need in life: to find the field we aspire to be in, and do what's to be done.
Yazi is only a part-time teacher, who enjoy the process of teaching very much. Teaching is a career I began to ponder upon since Form One, under the influence of a geography teacher. When I first graduated, my former teacher, as well as a good friend, entrusted his school reputation and students to a newly-graduate duck with zero teaching experience.
Teaching is both a wench and an enjoyment. Pressure sets in oftentimes because I demand myself a lot when I come to face my students. My maternal hormones, perhaps. I easily come to love my students. However enjoyable the work seems to be oftentimes, I notice I refuse to suffocate in the stifled teaching arena in Hong Kong school. I am no crusader, and don't think I could break the system.
And I choose to teach in private setting or tutor in local schools as unofficial teachers. Things seem more free. The duck does not fly; but she can at least open her wings at times, instead of being forced into the pigeonholes, like piles of workbooks stuck there.
You mentioned about Rehab work you have to follow up sometimes as a doctor. Yes. Every profession entails more than one can imagine. I guess whatever field one's in, when one really believes in giving, s/he finds that the work involves such an abyssal depth that one can hardly reach. A cook not only knows how to make dishes, but also caters for all the artistic presentation, the cultural preferences of individual customers, the kind of wines go well with what dishes, the temperature of the plate being served...
That's why I admire people who give a heart to what they do, whatever it is.
Rehab counseling is a field I will, hopefully, be in in near future. Were you in the U.S. you might get little help from those chatterboxes who shoulder your rebah work for AIDS patients and other terminally ills, chatterboxes in the enclave of Rehab counseling--the vocation that I am to dive in.
Thanks for your warm words. I try, at best, to give true heart. Be pretentious is something I find disgusting.
¡@
¡@ 002 An Untold StoryBook title: An Untold Story.
Content: Once upon a time. Finished.
I was joking with him last night. Yes, the ever-lasting conversations again.
When I become famous like Kafka, I would have this book published. Only one line: Once upon a time. Finished.
As such, over ten Ph.D. candidates in Ivy-Leagues would do a thesis on this book... trying to dig out the symbolism of the line, the images, the empty pages...
I would be awarded a Nobel Literature Prize later on for this untold story is carrying a suppressed political outrage that to be articulated.
You may say, dream on, silly duck.
Hahaha, I will, of course.
What's idiot and what's genius is only a fine-line apart, a matter of -- ¤Ñ®É¦a§Q¤H©M
¡@
The Department Head called at 10:30p.m. sharp from Penn State.
The atmosphere was neither relaxing nor anxious. He raised couple of expected questions. I threw out a few similarly expected answers.
I was not impressive at all; yet not too bad. At least, they said they would let me into the program.
Only a few questions remain in my mind:
He: Do you know anyone in Penn State?
I: No.
This is not a question that worths much pondering. It, nonetheless, reiterates in heart because it resonates as--Dora, are you ready to meet people from scratch again? You know no one there? Leaving friends and family again, again, and this time again?
He: I will be in sabbatical next year; we will assign another advisor for you. Oh, you know what a sabbatical is, right?
I: Yes, I do.
Well, in heart, the real thought came out was... of course, I knew, sabbatical means you guys get paid for doing nothing. Oh man, thanks God that I did not let my subconscious verbal devil come out.
Strange to me, I don't feel strongly excited.
I recalled what Nouwen once said, "I know I have to jump the cliff, either swim or drown."
Swim or drown.
I hope my swimming skills will be enough. Honestly, the ocean is so vast and deep, I don't know how well I will maneuver.
¡@
Kangaroo said he's 110 percent confident in me.
Sometimes I feel recharged; sometimes scared by him, better say, his enthusiasm.
¡@
¡@ 005 He brushes his teethHe's a meter tall, almost fouryears old.
He takes a little stool, standing in front of the tub.
With his chubby short fingers, he holds the tooth brush with the right hand, and squeezes the strawberry-favored tooth paste with his left on the brush.
Alone in the washroom, he brushes his teeth. The 4-year-old does not know that his little auntie is looking at him with fascination.
He's very cute when he does not punches me with his fist.
¡@
¡@ 006 BooksI will work on a few books I have in mind. ¡@
¡@ ¡@ ¡@ 03.1.02 ¡@ Faith Afterall Is Faith
I have dropped by Ja's hp, and read some of the questions she raised on Faith.
To some, I seem, clearly, to be someone with strong Faith in Christ.
Yet I do have a lot of questions that I have struggled. am struggling and will struggle through. More than you may imagine. I, however, believe--if He's the answer, it's okay to question.
In years of study at both Anglican school and Catholic school, I refused to pray during morning assemblies. My class ministress asked me to but I would just not heed her. Why should I pray for something I did not believe in. Rebellious like most youngsters, I was.
Faith is Faith.
Even you say it's a little blind. Yet, it's in a way. If we want to see things too clearly and completely, all we see is mysteries. We will never know the whole picture because we are just human beings.
¡@
03.15.02 ¡@ §â¿ûµ^°eµ¹¤j¦è¬v
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This morning in train, I was wrapping up the final few articles of Nouwen's Here and Now. One line captured my eyes, "I feel a deep gratitude that my friend had entrusted his grief to me."
Fox, never feel sorry that you have taken my time because your entrusting your grief to me is too much of an honor. Things, afterall, are left to the person himself to solve I believe. Yet, I do have patience to my friend when you trust me enough to share their difficulties with me.
One step a time. One day at a time. Don't rush.
¡@
Last night I went home. This morning I have a backpack-load of mum's food--sweet and sour pork; fried vegetables; gigantic shrimps; minced pork with preserved vegetables; fatty eels cooked with turnips; and two mangoes, two oranges and one apple.
That's how parents love their children sometimes--making sure that they eat well, dress warm and sleep enough. Allowing mum to load tons of food in my bag is a way for me to accept her love.
Sometimes I do see people, grown-ups, can't quite be ready to leave their parents (by leaving, I mean emotionally, not necessarily physically; by leaving, I mean they can't quite forgo some hurts and pains they find rooted in their upbringing)
My former partner, as a grown-up, carved out life path that his parents want him to get in order to get their rewards and acceptance.
Some friends who are suffering disappointments in current life still believed that their predicaments come from their childhood negligence and disappoints.
Some cannot stand that their parents do not love them the way they would want to be loved.
Imperfect or limited as their love seems to be, parents, generally speaking, do love their kids.
I do believe. And one day when we become parents, and no matter how hard we try to avoid mistakes that we believed our parents have done, we will still be imperfect. When we take care of kids too well, they would find us as too controlling. When we give them too much freedom, they will blame us for lack of direction and guidance.
Only when we understand how imperfect our love is can we truly forgive some mistakes our parents have made. It's because they have not been loved perfectly by imperfect grandparents.
When we see the imperfect love of ours, we will begin to learn to be at peace with some mistakes our loved ones have done to us.
¡@
I don't like to use the word -- v.s. Last night, in the course of Christian Spirituality, I raised a question to Dr. Wan, asking about Henri Nouwen, who's a priest in the Catholic church because I don't think there's such a great discrepancy between what he believes in and what the Protestant church believes in.
Dr. Wan smiled a little and said, "Once I translated a book of Nouwen, and immediately all the Christian bookstores almost took away my own books from the bookshelf." Some people believe that he's almost like a treason to what he believes in.
"Yes, there's fundamental differences, like I don't believe in virgin Mary and the Rosary and his acceptance of homosexuality," Dr. Wan continued,"yet, when I went to Daybreak community (for disabled kids) and I saw how Father Nouwen cared for the kids, who're virtually like meatballs dripping to saliva which had seizures every few minutes, I could not disagree that he lived a Christian and spiritual life."
Among the active church leaders in Hong Kong, there's a time they argued if Mother Teresa was indeed a Christian.
Some conservation believers would say NO because they would not agree with many things Mother Teresa, as sister from Catholic church, would believe in her traditions.
Some more liberal thinkers would think that Teresa's act of love is a manifestation of her Christian life undoubtedly.
Lots of babbling.
Sometimes I really wonder why there's a big fuzz over that.
If the basic idea is about Christ, can we embrace each other?
Perhaps in reality, no.
Religion is a strange thing.
Everyone claims his/her self Christian. Yet our acts are so antagonistic sometimes.
I don't quite how to reach the fineline of truth. What's truth? Is there objective truth?
When we talk about truth, no matter what we babble, afterall everything melts down to one word--Faith.
I wonder what's God's idea up there.
¡@
Shiuto was quoting a part from Tuesday With Morrie. Ha, I feel like quoting one I like too:
On this day, Morrie says he has an exercise for us to try. We are to stand, facing away from our classmates, and fall back ward, relying on another student to catch us. Most of us are uncomfortable with this, and we cannot let go for more than a few inches before stopping ourselves. We laugh in embarrassment.
Finally, one student, a thin, quiet, dark-haired girl whom I notice almost always wears bulky white fisherman sweaters, crosses her arms over her chest, closes her eyes, leans back, and does not flinch, like one of those Lipton tea commercials where the model splashes into the pool.
For a moment, I am sure she is going to thump on the floor. At the last instant, her assigned partner grabs her head and shoulders and yanks her up harshly.
Whoa! several students yells. Some clap.
Morrie finally smiles.
"You see," he says to the girl, "you closed your eyes. That was the difference. Sometimes you cannot believe what you see, you have to believe what you feel. And if you are ever going to have other people trust you, you must feel that you can trust them too--even when you're in the dark. Even when you're falling."
In life, oftentimes, we are in the uncertainties or in the dark; yet, it does not curb us from marching forwards. We listen to our heart, and we trust the other and ourselves as what our heart asks us to do.
Love, I don't know what's next. But I will wait and see what it will turn out to be.
¡@
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001 K-PAX
It's not a movie that will appeal to many. Most people may find the sessions between Prot (Kevin Spacey) and Dr. Powell (Jeff Bridges) overly lengthy. Or they may get disturbed by the genre--drama? sci-fiction? comedy?--too much of a hybrid.
Yet, I love Kevin Spacey's acting plus the very cunning dialogues between the "doctor" and the "patient." If you are the kind who get provoked by words easily, it's worthwhile take a look at K-Pax.
001.1 "I am a K-Paxian"
Prot, who claims himself from a planet called K-PAX, appears in a train station in New York and is later taken to the Manhattan Psychiatric Institute.
The movie is hovered by lots of dialogues between Prot and Powell, who has a difficult time to regress to Prot's past in hope of dugging out the origin of his problem, or to disprove that Prot's a K-Paxian.
At the long last, when Powell believe that a Prot's indeed Robert Porter, a guy who's believed to have been through a big trauma in New Mexico. Powell wants Prot to recognize of his "identity."
Powell: "You are Robert Porter."
Who are we, afterall? Is it what we think we are, or what we really are, determines the identity of us? Not quite, it's what others claim, in this societal structure, of us, make who we are, absurdly.
001.2 "On my planet, I am the doctor, and you are the patient."
After the doctor has learnt that Prot's trying to "heal" the patients in his ward, Powell confronts Prot in the garden of the hospital.
Powell: "Prot, on my planet, I am the doctor and you are the patient."
The fact that Prot helps Dr. Powell discover his own personal problem and the doctor becomes the one who needs to be cured is a theme quite cliche. Yet, it's worth pondering upon the notion between--the healer and the healed.
In the bible, God claims, "Blessed are the poor." He never says--blessed are the one who help the poor.
It takes me some time to realize that to so-called "help" others isn't for the sake of blessing those in need. The need are the ones who will bring me blessing.
The poor are the blessed ones.
By poor, I mean those who lack love, who lack confidence, who lack money, who lack warm, who lack company.
They often bring me more than I offer them.
When Prot is about to part on July 27, back to K-PAX, as he claims, he says, "Thank you, Dr. Powell, thank you for your hospitality...oh, hospital, oh...hospitality."
Hospitality is not about having a cocktail party, finger buffets, well-chosen music, or elegant house decoration. Hospitality is simply about offering the very minute things that you can offer with opening arms.
The puns in many dialogues of the movie are stunning. Hospital, hospitality, and if I would write the script, I may add one more--hostility.
I have been to the some psychiatric wards in hospital (well, visiting friends), and oftentimes I felt very disturbed by the hostile feeling, not hospitable feeling of the ward.
The movie, though very cliche-like, denotes that only when we turn hostility into hospitality, we begin to see something.
Being a hospitable host, we invite the people to be your house as guest.
Just like the movie, the closeness of Prot and Powell is reflected by the time when Prot asked Powell to come into his house for a party. Powell is the host and Prot is the guest. In our life, how often do we welcome people who run into us with open arms?
Coming back to the very original issue, the distinction between doctor and patient is absurd, claimed by Prot. And in the bible, the distinction between host and guest is absurd too. When Jesus was invited to dine with the tax-collectors, tell me--who's indeed the host and who's indeed the guest? Who's getting and who's giving?
Yes, on our planet, we like to distinguish things into dichotomy.
001.3 "On K-Pax, there's no law and there's of course no lawyers."
Oh man, when this line was delivered by Prot, my friend Bruno, a solicitor himself, who's sitting next to me, uttered a word--"oh, shit!" Tere and I, almost at the same time, turned our face to Bruno, and laughed. Ha, ha, on K-Pax, Bruno would be flunked because there's no need for lawyers. We still laughed at this idea when we were enjoying our post-movie coffee break at Pokka-Cafe in Shatin.
Powell, "Hmm... Prot, what's the societal structure in K-Pax? Are there laws on K-Pax?" But I think Prot is very right (can't help loving his words), "I don't quite understand how you human make it till today."
001.4 "Dr. Powell, you aren't listening."
Prot tells Powell that on K-Pax, there's no family. Being quite confused and overwhelmed, Powell wants to explore the idea further."
Powell, "You mean on K-Pax, there's no marriage?"
Ha ha, I love Prot! What a line--you are not listening!
That's what I find most psychiatrists or counselors, and myself do when talking to others. They hear what the patients or clients or friends say. They hear because that's what they are supposed to do. But they don't listen because they don't believe in what they are to hear from them. There's a difference between hearing and listening.
001.5 "Who goes to bed now will get an extra credit!"
Tere and I thundered a blot of laughter at the same time when Prot says that, with the patients rushing to their bedrooms.
Yesterday my little three-year-old refused to pick up a little napkin he threw on the floor at home. My sister-in-law insisted that the little guy had to pick it up and put it into the bin. With his pride much bigger than his size, my nephew struggled not to pick it up. The mum and the child had a little cold war over a napkin on the floor.
The napkin remained unmoved, so did my sister-in-law and nephew.
Five minutes, ten minutes and fifteen minutes pasted. No one wanted to give in.
My nephew did not see what he could get out of picking up the rubbish.
People, be they little kids, or mental patients, or boyfriends, or wives, or parents, or anyone, will not do what you tell them to do unless they realize the credits behind those actions themselves.
When they know what's good about doing something, they will do it without you telling them.
001.5 Solitude
K-Pax is not what people will call a great or even good movie. Yet, it fits my taste perfectly well. Kevin Spacey's action, as usual, is stunning. What I like most is his ability to be living in solitude amid clouds of people. He looks at the surrounding and is being in the situation as if he's off the context.
Leaving in solitude isn't too difficult if you are in the deserts in New Mexico. Yet, being in solitude amid the bustle Manhattan inside the hectic psychiatric hospital with a roomful of mentally disturbed patients isn't easy. But Spacey acts that out confidently.
Sometimes I want to get into his eyes, Spacey's eyes, to look at the world. If the director would like us to see from the sunglasses of Prot's, the effect may be quite different.
Talking about the ability to observe the world slowly, Ah Ja and Fatty, I think Spacey's the one to look for. Never the duck.
I have talked so much of the movie simply because the dialogues repeat in my mind involuntarily. I did not jot them down while watching the movie and so the dialogues may not be the exact wordings of the script. Who cares.
I am from a planet called K-PAX.
¡@
I found a few things when taking a little walk with my sister in Lamma Island yesterday.
1) I found the bread that I haven't had for the past 8 years. Don't know what it's called in English exactly, it's a kind of ryebread. But it's plastic like in texture, and unyeasted. You have to really chew on it because it's real hard. You can find grains packed closely into a dark loaf. I had it daily when living in Europe. Oh man, I found it! The bread goes perfectly well with Scandinavian pickled herrings, with some thin onion rings on top.
2) I met a Caucasian girl (about 10 years old) in the beginning of our hike, who had bruises all over her legs and arms, and was even bleeding a little on her face. She was holding nothing else but a cell phone, . And her eyes were very red, with tears cornering them. She walked past us; and I went back to ask if she was okay.
She said, "Thank you, I am okay."
I asked again, "Gal, are you sure you don't need some help?"
She insisted, with eyes totally wet and red, "Thank you, I am okay." And she walked faster and away.
I did not keep running after her; but I think she's quite badly beaten up. I did not know what else I could do as she wanted to be left alone. I continued to walk, only to find that I could not let go of that image.
3) And I met my sister again, the sister who's in my heart. We have not had a nice chat for quite some time. Yesterday was the day.
¡@
I hurt this friend again. I never want to be a stumble block to others. Do you understand? I never think of you as low, not at all. I just know I should do what my heart tells me to do, and I don't want to stumble your way. Do you see it? It hurts me to say things frank out right to you. Hurting your feelings is the last thing I want to do.
I hope you will understand me. I don't want to hurt your feelings. Yet, sometimes I need to do the right way. It may not seem nice of me doing it.
The more try to explain, the more futile the explanations seem to be.
And I choose to stop explaining, yet I hope you would understand.
Truth hurts; you told me when I first met you already. Truth hurts, but we cannot live without being truthful.
¡@ 03.09.02
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001 Kill the Spider
I am to kill the spider
I know I have to kill the spider for good because I am so tired of cleaning up the cobwebs on a daily basis. Sometimes certain things in life just cannot wait for any longer, and I know it's the time to kill it. When the cobwebs are rounding up things into a tangled mess, and as the mess rolls into a big snowball, it will become harder to resolve. No more. God. No more.
¡@
Inside the MTR compartment, she talked about her uneasiness when her partner was seeing a pretty babe. In her mind, it's clear that he won't be after her; yet the angel face and devil body of that woman bothers her.
Women aren't often troubled by the idea of their partners seeing another person; women are troubled by the fact that they aren't pretty enough, comparing to this she, that she, and another she. Jealousy begins the snowball. Comparison and judgement begins jealousy. "It's easy to say, but hard to let go of the emotions," she lamented.
In 1st Corinthians, Chapter 13, it says, "Love does not envy." It's hard to do, my friend, but God won't demand things beyond our ability, I think.
Jealousy hurts one's feeling badly. I have been learning, over years, to let go. Just let go.
¡@
This morning, when I opened my eyes, the first thing I did was shouting at the ocean:
Father, morning.
I found myself a little nuts in these days.
¡@
When Skippy was expecting his child, I was quite anxious as well. The moment when Jo came out of the womb of her mother, Skippy cried and the first thing he wanted to do--to bring the good news to me.
Yesterday from the pictures he sent me, Jo already knew how to crawl.
Babies grow so fast. So fast. They hel you to witness the passage of time.
¡@
As announced by Fox, the First Forest Conference was held yesterday, at Duck's office.
Agenda: Conservation of the cultural heritage of Amazonian Native Indians with an attempt to put a standstill to the clear-cut deforestation the Amazon basin.
Refreshment: Meow's lunch box and duck's noodles
Participants: Meow, Duck, and Fox.
Next meeting: TOA.
¡@
Yesterday, on my way to the evening class, I walked past a temple right next to Temple street, where a flood of on-lookers were circling around the entrance. My curiosity (well, busy-body mentality) drove me towards them, only to find a handful of elderly women kneeling down "beating up little people" (¥´¤p¤H).
What's the logic behind?
Another question hovers me is that what makes one hate another so much that they would like to use such a way to beat another person up.
Hard to understand.
There's no new things under the sun?
¡@
¡@ 03.06.2002
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¡@ 03.05.2002 Warbler
Sidetrack a bit first: If you are to choose a thing to express your inner desire or status now, what will that be?
...
I have been asked this question many times before. In the past, I said--bird. Now, I will say, still a bird.
Perhaps the difference is that I will choose a different bird. In the past, perhaps any kind of bird.
Now perhaps I would choose, particularly, to be a lesser whitethroat warbler. Warbler is a tiny bird who spends summers in Germany and winters in Africa. As the days grow short, the adult birds head south, leaving their young behind. Several weeks later, the little ones fly across thousands of miles of unfamiliar land and sea to join their parents.
Experiments have shown that they have an instinctive knowledge of longtitude, latitude, and the ability to tell direction by the stars.
I don't want to be a dumb bird going to one place to another without a direction. Instead, I want to be a warbler, with clearer sense of direction and confidence to fly to meet her parents in Africa.
It takes a lot of solitude, silence, and sincerity to listen to the heart in order to dug out the instinctive knowledge of our direction inside. City dwellers have been hovered by too many clouds and smog losing sight of the internal conviction and gifts God's given them.
I wanna be a warbler.
Flying across thousands of miles.
With an instinctual direction.
To go to where I am supposed to be.
...
Eldest sister
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Prot: "I will accept to be Robert Porter, only when you will accept me as K-Paxian."
Prot: "Dr. Powell, isn't it absurd that, on your planet, you have the distinction between doctor and patient?"
Powell: "Now, you are the patient, and you are not coming here to cure others. I am the one who should cure them."
Prot: "Why haven't you done so?"
Prot, "No, on K-Pax, there's no law and there's of course no lawyers."
Powell, "Oh...no laws, but how can that work?"
Prot, "Isn't it true that everyone of us has the sense of what's right and wrong?"
Powell, "Oh well... but without laws, how can you punish those who do the wrong things?"
Prot, "You human on your planet always believe in an eye for an eye, a life for a life. Didn't Buddha and Jesus tell you not to do that? You human won't listen to that, even the Buddhist and the Christian."
Prot, "Dr. Powell, you aren't listening, I said that there's no family, no marriage, no husband, no wife on K-Pax."
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No cobwebs tangling my way
anymore
Christ, morning.
Holy spirit, morning.
Amen
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Love you ALL! Amen!
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