Observations - Tumblr Posts
Library Scavenger Hunt
It REALLY ought not to be this hard to find a single book in the whole library by a very prolific writer. And yet, still have not found the several books I could choose from. Argh.
being able to wake up
Every weekday so far this week, I’ve woken up earlier than I intended or expected. It’s both relieving since I’ve wanted to fix my sleeping schedule for years but also feels strange since I haven’t fixed the start times of the sleeping quite yet, just the end time. Hopefully I will get both right soon!
Standing on the 7
At each train station my exhausted eyelids are closing yet again.
too much?
So many deep things to process and absorb within a short period of time. Hopefully, not too much.
Through the Music
Something that's always been extremely prominent in my life is the way God's always found ways to speak through me even before I had a grasp of His internal audible voice during prayer. In what felt like my darkest moments in junior high school, when nothing about Him made sense anymore in the context of the disheartening experience of coming home to the chaos of what I wanted desperately to resemble a real family, He gave me the lyrics I needed to hear for my heart to stay hanging onto Him.
I know there are some who would be inclined to say that all this should have been through Christian-labled music only, but in my experience, I've observed that He's used every which way to reach me. Even in the secular music, He's reminded me of what it is I desperately long for in the human relationship, what kind of love it is He seeks to to lavish on me and what kind of love I am expected to share with others, the sorrows I will feel in hardship, the triumphant feeling of enduring because of a hope that is worth it, the thirst of being away from Him, and the joy of knowing He is always there for me. In almost every uneasy moment of my life, I have found solace in the lyrics of the music I am constantly exposed to and have discovered.
I guess like everything else in life which I enjoy, there is always the struggle to keep all of this in check. To worship the creator and not the creation, to seek to know Him better rather than revel in the beauty of lyrics I feel I can relate to. To communicate with Him and continue to engage rather than remain in what feels like the holy place, sufficient enough to fill my need to feel something good like being addicted to an emotional drug.
Some striking songs to me in the past year... There are many, but for a bit of personal record-keeping and sharing, I'll list out some. I'm sure I've cried for most of these at least once when listening to them, for one reason or another, and I consider that in my sentimentalism pretty freaking awesome.
Cambridge by Kina Grannis (especially striking after re-watching the WongFuProductions video "Strangers, Again" and hearing it used at the end) and Gonna Get Over You by Sara Bareilles: The way the word "maybe" hurt and stung when manifested in a relationship I took for granted, and the importance of moving on for truly understanding who I am.
Some Boys as covered by Katherine McPhee in the series Smash: When I sang this to myself after hearing it for the first time through the series, I didn't just sing "some boys", but "some girls" as well. It was a reminder of the way broken people love and communicate in broken ways, and how it is both common and tragic.
Heart-Shaped Wreckage and Caught in the Storm from Smash, Clarity as covered by Jessica Sanchez on Glee: Describe well, the feeling of being submerged in the internal and external conflicts of a relationship with strong feelings and lots of baggage, and not wanting to hit the escape button even when it starts to feel like it makes sense.
The Only Exception by Paramore and Mine as covered by Naya Rivera on Glee: The redemption of the hurts and wounds of growing up in a broken family by experiencing a love that proves to last. I heard both of these songs through Glee first, and Mine especially struck hard.
How He Loves by John Mark McMillan, A Thousand Years by Christina Perri, Let Me Love You (Until You Learn To Love Yourself) by Neyo: The deep and striking way in which God loves us, and how His pursuit of us is something I consider to be one of the most romantic love stories of all time. I got the privilege of watching John Mark McMillan live at an intimate bar performance with an old friend and her fellowship back in Baltimore and it was really something to remember.
Louder by Charice, Shake it Out by Florence and the Machine: The triumph of moving forward with awesome joy despite pain. While both of these are secular songs, I've recognized that this kind of triumph and moving forward for myself personally has only been successful and joyful when moving in step with where God asks me to go.
Big Machine as covered by Mark Duplass in the movie Safety Not Guaranteed: The scene for when this song was chosen for use in this film gave my heart goosebumps (I consider it reason enough to rewatch the entire movie), and this song voiced so eloquently but humbly the frustration for how the world tries to box people in to make them fit and function in society. If I had to be honest, the handsome Mark Duplass singing while simultaneously playing the zither with a deep dark mysterious yet child-like puppy-faced expression was also pretty easy on the eyes and ears. Also strongly resonates with Mad World by Gary Jules and Little Boxes as covered by Walk Off the Earth.
The Scientist covered by the main Glee Cast: The pains and crazies of love and life, expressed in the awesomeness that is called music. Coupled with Mine, the ultimate tear-jerkers of the Glee episode that featured these songs.
Bright Lights and Cityscapes by Sara Bareilles: A gorgeous and incredibly sad expression of wanting to be the one to make things better for someone. Also echoes a bit in my mind of Cameo Lover by Kimbra, wanting the other to respond in the depth one's perceived they've already invested.
Brave by Sarah Bareilles: An upbeat affirmation of being oneself to others, despite the past hurts and perceived social backlash. This one was too happy to cry to but my heart cried fat tears of joy when I first heard it because its level of awesome blew my mind.
Alright. I think this is more than a crazy exhaustive list (and a somewhat self-indulgent post...) and is probably going to be unreadable to some, but Sharon, aren't you glad you wrote this so that when you're old and senile you can read it again and revel in the awesome music you loved when you were younger? Yes yes, I am glad. Thanks, Sharon.
Some Relieving Sensations Today
The taste and feel of warm udon noodles with shrimp tempura after a few hours in a chilly room
Passing Kissena Park and seeing all the street lamps lit against a darkening treescape and a pale orange-pink sunset
Seeing the fireflies have returned to the lawn outside the apartment building after the cool days when they’d hid and being able to pause and take it all in for a minute
Cream Cheese Bagels
Bagels with cream cheese ordered from a deli always require redistribution of the cream cheese in the middle - there is always too much of the cream cheese, and it always squeezes to one end of the bagel.
Not that I'm complaining, really, it's a small price to pay for enjoying the meal!
One Bite Short
Unless I am really hungry, there is a high likelihood that a sandwich or other starch-wrapped meal is always going to be one bite short of finishing when I'm done eating. It's weird, I do it with sandwiches, especially the big subs.
Whenever G and I ate at restaurants, he'd keep telling me to not eat too much of the breadsticks or bread that came out in the beginning, and even when we ate sandwiches and were getting full, he'd abandon the bread and go for the meat since protein is more expensive.
Maybe this is a good thing - it means my hunger meter shuts off when I'm full, not when I feel like I've eaten my money's worth. It still kind of stings a little to know when I paid for a meal and didn't eat the whole thing though, since I am still a little Asian inside.
A Rollercoaster Day
There were moments today that felt like the breath before the roller coaster descends into its hellish depths and makes me feel like I’m going to die. Then there were moments I just wanted to end it all. I’m fairly sure pretty much all of those moments involved shopping with my mother in Flushing. One pair of new glasses, two pairs of new shoes, a dress and two shirts, and what is bound to be a fun credit card statement later, the day is over and I still feel like the life was completely drained out of me. This probably won’t happen again for at least another year if I plan my schedule right. Planning is important. Very important. So is sleep.
The Difference?
Sometimes trying to do the right things to grow feels more like trying to act strong when I’m actually not. The difference between proactive doing and arrogant ignorance becomes so blurred it’s disconcerting.
In the end, I guess the problem isn’t trying to be strong by doing. It’s more of recognizing that my strength isn’t my own, and when I don’t remember this, I essentially cut myself off from my source and run dry. Then, essentially, I am pretending and arrogantly still trying to achieve the same things I could do before in different situations.
So I guess the difference is not in the action, it’s in the heart’s motive and source of strength.
Facebook v Twitter v Tumblr
So what I've noticed is the regions I've delineated in my life for each social media I use or have used.
Facebook is the more popular and diversified of all three medias, so I use it mainly to communicate with people who mainly use Facebook for the same purpose, and post things I feel comfortable being in the public eye of acquaintances and some people I barely know. Twitter I once used but found so restrictive and requiring maintenance to follow people and keep reading and updating that I gave up. Tumblr I started using because my sister was using it so actively to access more quality media and humor-based animated gifs about a year ago, then it kind of faded out of mind until more recently when more people I know or internet icons have shared links to their own Tumblrs. Tumblr has since become for me a place to emote a little farther from the super public eye and a place for me to privately rant and record dream logs and faith entries in my secondary journal. What's most dangerous is the seemingly unlimited amount of characters I can use per entry.
Like my secretarial emails of old, the entries are starting to get pretty long. But it's okay, since today at lab I established with a coworker that with my admin skills, I'd make an awesome Pepper Potts. And I'm actually okay with that, using these kinds of skills to play an important role in potentiating creative invention and work in a stressful, high-risk environment. Sometimes I wonder if it's part of God's way of training me for what is sure to be more exciting work to come, and sometimes I wonder if thinking like this is kind of arrogant... What was I talking about again in this entry?
Sometimes I see the objects and items in the apartment and the way they're arranged and the way they differ from how my family has been arranged for a few years now. It's always hard for me personally to draw the lines between what I've wanted and longed for and the things I actually face - the daily battle is sometimes grueling, sometimes sorrowful, but always a strong reminder of the things that drive me, and the things that hurt me, and the things that strengthen me.
the same basic principle?
I remember learning that in Europe back in the day (I forget which countries specifically), children celebrated birthdays according to the day of the saint they were named after instead of the date of their physical birth. So in a way, they basically manually-tuned their birthdays way before we started auto-tuning voices...
most likely to prank
So I asked one of my coworkers the question, “If each of our lab mates were to play a prank, what would their prank be?” And after a time of discussion, it was concluded that I was the only person likely to play a prank, and it would likely be extremely long-winded and hard to understand like the emails I write.
I agree, and I’m proud of who I am.
Dad
I had a conversation with my sister recently about moving and having to throw things out since we’ve been sorting things and trying to finally clean up as we switch rooms with mom again (my sister and I are now back in the living room so mom can have her privacy and we can have people over). At some point, she said said, “I feel like we lose a piece of dad every time we move, like when we had to throw out his suspenders.” I thought about it, realized I felt the same way, and also said, “But I feel like we lost him when he stopped coming out of his room” and explained that poem I wrote way back when that made him so upset when he saw it. I think the poem went something like: I hear the clicking of keys and the lights under the door and sometimes I wonder, if it’s me. My sister said it was teenage angst when I told her how badly I felt that I wrote and uploaded that poem. I wonder though if that is ever really a justification for how it must have hurt to read it.
my humble opinion on the smelly jars in the kitchen
me: my mom recently watched some cooking stuff online
and she has like
four different pickling jars going on
and sometimes when she opens and closes them it smells like a cow came and farted in the kitchen
Friend: lol
me: they better taste really good when they're ready =_=
Friend: haha
I've seen terrible ones on the internet, but this one...
I can't wait until I'm old enough to witness a peer using it:
"You better call Life Alert, 'cause I've fallen for you and I can't get up."
A Quiet Apathy
There is something silent and beautiful, about the unsure but unquestioning way a leaf falls from a tree. A feather floats in the air before landing back on your down jacket, or your friend's hair. These things don't have to ask where their destination will be, where they are needed, because their purpose lies in the fact that they don't have to know. They are moved by nature's hand, like the propeller blades of maple seeds, the quiet clusters of snowflakes, the dust that settles on our untouched shelf-tops when we do not pay attention.
One must wonder, then, why we burden ourselves with the necessity of knowing our next stop in life, instead of recalling how our tiny, unreserved feet toddled and tripped when we were children.
There is a wordless providence, a quiet apathy, in not knowing where these gusts of wind will take us.
let me write
In her book The Shock of Arrival: Reflections on Postcolonial Experience, Meena Alexander writes: "...attempts to gain access to an intimate language that can also work in the public sphere--essential for an imaginative writer--can turn harsh, even bruising. The truths of self, far from being sanctioned by tradition, ratified by a body of canonical knowledge, seem mere eruptions, one-shot affairs, nervous outbursts of desire." Writing seems to me now, a similar experience. In each piece of writing, there may be an initial satisfaction in its appearance, but later it seems only a snapshot of how I felt then--almost a lie to myself. Who knows how or when a person will change? It is a personal dilemma when I write, especially if it is in a journal.
Many great writers say that the key to writing well and avoiding writer's block is writing often; many also keep journals almost religiously or at least set aside an assigned place and time to write, when they should not be disturbed. But how often do they flip back at their older works and realize that something is no longer true? Or perhaps, if they had published it, and someone close to them had read it, there would have been an emotional rift between author and said person?
And there is the fear that the public would not even accept the work at all. Shouldn't it be a masterpiece, beautiful, poignant, like that novel that moved us so much just recently, with its eloquent but honest words, wrapping themselves around the mind and breathing out a deep sigh as the last page was turned? So many want to read only things of great quality, captivating language that makes us admire the very art of writing itself. Don't authors fear clichés, or the hate of an audience that cannot understand what the author meant to convey, or perhaps the subtle mistake that was overlooked during edits?
What are honesty and truth, but the deep secrets and feelings within us that have the power to lay bare our own mistakes, to bring grins of recognition and empathy, to tear open the hearts of others who, doubtless, will want to read what we present to the public? And yet, what is writing a work of literature, but capturing a moment or era in time, before and after a change occurs to the character we follow?
But let me not be held back by fear, or at least be driven forward by the fear of never being able to write something decent again. Let me write with naked honesty, raw emotion, but also with elegant prose, refined poetry nested within carefully chosen adjectives--something candid but polished. Let me write for an Audience of One--the way a true author writes.