Recent Political Musings

I've been processing a lot of stuff lately. I've learned a lot, too.

I've come to the conclusion that America (the USA) is at a point where we've lost any sense of telos. "Telos" is Greek for "purpose," and in this case, I refer to the overarching purpose of existence. The question of "why are we here?" was once answered by Kennedy's likening of America to "the City on a Hill." Modernism and even Post-Modernism have come and gone, and we are left, collectively, with nothing to live for. We've "lost the plot," so to speak. We are all sheep gone astray. This development has grave implications on a variety of areas. Ever since Vietnam, we've been doubting whether we have any right to lay claim to what's "right" or "true."

Along with the degradation of our belief in any telos, the tangibles of materialism and hedonism have become our gods. To that end, so many of our companies and their executives have been willing to ship our manufacturing jobs overseas. This phenomenon has left a trail of economic and social devastation in its wake—formerly working neighborhoods have become crime-infested slums because of corporate greed. On top of this, those we've outsourced our jobs to and done business with, particularly China, have stolen our technological secrets. We thirst for the cheap fuel of the Middle East. These are national security threats; we strengthen the foes of tomorrow by the business deals of today. Yet, these American executives keep going back for more, as the cheap labor (greater profit margin) is too difficult for them to resist—because for them there is no tomorrow. These executives and businesspersons are traitors to the American nation.

Bear in mind that I have no illusions about identifying my patriotism with my faith. I realize that in Christ alone is our true telos found. America has been substantially better about most things than most other countries in the last hundred years or so, if we're going to be honest. I just think it'd be a damned shame for it to all go to waste.

Reflections on Politics of Sexual Orientation

The problem faced by a gay, chaste Christian man is the same as by a straight, chaste Christian man: the "unfairness" of having been created thus and allowed no partner. The argument over the validity of any one orientation is therefore a struggle over the unfairness who gets to sin more and get less flak for it, because a straight Christian is held to the same standards as the gay one outside of heterosexual marriage. The fornicating "straight" Christian is just as bent as the fornicating gay one, and much more so than a chaste gay one.

We shouldn't stop opposing homosexual lifestyles, but we should also oppose heterosexual activity outside of marriage.

Falling Without Style

During my senior year in high school, I met a girl through a mutual friend. For the sake of this story, let’s just call her “Mal.” She went to another high school in the same town, and we bonded primarily over the hardships of schoolwork, which at times included joint study sessions, and shared culture. Our conversations, both online and in person, were often playful. We teased and bantered-- flirted, almost. Independently from the old saying, we developed this farewell we used exclusively between us: “Good night, sleep tight, and don’t let the bedbugs bite!” That was part of our display of affection. We were more just confidantes than ever truly interested in each other, but we were real-- or so I thought.

I had been a proponent of honesty, during my younger years. Even when responding to such trivial questions as, “How are you?” I had often answered with, “tired,” “depressed,” or “shitty.” It was this foundation, an honesty which demanded intent when presenting such basic queries, upon which our friendship stood. I had no idea, then, that this foundation was set upon sand.

I enrolled at Washington University in St. Louis as a biomedical engineering major, my freshman year of college. In those days, WashU was among the top 10 universities in the nation, as ranked by U.S. News. As an Asian-American student that had totally bought into the Model Minority stereotype, to be there was absolutely wonderful. However, I was unprepared for the independence of life far from home and the responsibility of learning in that type of environment. Before long, I was shell-shocked by a string of personal disappointments and academic failures. The mounting pressure that resulted from the growing incongruity between my expectations and reality caused me eventually to drop out during my second semester. My community witnessed me return home in defeat.

My basis for self-worth was yanked like a rug from under me; I stumbled and had my nose bloodied before a watching world.

Less than a year later, I gained acceptance to the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign, in spite of my unresolved psychological issues. I’d gotten in touch with Mal again, who’d been there for a year, by then. She’d offered to walk me around campus a bit, answer any questions I had-- serve as a welcoming party, of sorts. I accepted. We met for lunch one day, and she greeted me with, “How are you?” I don’t even remember what I said, only that it was something along the lines of, “I’m alright.” My answer would have been fine, except that I had not yet perfected my mask, my façade of strength.

I still sported a splotch of crimson, spreading from my nose. I had not yet learned to lie with my face, thus make the lie complete.

She asked again, for confirmation, and my repeated reply gave it. Upon seeing the incongruity between my words and my face, her own face fell. The light in her eyes dimmed in response to the darkness in my own. The rest of our lunch and subsequent time together could not be saved.

I had needed understanding. I realize now that Mal would have tried to give it, and that effort would have been enough for me. It would have been better for both of us if I had said something-- anything-- but I did not even know to ask. I would rather have sweat and cried inside of my mask than let her attempt to help me breathe by taking it off. My next breath would have been the one needed for our friendship to live. When I think of her, I am confronted by a nagging sense of loss that consists of unrealized possibilities and un-lived futures.

Mal is not alone in the place to which I exiled her. Within the hollowness behind my mask, whispers escape my lips and echo with the names of a dozen lost friends.

Bigger, Truer Love

I love her more than ever before. After all this time, I find myself praying for her, not about her. Freed of the shackles of romance, I now love her more truly.

Sports Superstitions

I've had my own sports superstitions over the years. One of the most recent was that I had to cheer for teams I wanted to lose, because God was always out to strike down my idols. Thus, I cheered for all teams playing against the Bulls. I've particularly cheered for the Lakers, Celtics, Heat, and Mavs. Most recently, I've cheered for the Pacers. Yes, I'm well aware that God knows my heart's true desires, but I'm silly like that.

Recently, me and a friend of mine came up with a theory that declares we cannot watch sports games together for which we are cheering for the same team. Of course, this is because we've watched sports together decently often enough to record many losses.

Unmentioned are the wins. We were definitely watching together when the Blackhawks won the Stanley Cup. The losses just stick out, because we care so much. And that's why tonight, as the Blackhawks are playing either to go on or go home, and the Bulls try to finish out the series, my friend and I were not planning to watch them at an event hosted by another brother of ours for members of our fellowship.

Our superstitions essentially consist of little practices that we have which we think will somehow make the powers that be allow our team to win. Essentially, it means we aren't at peace with whatever God might bring about, and idolize our desires (team victory). For those that claim, "It's not for me, it's for the team/city/people!" To them I say that you have place some measure of self-worth in those identifications. Perhaps, God has His designs within even athletic competition, including the times when we lose. When prioritized over Christian fellowship, the sin of superstition becomes even more grave. We must not give up meeting together and we must give up the self-idolatrous practices of superstition.

I decided, finally, to throw off the yoke of superstition. I am going to Justin's house.

Fragments: Self-Analysis 1

I wish I was even more ready to move on. I am half-way there, at the moment. I see my parents' life, and it is that future I fear. I want no part of it, but fear as well the uncertainty of finding my own way. I find myself stuck here in the middle, as always. As usual, I am consigned to the fringes, the in-between places, the margins. I just can't seem to write between the lines. I once said that I was the page that spit back the ink printed on it. But now I realize that my true position is that of the words that fail to make it to the page. I am the unpublished novel, the unperformed concerto, the unrevealed painting. I am the unspoken "I love you," "I do," and "Goodbye," all rolled into one. I am a Christ still unresurrected on the fourth day.

This is the image that prompted a 20-ish post thread on Google Buzz amongst my connections on there.  We started with frown emoticons, moping (somewhat in jest) about the matter.  At some point, a friend of mine posted, "I think the lesson here is that we're all doomed."  I responded to her statement with, "Better to have loved and lost, than never loved at all?  Thank God for singular intersections!  You can't say you're doomed to lovelessness until you're single and literally at the end of the line... What are we again?  23?"  The original poster, an acquaintance of mine, responded with: "Wait... we were talking about relationships?"  To which I replied, "That's what I contextualized it to, as all my other relationships have been (relatively) ossum."

To that statement, there are several likely responses. A: "Well, we know what's on Ezra's mind."  B: "Well, lucky you."  C: "Why do you say that?"  I will answer the person that asks Option C.

Romance has been the only context  in which I've experienced relationships as once or never, and not as forever.  Not in friendship have I lost people through such finality as the burned bridges between me and my old flames.  That's why my friendships are so much better-- I've never perceived them as straight lines that precluded rekindling.  The lines have always been intertwined along jagged, looped, and twisted paths.

Even so, reconciliation is not out of the question, even for those painful people from my past.  By God's grace, we'll be good again.

Asians Have the Darndest Surnames

I have a friend named Tiffany Sun. If she married a guy with the last name "Moon," she would be Tiffany Sun Moon, under Western conventions. If a girl existed named Annie Ching and she married a boy with the surname "Chong"...? In this post, I seek an examination of our multi-cultural identities through the treatment of our surnames as (imperfect) signifiers of what goes on within and around us.

I feel ambivalently about the Romanization of our surnames. It simultaneously represents the subjugation of Asian identities to Western conventions, but also the transformation of Asian identities into something else, an Asian-whatever (Korean-American, Vietnamese-Canadian, Japanese-British, Chinese-Australian, etc) identity that straddles oceans. Already, we are not completely what our forebears were. What are our parents, if not unreal, for insisting on an impossible cultural purity? However, neither are we yet completely assimilated.

There are several questions to answer. What does it mean to stay true to our heritage? Is it sufficient that we have retained our surnames, but Romanized? Other groups, to avoid persecution, changed their surnames altogether, some by translation. If my surname were translated from "Chang /Cheung /Zhang /Chiong," it would be "Chapter." I would be "Ezra Chapter." Should we campaign for the right to change our legal surnames to Chinese characters? That course of action doesn't seem prudent. Even if imperfectly, the Westerners are able to attempt to utter our sacred surnames through their Romanizations. Perhaps we ought to ask ourselves a more important question: Is it even necessary or important enough of a matter, to remain true to our heritage?

There are more issues to consider, if language use is to be considered a representation of cultural imperialism or hegemony. The use of Chinese characters was once part and parcel of Chinese domination in all spheres of life in much of East Asia. The Vietnamese, Japanese, and Koreans all used Chinese characters in the past. The Japanese altered their script. The Koreans created an alphabetic script. The Viets threw off one master only to receive another, and their entire language was standardized to a Romanization. Fittingly, when Chinese people go by their Romanized surnames, they get a taste of their own medicine.

Perhaps, language-- as a tool of power-- is only effective if there is something of value to demolish. If we hold our cultural heritage loosely, it won't hurt when we inevitably lose it through generations of living in the West. It only matters that we hold ethnic culture so tightly if we believe it to be superior to others' and integral to living, yes? Perhaps what really matters is living a meaningful life in view of God, which may not necessitate clinging tightly to heritage. Could it be, that culture is not more important than life itself?

This post really has no conclusions, but merely presents the shortcomings of particular, more traditional perspectives. I have no illusions as to my ability to convince everybody to rediscover their respective heritages, or to let go of them. Neither are those the only options. You can have both the old and the new, or neither! Truly, as Asian-Americans, there is no right way to deal with heritage; I only hope that each of us has peace with it.

I just hope not to see people walking around with names like Jon, Jeff, Peter, or Joy Yellow.

New Fragments Emerge

This class, English 2261, confronts me with a babushka doll.  On one level, I am confronting more directly the possibility of becoming a writer.  I can either give it my all, or pull back, doing instead something safe.  I am driven to write more, yet paralyzed by the pressure to give up.  At the root of this tension is the real issue with being a writer: is that incarnation of me worthy enough to come alive again for?  Or will this increasingly crippling depression consume hope for a fulfilling life?  And within even those questions is the more important issue of my faith.  I will either become stronger because of it or in spite of it.

On the Future

I'm sure you've all been perceiving that the rest of our lives is about to begin, in some way. But for some reason, whereas some of you may feel it as the Spirit descending upon you invigoratingly, I see nothing but gloom and boredom. And maybe that's why I'm so reluctant to part ways with childhood - I see only nothingness in my future.

And it's not supposed to be like that, especially for one professing to be believe in Christ and His glory manifested through the Church. But perhaps I no longer truly believe in the power of such truth to effect change in us. In which case, it is no longer truth to me.

I'm just waiting for You to move me, God. I need something to aspire to.

Why I Don't Blog Anymore

I realize why I don't blog anymore. It's because, on some level, I am aware of just how self-absorbed I am, and blogging reveals to the world my true nature. I cannot bear to show people a quality I myself despise, for hypocrisy I despise even more.

How Much Earth?

At the end of my favorite drama, which I have probably watched 5+ times, the main character asks Ghenghis Khan, "How much earth will you take up when you die?" Ghenghis Khan gestures out a piece of ground no more than a few square feet in size. "Then for what reason have you built this empire?"

I do often wonder about my potential paths in life. Whether my life might include the nicer things in life, which I find difficult to part with. I love eating out. I would love to support my favorite artists by buying their music more often. I actually enjoy shoe-shopping. Ice cream. Beer. A cigarette, every now and then, even. More than any other tangible thing, a stable and genuine romantic relationship.

None of these things are "bad," per se. But all of these things require money, to some degree, at least as I have experienced them in my upper-middle class existence. Would I truly be content with being poor, with living a penny-pinching life? Would I truly be at peace with sharing the sorrows of the oppressed and downtrodden, with a life of ministering to them? I know that this is what it means to be a Christian. What I do unto the least of these, I do unto God Himself. This is eternal life: to know Christ. To know Him, know His heart for the world. Not just the upper crust of society that receives so many blessings, but the lowly as well, whom He loves dearly.

Logically, no reason stands against the latter, but my flesh screams for the former.

La Mia Preghiera

Vengo di nuovo per la tua grazia. Cambi la mia mente. Mi mostri la tossicità del mio peccato, così odio il mio peccato. Come Lei odii il mio peccato, voglio odiare il mio peccato.

Io sono come Jacob

Lotto con e contro Dio. Lotto con Dio contro me stesso - lo stesso che lotta contro Dio. Anche come Jacob, voglio Dio mi benedice. Lotto al fino di mostrare Dio questo: voglio le cose Lui dare.

On My Thinning Friendships

As I become more uniquely myself, I naturally become palatable to fewer people. Not everyone can see how awesome I am, but whether that's because they can't see the awesomeness that is there or because they can't see an awesomeness that isn't there - that is up to me.

Why Atheism is like Sucking Balls

If I had found atheism to provide the purpose I need to keep drawing breath, I would gladly have followed it. But all I see in it is nihilism. Without a god or an afterlife, there is no reason for taking any one option in life over another, because there ultimately is no consequence. Our choices are meaningless, we're just to mindlessly fuck and die. Any value system devised by humans (read: morality) from which individuals derive worth is arbitrary and a farce.

Understanding Christ's Alienation

I feel disrespected and marginalized by people who should recognize my worth. I think, as I have said several times before, that this must be, as much as is humanly possible, what God feels on account of me. This is such an interesting way to understand Christ's alienation.

A Singular Thought for the Past 2 Days

Jesus Christ erases the line between "self" and "other."

Lent Reflections, Part 2

God is saying to me,

Ezra, you were capable of doing great things in your life. But I took those away from you because I wanted to show you that I was the one who gave you the ability, that I am God, that I AM... and that I love you. Your abilities, applied to any other "great" purpose except in service of me, would be worthless because they would not lead you to me. And I love you too much to see my gifts lead you away from me.

I've realized more and more over the past few years how insignificant worldly goals are next to God. This realization has been intensifying in recent months and I find it humbling.

Uno dei impeti of my realization, a profound thought from small group discussion:

We often say, to other people and amongst ourselves, 'Believe in Christ to have eternal life.' But the truth is, Christ Himself IS eternal life. There is no life to be had apart from Him.

Which echoes a thought out of Francis Chan's book, Forgotten God. He criticizes so-called "Christians" who have "in a sense, asked Him to join them on their life journey, to follow them wherever they feel they should go, rather than following Him as we are commanded" (Chan, Forgotten God, Pp 122). That is me. I don't know if that's you, but that is definitely me. I have thrashed about, thrown tantrums trying to get God to see the "good" that is in my plans. Even now, I am not wholly at ease with the certainty of uncertainty. There is nothing sure in my future but the surety of Christ and His work. Am I sounding convincingly unconvinced of God's promises, yet?

Che segue, then, is my response to this realization I have received about myself. To allow myself to truly be guided by the Holy Spirit. I have been lacking that guidance not because it hasn't been provided, or even because I am unable to see it, but because I have willfully chosen not to see it.

Lent Reflections, Part 1 (Hopefully of Many)

Ho mangiato. È detto che il pieno non hanno il desiderio a cucinare per l'affamato. Ma questa non dovrà essere, perché Cristo, non me stesso, ha cucinato per me. Lui mi ha dato lui stesso, e io come lui divento.

I had originally decided to give up a number of things for Lent (including gtalk, aim, facebook, blogging, etc.), but depriving myself of those things did not cause me to become any more prepared for His Passion. In fact, I gained greater perspective and much-needed correction whilst engaging with others. After all, Lent can only be as personalized as our own walks with Christ, which aren't solitary at all. There has been one consistent theme I have seen throughout this past half-year, and it is the importance of the each member's relation to the rest of the body. Just as a lone verse that is plucked out of the Bible, each of our walks loses proper perspective and meaning when cut off from the rest of the body. One verse out of context is meaningless without the rest, as are each of our relationships with Christ without taking hold of his redemption of all our relationships with one another. What makes this analogy work? Jesus is the Word incarnate, and we are the body of Christ. We are to embody the Word, but can only do so together.

If we do not love one another, then Christ's life, death, and resurrection have accomplished nothing in us.