Growing up.

Lately I've been thinking about how I'm 24 years old and how that seems quite bizarre to me.

When I was in high school I thought 24-year-olds (or almost any twenty-something, I guess) carried themselves with a sense of maturity while simultaneously pull off being cool and fun.  I thought they could be as proper as the Old English could be during tea time.  And I thought they gushed with wisdom in such a way that they seemed to have life pretty much all figured out.   

Boy, was I sure wrong about this 24-year-old.

I still feel like I'm 17 and still have nothing figured out.  There's this sense of naivete I can't seem to shake off.  I sometimes feel like I live under a rock even though I thought I got out from under it.  Maybe I'm scared to be exposed to the elements.  I don't want to leave my ideals behind to make space for cynicism and jaded attitudes. 

But I'm beginning to feel these elements brush alongside of me this year.

Prior to moving to Rochester, I had never really experienced any personal encounters with racist remarks.  Before this year I could've told maybe just one story from middle school that I wasn't even offended by because I didn't really understand it.  But from this year I could probably tell you about at least 5 different incidents.  They each evoked a different level of emotion, but now they more so just stand out in my mind rather than seem to weigh me down.  At the same time, there are instances I hear about or witness that I feel like I should feel offended about but am not.  Try that on for size.  Still a very confused Asian American as ever.

Death nowadays seems to weigh heavier in my heart.  The two closest people to me who passed away were my grandfather and my favorite teacher, Mrs. Hamilton, who taught me in the 4th grade.  And when they passed away, I was in middle school and it didn't really sink in as much as it would have now.  There's also something different and a bit removed about experiencing the death of your great-grandparents or grandparents' friends than knowing a friend's first baby girl who passed because of a rare cancer, or your dentist who went to the church you grew up in who also passed away from cancer, or the tragedy of the pastor who did your pre-marital counseling who suddenly passed from a rare pregnancy complication right after giving birth to her second child.  It all hits much closer to home and wells up that it-doesn't-seem-fair kind of anger in me that comes from an less familiar part of my heart.

Being out of school and out of those immediate relational contexts makes me feel like I've forgotten all I've learned intellectually and relationally.  And it's still so easy for me to compare myself to others (I know, I know, bad habit) that it's hard for me to figure out what I'm actually good at or what I can even offer the world.  I've been letting my drive, my focus, and my discipline drip out of me like a leaky faucet.

This blog has kind of been like a bucket underneath the leaky faucet.  I'm not really sure how to stop the leak, but I'm catching what I can and am trying to figure out what to do with it.  This blog, even with long breaks between posts, is the only thing I keep coming back to.

At least I'm not too naive to think that I'll have everything figured out in my thirties. 

My first Easter as a married woman.

We celebrated Easter in Binghamton, work has been kicking our butts, and I've got that "Ho Hey" song stuck in my head.  Okay, that last one was more of a random, unimportant thought to share.  Still, there are a lot of thoughts to unpack, but since I'm a big fan of linear thinking, we'll go in the order I've said them.

Nathan and I did indeed celebrate our first Easter as a married couple in our alma mater town.  Most of our friends there assumed we were on our way down to NYC or were passing through Binghamton on our return home to Rochester.  But neither were true.  The original plan was always Rochester-to-Binghamton, Binghamton-back-to-Rochester.  

Ironically, Easter was never a big thing to celebrate in my community growing up.  I say, 'ironically,' because as Christians, it should be one of our biggest celebrations of the year.  Very arguably bigger than Christmas.  It's the day we recognize Jesus's power to conquer death, the penalty he took on himself though we deserved it.  Declaring, "Christ is risen!" and, "Alleluia!" doesn't even seem to capture the magnitude of awe for what Christ has done.

But I don't have many childhood memories of making Easter a big deal.  My family didn't get together to have a special meal, and my church would maybe sing some special songs and put white, smelly lilies at the foot of the sanctuary podium.  Besides those few things and my Sunday School teacher saying, "Happy Resurrection Sunday!" to everyone he passed by, Easter more often than not didn't feel very different from any other Sunday.  And it's only within the past several years where I actually began to care enough to notice and grew a desire to do something about it.  

Now, even though I come from an Asian American Christian background/community, I can't assume or blatantly generalize that we're not joyful or that the way we express it is simply wrong (I can rant about the ideas I have for ways the Asian American Christian community could celebrate Easter in a special way without losing or diminishing our Asian American culture, but that's a post I've already done somewhat and can continue at another time).  Instead, my desire comes from a place of wanting to partake in a corporate celebration that expresses deep, gracious joy in a way that's special from ordinary days but isn't so completely different that it distracts me from the true focus. 

Visiting Binghamton was a great opportunity to fulfill this desire.  Last year, Nathan attended the Anglican Church of the Good Shepherd's (a church we've been to several times because some of our friends go there) Easter Vigil and Sunday Easter Service and joined the MacQuarrie family (InterVarsity volunteers) Easter dinner as well.  Nathan's love and appreciation of worship through liturgy (as well as the pastor's teaching), and the notorious chaos of the MacQuarrie family get-togethers had won him over so much that he asked me if we could go back this year.  Although my introverted side of me cringed a little, the idea of visiting friends and celebrating Easter in a new way immediately outweighed any of my hesitations.    

There are so many thoughts I could share from this great weekend (though it had its hiccups as well), but since it's the end of Easter weekend I'll share one thing that struck me during the Easter service sermon:

I am like the women who went to Jesus' tomb with embalming spices.  Like them, I have been following Jesus for a long time.  Like them, I know His promises in my head.  And I've tried and tried and tried to jump-start this knowledge as felt reality.  But this year it's been hard to feel His presence.  And as this year has gone on, it has gotten harder to believe His promises.  As I said earlier, ministry work has been kicking my butt - and when your husband's ministry work is also kicking his butt, and you're adjusting to married life with someone who's almost your complete opposite while also trying to develop solid community from scratch in the post-grad world, it can take a toll on your already waning relationship with Jesus.  I began to mourn the loss of my relationship with Jesus the way the women were convinced Jesus was not coming back. 

But today, while there was no bursting whoop-de-doo moment or tear-jerking movement, Jesus has reminded me of His hope.  I was faced with the reality that Jesus' promises are not grounded in the strength of my emotive will.  Today, Jesus has filled my empty heart with true joy despite my circumstances.  And though I've heard the Easter story over and over again many times, today Jesus gave me a fresh glimpse of the fullness of his conquer over the grave.  Alleluia, alleluia!

With Barb MacQuarrie's, "Once you have a seat at our table, there'll always be a seat for you," comment, it looks like Nathan and I have a new Easter celebration tradition to partake in that I will certainly look forward to each year.

Whac-an-insecurity.

So I'm beginning to find that this whole newlywed-in-a-new-town-with-a-new-job-looking-for-a-new-community thing is turning out to be a lot like the "Whac-a-mole" carnival game.  At least, that's what I think of in terms of recognizing how I'm doing during this whole adjustment period.  It's more like, "Whac-an-insecurity" kind of game.

Maybe that's how I'll answer people when they ask me how I'm doing.  Because for the most part, I'm doing pretty well.  I'm content but not settled, at peace and not deeply stressed out, mostly happy but managing to find joy in Him in times of tears. 

It's just that there are these moments where something will seem to pop up almost out of nowhere.  They come in unexpected moments of "little things" that tap into old or deep insecurities.  One of the biggest is this insecurity of being wrong.  I think it's one of the subconscious reasons why I often fall on the indecisive side most of the time.  I don't want to be wrong and I don't want to carry the shame or responsibility for choosing the wrong thing.

It seeps into a lot of areas in my life - not wanting to lead others in the wrong direction at work, not wanting to react to situations in the wrong way, not wanting to make the wrong decisions.  And when I think about it, the way I tend to measure how "wrong" my decision is falls on the basis of how upset or happy people are after I make them.  It ties into my character of wanting to please people and make them happy and proud of me.

I've reflected a lot on this deep insecurity.  I'm not quite sure where it came from.  Part of it could be the Asian-American culture I grew up in, but part of it could just be my temperament.  It's probably both and then some.

After thinking about it for a bit, I think the insecurity goes hand-in-hand with how much I don't understand God's grace very well.  Meaning, I think I'm not really good at recognizing when He offers it to me, and so I'm not really good at receiving it, either.  I think sometimes I even move into this self-righteous mode in moments where because I had tried so hard not to be "wrong" it somehow cancels out my need God's grace.  There are many times, too, where I need to recognize that wrong/right is not based on how I expect people to react.  There are times when I'll move in a good direction and people will be upset by that.  But there will also be times when I'll move in a poor direction and people will be happy with that.  It's a discernment process to work on.

Though it's obvious that I need to remember instead of knocking my insecurities down like a whac-a-mole I need to give it to Jesus, it's way easier said than done.

I wanted to end this post with a funny whac-a-mole video, but when I searched YouTube, I found this instead:

And of course, you can't leave out a good video from The Ellen Show:

Now I want to eat some guacamole.

Easter, shmeaster, says my church.

Sadly, Easter Sunday at my church back home is like going to my church on any other Sunday except that there's a couple of potted white lilies sitting in front of the pulpit.

Even the baptisms we had seemed to be understated.

That's just not right. I get it, we're Asian. But seriously? Even with our Asian gifts I think our particular service is a bit lame. We're supposed to be family-oriented and hospitable and I just thought we could have done more with that with the gifts that the people in our church have. I want to see our church coming together to contribute in whatever ways we can to hurt together when someone is hurting, and to celebrate unreservedly (paradoxically in our Asian-reserved manner) when there's a reason to celebrate.

And I think the resurrection of Jesus Christ is a pretty big reason to celebrate.

Like, cake, really? Is cake really the best we can do to celebrate four people publicly declaring God as their Lord and Savior? Are two potted lilies and a special Easter song from the choir the best we can do to celebrate the power Jesus had to conquer death?

I'm not saying we have to break out the tambourines, but let's do what God has gifted our church to do, and let's get excited about it! We're a family-oriented church, so how can the families contribute to the celebration? I can see us being better with how we present the church building, not just with two potted lilies (that phrase is starting to sound like something in the 12 days of Easter), but with banners declaring that Christ has risen, and baskets full of flowers.

Okay, maybe that may sound cheesy or pretty lame, but I think making the effort and trying out different things is worth much more than making no effort at all. Our church is gifted with people who love to cook, serve, share music, and much more that I'm sure we don't even take the time to learn about. We should be using these gifts that God has blessed us with so that we and others can enjoy them and welcome others into experiencing the truth and love of Christ. I'm not so concerned with decorating the church building as I am about how we're expressing who Christ is to us.

We should be asking ourselves questions like how our kids can contribute to the celebration, how the men can contribute to the celebration, how the college students can get involved and what kind of attitude should we be having. We should be inviting our friends and neighbors to the celebration, and thinking about how people would feel or what they would think if they walked into our building and how can they meet Jesus today, whether or not they've met us for the first time or have been a part of the family for years.

It should be a big deal, and when I walked out of service that day, it was as if it was like any other Sunday, with me feeling almost invisible and unchanged.

We can do so much with all that we have and yet we are doing very little.

It's like watching a tv show.

It's January 15th and my family had our belated Christmas dinner today. We were supposed to get together on the day after Christmas, but that was one of the snowpocalypse days, so we had decided to save ourselves from getting stuck in New Jersey for another day when our chances of getting snowed in were much slimmer. And since there are a lot of us and we all have busy schedules, we ended up having Christmas dinner in the middle of January.

I had forgotten how loud and crazy this particular group could be. I was really glad I was in an extroverted kind of mood, though, so I didn't feel like I needed to run off to a corner by myself to read or something. In fact, the buzz from all the aunts talking about wedding plans for our newly engaged cousin Selina, the attempt of figuring out the mystery of why the now sixth grader cousin Corey still doesn't like us, and even the Chinese chatter of all the grandparents - actually gave me a lot of energy that I thoroughly enjoyed.

I spent some of my time doing the usual - playing games and having lots of fun with all the cousins/"kids," but I wanted to spend most of my time just observing and interacting with all of the parents. I don't know if they realize this, but I really like learning things from them and about them. They're absolutely riveting to me. I'm curious to hear about their old days and what they thought when they were younger and how those things have changed. I want to know what things they've learned and how they learned them. I appreciate their advice and what they tell me to do or not to do, but I want to know what brought them to those conclusions and what makes them so sure that that's the right answer. I want to see their process of thinking behind their actions and how everything unfolded for them.

It's also fun to watch them in action and see how they interact with one another. It always makes me wonder what it'll be like when we're all a lot older - when our family gets a lot older and bigger. I wonder what it'll be like for my kids to have grandparents that actually speak English and grew up in America.

Observing everyone also made me wonder how much of our social interactions with each other were influenced by certain aspects of our "Chinese-y" culture as well as our "Americanized" culture. I think I realized I'm even less capable at distinguishing Asian/Chinese-y traits in people than I thought I was. There are no rules to these things. It makes me wonder how Chinese-American I am in my habits, traditions, and lifestyle. How do you know if something is typically Chinese-American...or not?

In any case, my family is great. And really entertaining to watch.

On a very different note, I went to Barnes & Noble today because my dad had gotten a gift card from Christmas from someone for our family. After spending about an hour and a half walking back and forth through rows of books without coming to a conclusion as to what book I should actually pick, I had a semi-short-lived rant in my head about how I hate books (especially books in bookstores) because they're all so wonderful and have so much potential to be wonderful - which causes me to have a terrible time trying to figure out which books to actually purchase and own. I did, however, come across this book amongst the highly unorganized "Christian Inspiration" section (which also bothered me tremendously):

which reminded me of the "Stuff White People Like" book. If you ever come across this book, read it. It's pretty darn funny, I must say. I laughed out loud quite a bit and all I did was skim through some of the pages.

I have a story to tell you.

Once upon a time, on a gorgeous July 31st morning, I was journaling in the kitchen while Dad was heating up a yummy Chinese-y breakfast on the stove.

"Ta-da!" Mom said, coming into the kitchen from the side door that led to the backyard. She held in her hand the longest string bean I've possibly ever seen in my life.

"What is that?" I asked, looking up from my journal.

"All her hard work," Dad said, without missing a beat. He grinned while Mom chuckled.

"What? I don't get it," I said.

"That's all it gave you?" Dad asked her, as he checked on the Chinese baos steaming in the pan.

"Yup," Mom replied. "It's from the seeds that Uncle Keon gave me."

"Wait...how long have you been growing the plant?" I asked.

"Um...well, since June I think."

"You've been growing that thing for two months and all it did was grow that one string bean??"

"It would've been nice to have a whole bunch of them," Mom said. She didn't really sound disappointed - in fact, she seemed unfazed by the whole thing, as if growing more than one bean would be the cherry on top.

"I told you, it's all her hard work," Dad said, handing me my breakfast.

I stared at the purple bao set before me. I had never eaten a purple bao before. This was quite unexpected. I was beginning to theorize that the food we ate reflected some indication of our family's weird behavior.

"So...what are you going to do with it?" I said, turning my gaze back to the elongated, home-grown vegetable.

"I'll cook it up next week," Mom said, starting to walk away.

"Dad, my bao is purple," I said. Dad shrugged.

I put the purple bao in my mouth, imagining what it would be like if I turned purple tomorrow, just like the girl in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.

And we all lived happily eating taro baos ever after.

THE END

Alternate Ending: And then I found $5 on the floor.

don't ask, don't tell & dr. quinn

i don't know if the rest of my family would agree, but i personally think there is a kind of underlying "don't ask, don't tell" policy in our house.

i don't even really know how to explain it. it's like, i feel like a television typical angst teenager whose parents don't know who i am and only know the minimal things of my life. and you know what? it's not like i don't want to share with them my life, it's just that they rarely ask. and if they do, it's out of politeness or whatever. and then if i do share with them stuff, they don't remember. or they don't ask me about it later to see how it's progressing, to see how i'm doing.

i don't want to say anything because i don't want to force them to say anything, or ask. the whole point is that i wish they'd want to know more about my life.

it's getting harder and harder since i've been feeling this way since the beginning of high school. sometimes i just get snappy or have an attitude for "no reason." but really, i know why.

some days i can take it. other days, i just get really annoyed. it's frustrating.

here's a random thing. i miss the tv show, dr. quinn. i used to watch it all the time. and it's a really good show. plus, i love jane seymour in that show, and i'm a sucker for dresses (which you may or may not know), the kind that they wore way back in old times. i love love loooove this show! it went on for a good 6 seasons.

so, they used to show re-runs on the hallmark channel last year, and my dad tried taping a bunch onto dvds, but as i tried watching one today, they're all out of order. sigh.

colleen: sully, where are all my chickens?

hahaha. anyway, i miss that show.
and jane seymour is so pretty.
if i get the dvds one day, you all should watch it with me :]

ramblings about nothings

okay i should be working on my essays and stuff again as usual, but i just have to get this out.

i hate disappointing people.
i hate saying no.
but i also hate quitting.
i hate being tired.
i hate feeling helpless.
i hate that i sometimes do too much
but at the same time don't do enough.
i absolutely hate feeling so selfish,
but i can't help it.

i think sometimes i feel this way because of my past.

when i look at my past, i see many healed wounds.
but they're just always there to remind me of the hurt.
and sometimes when i'm reminded of that hurt,
it makes me feel that way all over again.
as if stuff that happens today is bringing the same feelings i've felt in the past,
and it makes me feel like i didn't learn my lesson the first time.

i also hate failing.
and these feelings that return make me feel like i've failed...and you know what? i have.
and that's okay.
because it reminds me that i'm not perfect.
and people think that i am, or that i try to be.

you know, i always forget i'm a pastor's daughter because i really don't feel like one. but then other people remind me that i am. and usually one would think, oh yeah, that's great. but sometimes, it hurts.
today i was reminded i was a pastor's daughter.
and that because i am a pastor's daughter, i am somehow "off limits" because i'm too special to deal with.
my first reaction? ouch. ouch all the way.
you might say, "hey, somebody thinks you're really special! that's a compliment!"
but to me it says, "hey, i'm gonna take myself out of the picture because you're not worth fighting for."
yeah, i'd say i'm special. too special is more like it. and too different. and not because i'm a pastor's daughter.

i just don't think like other people. my logic is different from everyone else's logic.
people say i'm smart, but really, i'm not.
tuttle keeps teasing me about making dean's list last semester. i used to be proud of it, but then when i thought about it i realized that it really means nothing at all to me. to me, it's not true. i shouldn't be on the dean's list. it's a joke. it doesn't matter. in fact, i wish i wasn't on dean's list. maybe it'll finally prove to people that i'm really not as smart as people think, just like in the eighth grade when i didn't make it into any specialized high schools or junior/senior year when i got 1140 out of 1600 on my SATs. i'm not smart. i'm not trying to be self-deprecating and i'm not saying i'm dumb. i'm just saying i'm average. i'm not that much smarter than the average person.

that's why i keep asking questions. that's why i don't know what the difference between a pharisee and a rabbi is. that's why i don't know why tomatoes are good for you, or can't seem to remember what HIV or AIDS is. that's why i don't know what the world population is or what i learned in statistics last year even though i got a 98 average in that class. it's because i'm not as smart as people think. and i don't mind asking questions, even if they feel like there should be an easy answer. that's how i'm gonna learn.

yesterday we had beautiful weather. absolutely perfect. it was another reminder that i was absolutely not perfect. yesterday i also played softball with IV people out in the field. it was another reminder that i am not perfect. i cannot throw a ball to save my life. i didn't even want to attempt to swing because it just wasn't worth it. i cannot play sports to save my life. but that's okay. it's all okay.

it's part of who i am.

and you know what else? this whole Asian-American thing is confusing sometimes. it's a topic that has come up often in my life recently. i don't know much about Chinese people, and i certainly don't know much about American culture. and i don't fit the typical Chinese-American mold either, so i get really confused. i still can't remember the difference between lo mein, mei fun, and chow mein, and i still can't recognize any U2 song nor what the difference between rap, hip-hop, alternative, and rock music is. usually if someone asks me what ethnicity i am, i'd answer: American. but now i don't even know anymore. i'm not Chinese, i'm not American. i'm...chinalienothingmerican. i'm made up. just like my name: tamaria. i'm special. too special. too different. too weird. hard to pronounce correctly the first time. gosh, how do i even have friends? it doesn't make any sense. who would want to be friends with a weirdo like me?

well, despite all of this, i still know that God loves me just as i am and is standing in the gap with me. i am definitely not alone. i have awesome brothers and sisters who care about me :]

i am loved.
i still love InterVarsity, despite all the issues that arise.
i love college, it's molding me tremendously.
i love my bed. and my pillow. oh man, it's so comfortable.
i love and appreciate my current roommate and my future roommate more than they know.
and above all else, i love that God loves me, even when i don't love myself.

here, fellow readers, is a song i wrote a while ago that i would like to share with all of you:

tears of pain
tears of joy
if i saw you could i tell the difference?
people ask me
if you're alright
if you'd let me in
would you here me say

look at yourself
count all the wounds that cut deep within
old ones, new ones, they're all there
even with time they don't seem to disappear
but don't worry
the scars just show how many times He's healed you

i am paralyzed
i feel powerless
who could i lean on
when my pillars are gone?
those i trusted
aren't here anymore
it's only me and God
i don't need anyone else

looking at myself
counting all the wounds
that cut deep within
old ones, new ones, they're all there
even with time they don't seem to disappear
i won't worry
the scars just show how many times He's healed me

looking at ourselves
counting all the wounds that cut deep within
old ones, new ones, they're all there
even with time they don't seem to disappear
we won't worry
the scars just show how many times
we won't worry
the scars just show how many times He's healed us

now, back to writing my essay. my goal is to finish this essay by tonight even though it's due friday.