Always Forever

"You are the love I need
You are the air I breathe
You are my love, my life, always forever." -Phil Wickham

Thursday, December 17, 2009

Moving, again



December 16, Night: The biggest problem now comes from when to move. Of course I wish to, desire it with every ounce of my heart, at least I thought so.

December 17


I would somehow attempt to transport the vivid compactness of my window-side white bed and dresser underneath, the faithful floor lamp, desk neatly arranged with books, stray sticky notes, a clear bowl of water with a flower petal, and other random memorabilia.

How can I possibly find a substitute for the marble ledge on the bedside for my snowman cup of hot water, just enough room besides the blinds-turner rod? How can I ever dare to think of endowing my bed with teddy bears and cheerio box, chocolate wrappers and a roll of tissue paper? Or strewn over the desk remnants of a seeming massive hurricane attack of notes, books, photos, and assorted pens of multi-suspicious origins? All in their own place. Each according to its kind. The art pencil has to go into the black writing utensil holder beside the Popsicle stick. R. H. Blyth’s Haiku must permanently reside by Yauznari’s collection headed by Snow Country. The perfectly vertical list of books overdue printed on the recycled paper always ends my long row of pastel-colored sticky notes, with crooked handwriting layered on top of one another. And the blasted calendar that would never stay put for more than 11 hours (due to residence’s insistence on only using sticky tack for securing the vulnerability of cheaply-pasted walls), that too must be re-arranged. I seem to have a slight problem here. Not too serious, I hope.

I don’t even know how to begin…

Perhaps first by consciously removing my presence from the place. For I’ve imbued it with a strange silence that rarely exists in conjunction with the consistent blaring of reality TV shows just a few feet away. I didn’t think I’d find it hard to demand myself this, that I must extract the essence that was once mine and take it away, to elsewhere. I will pack up the intentional randomness, the bowl drained of water and petal of color, pack the stray quotations from Shakespearean sonnets and stacks of incomprehensible ancient poetry. I will pack the few articles of clothing once intimately worn and innocently displayed on these campus grounds. I will pack the place I’ve once said goodnight to. And good morning, now to a new day.

Thursday, December 10, 2009

Belief

December 4, Night

Lord, is it really true that I will be living off campus next semester? I can hardly believe it. The joy, the disbelief, the utter amazement—what a laugh! I hardly know how to think or speak. Mai as my oneechan, Colin my “brother-in-law,” and I’ll be back at the little house on the road past Valencia Dr. by the great Lake Parker. What a miracle! So I didn’t even know what I meant when I said to Jenn Neechan, miracles do happen. That means no more early morning classes, no more chapel required, no more stomaching westernized meals, running laundry marathons, or pining for a hot bath. It does mean, however, spiritual nourishment would come directly from church and friendship, less dependent on campus-fostered atmosphere.

I have no one here. I would only have Mish and Rebecca and Ryan. And they can all come visit me anytime they want, there would be plenty of food to share. Was I ever miserable there? I’m sure, yes. I was tired of riding back and forth every day, it tired me. I hated work, too, a drudgery. Endless phonecalls and monotony. It was just for survival—the paycheck spoke volumes. When I came home, there was some other random movie I couldn’t resist watching. :P I’d want to be an introvert. And the quiet, too, at times strangely lacking. I remember escaping to Michael’s house, a wood cabin tucked away in silence. The opaque dim-lit room had a certain coziness against the open-windowed kitchen, and that, I didn’t have. But over Thanksgiving, the livingroom had been painted a deep green, the house feels luxurious, comfortable. The sushi and rice cakes gave me thrills beyond words. And the hot tea. I felt my bones soaking up the warmth, melting away stress, grief, sorrow….

Wednesday, December 9, 2009

Wondering

December 4, Evening

Sometimes, I just wonder if he looks as hard as I do, for me, if he actually seaches at all as I wander, aimlessly, wander along the beach shoreline, counting the sand and seagulls flying by. I want to know if he cares. I want him to care, but not just to care; I want him to want to care. Because if he did, he would notice; I would not have to say, would I? And my heart would not break so hard into pieces of glass, piercingly. If only I knew he is journeying, to find the hidden me, it would hold me together…. I want him to sing softly,

There we sat among the thousand, fools just like us, but not so in love like us.
There we spoke of all our feelings, and dreams were born like that, and we hope for love like that.
Now your dreams have changed and we are far apart.
I don't know when or where to start, leading you from my mind.
I want to stand with you again. I hope to find you here again.
Then the eternal sunshine.
I'll search for the orange moon that

Friday, December 4, 2009

A White Christmas

December 4

I’m uncertain. I’m not sure about anything anymore. When honestly, as I look over the white wall, and see on my hand, a wristband labeled invalid, it has my name, a barcode for identification, and EMERGENCY written on it. I can’t know what to think. Laying in bed, in the pure white knit I wear to sleep, the pure white bed sheets, the pure white bear named Snowpea, the pure white window blinds, It’s like preparing for death. I’d succumb to being weak. Frailty taking over a faint body, sinking into I don’t know where. Neither did I care, is it the abyss of despair? Why bother? Here, now, fancy names aren’t important. I thought I was a pure white feather drifting down a dark, dark embracing eternity….