Smile Lines

Sometimes I don't realize how much I've physically aged until I look at pictures from my not-so-distant past. I've always looked young for my age, and I guess that's good thing... when I'm 40. For now, I prefer that my face match the number of years I've been alive. It's hard to get much respect when the first thing people ask me is what college I'm currently attending. At the same time, though, I guess if I make others work for my respect, it would only be fair for them to demand the same of me.

My mom always told me that I should stop laughing the way I do because I'll get wrinkles too early in life. I mean, I laugh a lot, which means that premature wrinkling is pretty much inevitable. I definitely don't want to forcefully consider how I look every time I laugh, so the only question that remains is not whether I'll have wrinkles, but what kind of wrinkles I want to have.

So I've decided that I want clean, pleasant smile wrinkles. Crisp ones with well-defined lines. I love it when I see older Chinese men with wrinkle lines that fan out from the corners of their eyes. The kind that accentuate their (often toothless) smiles and make you want to smile with them every time they shine one your way. If I'm gonna look old, I may as well let other people enjoy it with me.

Here is the picture that kicked this thought off. It was taken about 2.5 years ago while I was living in Shanghai and Guan Di was still a chill, not-so-overly-pretentious club. Catherine and Janet were two of my close friends.

Good memories.

Have you ever...

watched yourself in a mirror while speaking?

Sometimes, I catch glimpses of myself speaking or singing in a reflection and my activities are abruptly brought to a halt as I find myself in an extremely awkward state of disconnect. Until recently, I had always chalked it up to the fact that I just wasn't used to seeing myself speak, so the words never looked right coming out of my mouth.

The other day, as I was getting on the bus, a more satisfactory explanation hit me - the feeling arises from my ears telling me one thing and my eyes telling me another. I hear the sound coming from the physical location of my body, but the lips emitting those sounds are trapped on the opposite side of a glass pane. Not only is the sound out of sync with my lips, but the source is totally displaced.

Yeah, so I guess I think about some pretty whacked out stuff... but that's what a blog is for, right?

Crash

Quite easily one of the best movies I have seen in the past few years. I haven't gotten so *cough* emotional *end cough* over a movie in a while. A flick to redeem the travesty that was Star Wars III: Revenge of the Sith. I can't believe they even let Lucas release that. All copies of that movie should be thrown into a cellar and drowned in acid. Okay, maybe they should keep one copy around just to remind themselves of what never to do again.

Anyway, I digress.

There were two main opinions that people had expressed to me about Crash before I watched it:

1. It was really good, but
2. they played way too much on racial stereotypes.

To the people who thought the second, I would like to say the following:

That was the whole damn point of the movie!!

Crash exposes the superficiality of social tolerance in our country today. It's interesting because when I lived in Asia, I was extremely put off by the whole idea of "saving face". Everyone was doing things just for show. As long as they looked good, it didn't matter what was going on underneath.

I've recently come to realize that this mentality is really a part of human nature that exists to the same degree everywhere in the world. It's often expressed differently and, as is the case in places like the US, hidden under layers of cool, composed facades (which probably makes the problem even worse). In this country, we concentrate so much of our energies into convincing each other of how accepting we are, that we leave no time or emotional energy to invest in the understanding required for true acceptance.

Our constant states of defensiveness only serve to keep those around us at the ends of 10-foot poles. The primary result of maintaining this attitude is the creation and maintenance of stereotypes. Peering over the handles of our silly little poles, we are satisfied with mere glimpses of those we say we respect. Worse than that, we make boundary-crossing assessments that we have no place making because the evidence behind the conclusions is garnered from emotionally detached interactions with one another.

In the end, I don't even know why "tolerance" is considered a good thing. Why do we strive merely to tolerate each other, when the true value lies in comprehension and love?

Sons and Fathers

I stood at the corner of Riveredge and Jefferson as the trees overhead selectively protected me from the downpour of rain. I took the usual position of waiting for my morning ride; glancing up the hill every few seconds, in hopes that my building anticipation would soon be satiated by the gleam of always-on headlights coming over the hill. As I glanced impatiently for the fifteenth time in five minutes, the motion of two people walking in my direction caught my attention.

As they came towards me, the oppressive, grey atmosphere dissipated. An impenetrable bubble of satisfaction and warmth on an otherwise gloomy day surrounded them. Step by step, the middle aged father marched forward, upright and proud, as his 7-year old son hung onto his pocketed arm. Backpack in tow and father's arm in hand, the son floated alongside with a jubilant glow. His expression indicated that, had they been presented before him at that very moment, all the toys in the world would have been relegated to frivolity in relation to what he was experiencing. He existed in the best place he possibly could be; close by his loving father's side.

As they continued past, my gaze remained fixed on them until they moved beyond my field of vision. The beauty of such a moment was beyond my comprehension. Did my fascination result from mild envy stemming from my own childhood? Was it fueled by my hopes of such a relationship between myself and my own future children? It was probably a combination of both, and a few other things.

As for the present, I'm just glad that I had a chance to vicariously partake in this rare occurance.

The Missing Spring

First, I'd like to open up with a magnificent poem I wrote this morning while waiting for my bus:

Leaves of green,
Knots on trees.
Scores of raindrops
Screaming whee!
Springtime showers,
I understand,
But where's the heat?
I want some sand!

No, really.. you can all thank me later for that. Now, on to my real post for today...

Symphonies in Heaven

One of my life mottos is that "everyone has a story". This motto is not my own. My friend Wes used to use it all the time when we hung out in Shanghai. Being around him taught me how to give people a chance - even the most seemingly boring or uninteresting people. Meeting his acquaintances showed me how to appreciate the myriad of personalities around me and how these differences make each person both fascinating and beautiful.

This is why I love the sermon series that Pastor Danny has been preaching lately. Entitled "Everybody Has a Song to Sing", he has been talking about how we need to dive deep into ourselves to understand how God has made each of us unique. Only by living a life that fully leverages the individual qualities and passions that God has instilled in us can we be the most fulfilled. By fully accepting and being the person that God created me to be, I am glorifying Him.

The only way to build society as God intended it is to be quick to appreciate and slow to judge. Unfortunately, many people, including Christians, prefer to judge first and forego the effort of finding positive characteristics in those around them. I, too, am guilty of this. Healthy community stems from learning to love those who are different from us. This learning takes effort, but, more often than not, even the most valiant efforts are quickly thwarted when damaging assumptions are prematurely attached to those we hardly know. So, instead of impatiently fabricating them, we should give people a chance to share their own stories. Learn to listen and take genuine interest.

Only through this transparency can we encourage true fellowship by embracing our neighbors for who they really are.

Complementary Dissonance

Sometimes we meet people who are unbelievably similar to ourselves. People who apparently broadcast and receive on all the same frequencies as us. In fact, sometimes this connection is so strong that it makes us wonder why we aren't closer, or even more than friends, with these people in the first place.

Lately, I'm beginning to think that perfect harmony may not be a great thing. No, I've always known that perfect harmony is a bad thing, but I've never really considered why. If two people resonate in too many aspects of their lives there is a great chance that they will be detrimental to each other. Good times will be great, but bad times may just end up horribly worse than they would otherwise have to be. Resonance does not discriminate between constructive and destructive personality traits. Unchecked, amplified personalities quickly lead to burnout.

What this says, then, is that for two people to get along well, they need deep resonance in several important areas of their lives balanced with dissonance that adds a few ripples to the proverbial pool. Those disturbances keep things interesting and in check.

Beer, Sunshine and Random Stories

I haven't had an afternoon like I did today in quite a few months. Maybe my second since I've been back. Unexpected encounters and candid times of sharing with people from worlds far detached from my own, unbounded by time or the nagging feeling of needing to rush off to the next destination. I live for times like these, but pursue them too lightly.

Initially, I fought the responsibility of participating in pre-planned, day-long family activities. They're usually boring times of needing to pretend that I'm closer to everyone than I really am. This morning, I had a realization. Instead of looking at it as having to "deal" with people, I decided to look at it as an opportunity to positively change the lives of those around me and to live a potentially exciting day of new experiences for myself. An attitude I left behind after moving back from Asia.

After my cousin's first communion mass (which was an experience in and of itself), me, my aunt's dad and her brother sat outside of my uncle's fancy Staten Island home sippin on beers, enjoyin the sun and shootin the shit for 3 hours straight. The scene of lougin country boys from deep upstate perverting the view of large, pristine houses, planted on perfectly shaped lawns lined with spotless sidewalks completed the moment. Both of them are independent contractors who build houses, wire electrical systems and all that fun stuff. John's close to my age. They're both extremely intelligent, well-rounded guys. We had an awesome time talkin about everything from language to politics to cars to the appreciation of natural life. Peppered throughout the conversation was, of course, scattered comments regarding the workmanship of the property we had planted ourselves on. Great times.

Times like this may only happen when you first engage in conversation with complete strangers. Maybe they result from meeting people from different worlds that you happen to have a deep, single strand of connection with. Maybe we just happened to be together in the right place at the right time, never again to share a moment like this.

Whatever the reason, to quote a good friend who recently overcame a short-term, character building time of adversity:

Life is beautiful.

I just don't notice it all the time.

The Secret Lives of Fish

As I waited for a friend today, I decided to strike up some silent conversation with a nearby tank of angel fish. As I drew close, they all swam to where I stood.

Paddling in place, watching me watch them, their suspended states of fin-flapping animation exuded perfect contentedness. The approach of my vague, humanoid sillouette brought them a simple hope stemming from an instinctual faith.

Tracking a single particle of dirt, I watched as one fish vacuumed trash into its mouth - only to blow it out again moments later in an abrupt recognition of folly. Unflustered, it continued hanging on by an invisible thread, living a conscience-free life.

Sometimes I wish I could be one of these fish. Unaware of my own existence, I would kick around, suck on floating debris, and live utterly satisfied with my God-given role of swimming back and forth in my silly little world.

Beginnings

Meandering mindflow
Frozen frames on digital canvas
Delicate adulteration
Selective outpourings of a wayward soul.
You watch as I become
Two eggs on an english muffin.