New Year Resolution ver. 2011

2010. It’s been a long, difficult journey, highlighted by some pivotal events in my life:

-I’ve suffered and recovered from a massive episode of heartbreak.

-I’ve found a venue for my creative writing, which serves more as a stream of conscious thought.

-I’ve found Jesus again after nearly 4 years of a hiatus away in the darkness.

-I’ve studied for and taken the MCAT, applied to and interviewed at Medical Schools (I’m STILL interviewing at those medical schools).

-I’ve found out that there are not only different kinds of love, but in the most unexpected places (trust me, I wasn’t looking).

-I’ve gone through the worst academic semester, in my entire career (including middle and high school, and of course college).

-I’ve successfully implemented my 2010 resolution of self-improvement, and plan on continuing this into 2011.

-I am dating the most amazing girl ever, who not only keeps me accountable, but constantly challenges me to love God, keep Him as the center of my universe, and praise Him for what he has done in my life and in those around me.

That being said, my New Year Resolution for 2011 is related to worshipping God. From a very young age, I’ve been blessed with musical talent and a sensitive ear for intonation. Only recently, have I been able to truly use this blessing and gift to worship the One who gave it to me. Being part of the ACF Worship Team has not only opened my eyes to what it means to play worship songs, but also allowed me to find joy in bringing other people’s hearts closer to God through my gift.

One thing that I’ve always looked at with a grain of salt was money. I’ve never really truly valued money, I’ve always seen it as a means to get things done in this physical world that we live in. To that end, I am generous, if not borderline reckless with the way that I spend my money on others. I hardly ever spend things on myself, unless it was through some agreement that I had promised myself, and therefore worked hard for. When I heard Pastor Darrin talk about being promiscuous with your money and not your body, I first felt like I was in the clear, because I was very generous in paying for people’s meals, covering for their tab if they forgot their wallet, etc. However, I realized that I was missing a key aspect of it all. This was God’s money, and I’m only entitled to be spending so much of it, before I have to start giving back.

With that in mind, my New Year Resolution for 2011 is to keep track of my spending per week and give 10% of what I’ve spent on myself and others back to the Church through offerings. This way, I can not only feel like I’m contributing to God’s work here on this Earth, but also, in a way, worship God.

God bless and have a Happy New Year, everyone.

The Artist

“The artist colors your world, and the Sun lights up my world.” I remember when I first read the line; it was a nicely written little line on a sheet of paper in the library. Since it was the library, all I did was let out a sigh of contentment. I still get goose bumps just reading and thinking about this phrase. It characterizes not only a transformation, but also realization of self.

I was a fading star, approaching life with the soft grayscale tones that would play the quintessential part of silent movies and bad French movies. Life became something that just happened; day in, day out without any repercussions. I was slowly living the life of doomed monotony—I was content, but not happy.

Then she comes along. She reminded me of a simpler time, back when life wasn’t about this or that…it was about appreciating the simple things in life. It made me realize that we shouldn’t complain to God that we receive minor setbacks; rather, it was more beneficial to praise Him for reminding us how great the good times are. After all, if we didn’t have the bad, we wouldn’t have the good, great or amazing either.

It wasn’t easy, gripping the paintbrush after being out of the game for so long. I wasn’t sure which colors to use, or how much I had to use to mix. All I knew, or remember for that matter, was that the end result was to look pretty. Hence, I’d try my hardest to make it the sweetest, the prettiest, the cutest pictures; if not for me, for her.

But at the end of the day, it reminded me of who I was, changed who I am, and impacted who I will be. She has reignited something in me: the spirit of an artist. Now the different aspects of being an artist have all come in; they can range from something as simple as dancing in the rain to something intentional like writing various notes. If anything, life is exciting again.

Routine

I am a man of routine. Things generally fall into place.

Sitting in my room, I’m spinning on my swivel chair. As I switch between my two keyboards, my fingers are playing two different tones. At one instant, they’re tapping a barely audible Morse code, relaying messages onto the pale white glow of my computer screen. At another instance, they are composing a soft melody, playing for ears that long to hear them.

Despite the moon being unable to shine into the room through the blinds, the room is well lit, with a mix of colors between the different digital screens found scattered around the room. The dark grey and light blue backgrounds of the two computers blend in with the bright red characters found on the clock. The electronic panel of the keyboard contributes a pale palette that only mystifies the dreamscape of colors on the back wall of the room.

Suddenly, the lights black out. The lids to the computers are closed, the keyboard turned off, and the clock alarm set for 7 in the morning. The light coming from a charging cell phone reveals multiple post-it notes scattered across the otherwise clean desk. A scribbling noise is heard, and the moon eavesdrops on the words of a soft prayer that floats out the window with the fresh night breeze.

Some people ask me why I do it, and how I can hold up this routine.

I tell them because I’m happy.

The Sailor

The night is long, and the day is rough. It would seem that the waves have calmed down a little. The man, mature-looking but still well in his youth, pulls out his telescope and looks around; it's all clear, he can relax for the time being. It's been almost a year since he embarked on his last voyage, the smell of adventure out there entices him to come back. He feels like he found his calling, the amazing beauty of the great horizon drew him back out to sea. He is no inexperienced sailor; his last voyage had more than its fair share of hardships and storms rocking his little boat. He was skillful, and navigated the seas for almost two years, before one storm ended the journey.

* * * * *

That fateful night, he had taken his usual preparations for the night, as it didn't seem unusual in any way. As he was slowly ready to call it a night, he spots the unbelievable; the little vessel was headed into one of the worst storms that he had ever witnessed. He had heard tales of such turbulence, but it's one thing to hear about it, and another thing to survive it. With a deep breath, the sailor grips the ropes and bravely navigates ahead. Despite the sailor's best efforts, the violence of the storm was too great, and the vessel capsized. The sailor gripped onto a larger piece of his broken ship, pedaled towards the horizon, and prayed every sunrise to make it back to safety. Although he prayed long and hard, a part of him was lost forever at sea.

* * * * *

One day, after his prayer, he heard the sound of a horn, a fleet of fellow sojourners cruising nearby, and was fortunately rescued by them. As they brought him back to civilization, the sailor was welcomed into the fellowship of travelers, and there he was helped with provisions and a newer, re-built version of his old ship.

* * * * *

He will never forget the help that he got from the fellowship. He will never forget the love and grace of the Lord who answered his prayers and saved him. As he looks into the horizon this time, he only sees the beautiful sunset ahead; it's all clear, he can relax for the time being. It's been almost a year since he embarked on his last voyage, the smell of adventure out there entices him to come back. He has found his calling, and although the waves may get bumpy later, he now just looks and smiles at the setting sun.

As the sailor's boat drifts out to sea again, a soft sigh of content is heard whispered among the lull of the waves.

The Return

It has only been too long since I last posted my note of hiatus.

Recently, in my writing intensive (and when I say intensive, I mean intensive) class, I had been struggling all semester long (up through this far, at least) trying to find my writing mojo. It was a frustrating time where not only did my writing grade suffer for it, my motivation for blogging was also shot.

However, the last paper, one that required us to analyze, break down, and conceptualize the reasons behind the success of a political speech, was one that played to my forte. I've always viewed myself as someone who writes well when he is analyzing. As Ronald Reagan said, "it's a time to return to the first principles."

Finding my writing mojo was easier than I thought. I had to return to the basics of what made me a writer. I wrote my best when I was painting a scene, conducting a musical score of letters and words. I wrote my best when I wasn't thinking, calculating my next line of argument. Well this is the return to what works. My last paper (and the good grade that came with it) was the affirmation of my writing style, and the confirmation of hope that He provided in response to my prayers.

My creativity is reflected not only in writing, but also my music. I've been so busy and hung up on the whirlwind of things that is happening around me, that I haven't really had time to indulge in delicious melodies, to dive into a sea of harmonies, and just lose myself in the synthesis of it all.

Tonight, I return to what I want to do with my late nights. Tonight, I sing with the stars. It's good to be back.

A better writer would have come up with a witty title for this.

I find myself struggling more and more to write academically. Actually, this is applied to writing in general. Perhaps it is because I am less passionate about each of the things that I am writing about, and/or not very well-versed in the topics for which I am required to move my pen.

As I continue to struggle with this growing problem, I feel nothing but just frustration; the lost creativity, the lost motivation, the lost concentration is something that I cannot get back very easily, or so it seems.

Until I find these three things, I may or may not post here. I will be back, but as of now, I need some help finding myself again.

The Puzzle Box

A concept that I've been recently exploring is the idea of being a child of god, and how one is fulfilled through complete trust and faith in the Lord.

Remember those puzzle boxes we used to play with as children, the one with the star shaped hole, the square shaped hole, and the circle shaped hole, and the respective blocks? Even when we were little, we soon figured out that the only way to get the blocks into the box, you needed to put the star block through the star hole, the square block in the square hole, and the circle block in the circle hole. Makes sense, no? http://image.made-in-china.com/2f0j00OMWaSJVlyrqd/Wooden-Building-Blocks-Box-861014-.jpg

Now imagine yourself as one of these puzzle boxes. However, instead of these geometric shapes, we have an interestingly shaped God-shaped hole. That's right...a hole shaped of God. Now, in our defiance and breaking away from the Heavenly Father, we think we're mature enough to be able to substitute whatever we want in this God-shaped hole. This is what we as Christians see as idols. We try to fit money, sex, career, family, love, relationships into the hole meant for God, and it leaves us empty and unfulfilled, since none of these fit correctly.

Only after we accept that there is nothing that we could possibly substitute for God, and that we have a loving Father God that allows us to become children again, and "regress" back into that childhood logic. Everything was much simpler back then: God is the only thing that fits into the God-shaped hole. When that happens, we are fulfilled, we are happy, we are faithful.

We have then, and only then, become children of God.

Schrodinger's Cat

The first time I heard this analogy was a little after junior year of high school, our AP Chemistry teacher had mentioned it almost as an afterthought, seemingly smirking because he was both messing with and blowing our minds at the same time.

The next time this little story came up was in General Chemistry, which actually explained the details, consequences, and applications of this.

I've noticed that this actually applies to many more things than just atomic physics and chemistry. It is a natural sense of anxiety and/or hope, based simply in our own knowledge base.

For instance, if my football team was expected to lose a big match-up against a division rival, but I had no television to actually watch the game, I would be, in a sense, both anxious and hopeful on what the result would be. This range collapses after I look up the score online afterward, where my team would have either won or lost, not both.

I think this has a lot to do with the concept of wanting to be in control of one's life, all the time; we seek to minimize the questionable, to lift the fog, and remove the sense of limbo from our lives. This is in relation to our new technological generation, where information is right at the tip of our fingertips. Sometimes, what we don't realize, is that spectrum of feeling, the sense of unknowing protects us, gives us hope. Some things can be left better unsaid.

For all of you guys who didn't know, this is where "curiosity killed the cat" comes from.

Maturity

As I've grown through college and become complacent with my status as an aging senior on campus, I suppose it is easy to say: "I've matured." However, with maturity comes many risks and problems that soon become apparent.

Maturity is only a hop away from pride, a skip away from missed priorities, and a jump away from the inevitable fall that follows.

I used to pride myself on the ability to get everything done, having not relied on anyone. That sense of independence was my drug, my delusion of grandeur, or as Elizabeth pointed out, my sludge. To be honest, it sure tasted pretty good when I was blind to what Jesus was offering.

We often talk about how we'd love to go back to high school, since all our classes were easy, things were very lax, and we could just hang out with people all the time. I am a huge proponent of letting my grades take a backseat (my grades are fine, thanks for asking) to spending time with friends and fellowship (IM Sports, sound familiar?).

The principle of this yearning to go back to a time when we were younger makes sense; we're just wanting it for the wrong reason. By saying this, we're still valuing our grades, our own free time more than the Father. I propose that we want to go back to a time when we were younger simply because being a child was amazing with an even more amazing Father. Who wouldn't want to be a child of God?

God bless Elizabeth for coming in to speak to us, and for us to take it in our hearts, and put her message to practice.

Long Night

“Are you ok?”

“Huh?”

“Are you ok? You kind of zoned out and became all quiet, all of a sudden.”

“Oh, sorry. I’m fine; I was admiring the night sky.”

It’s quiet; almost too quiet. It’s a long night, and has no intention of ending soon. I am in my street clothes, on a top of a large parking garage; there is absolutely no light pollution, the stars have come out to play. The moon, normally shy, has come out and joined the party. I look at her, and she looks as dazzling as the stars. I asked her for a dance, and the stars glowed brightly, almost like they were blushing, twinkling, giggling with delight.

It was a slow dance, really. I couldn’t imagine anything quite so interestingly tacky, and yet so sweet. I could stare into her eyes, and be so immersed that I could completely ignore the fact that we were on the top of a parking garage. It was mystifying, her smile, that is; a smile so radiant that I am just lost, overwhelmed by the moment.

This was truly a special someone; granted, someone who will always stay close to my heart. Unfortunately, this moment was not meant to last forever. A quick check of the cell phone revealed the dim lit screen saying that it was time to go. She smiles at me once more, and says, “Maybe some other time.”

As I walk her back to her place and wish her good night, the way back home seemed so much longer. I look up, and walk to the jingle of the stars.

It’s a long night, and the only thing that is heard is a soft sigh.

The Test

It's strange, sometimes when I've had a deep discussion about something that really got me thinking, my mind decides to make it into a realistic puzzle game.

I found myself not knowing where I am or how I got to where I am. I am in an odd room, resembling a classroom but almost completely cleaned out, with the door open, and the only window revealing light so bright it blinds if and when you try to look out.

On the blackboard, is a message, written out in all capitals: "CHOOSE WISELY."

I look around, and at the only chair and desk in the room, a piece of green paper with the word "Fortune" on it and a piece of red paper with the word "Power" on it lie seemingly harmless. Is this what the message was talking about? Which piece of paper do I choose? I sat on the chair, staring at the desk with these two colored pieces of paper; perhaps there was a message on the back of these sheets of paper. What would happen if I decided to look at both?

After a while, I finally flipped over the red piece of paper, partly out of boredom, and partly just because curiosity got the better of me. On the back was scribbled, "Don't look at the green piece of paper." To make matters worse, the door that was open suddenly closed and locked. Now what do I do? Flipping over the red piece of paper has only left me with even more questions than before, my curiosity unfulfilled, on top of now being trapped in the room. Do I flip over the green one now? Or do I listen to the warning on the red sheet of paper? I decide that I might as well flip over the green piece of paper too, since I had nothing better to do, the door was closed and locked, at any rate.

That was a mistake.

Flipping over the green piece of paper, I was shocked to read, "Don't look at the red piece of paper." The window slowly started to creaked shut. As the light in the room was being consumed by darkness, I realized it was too late; the wise choice that the message on the board was talking about, was to simply leave the room.

As my vision blacked out, I woke up.

**********************************

**********************************

Temptation is everywhere and unexpected, will you choose wisely?

Skeletons

I find myself sitting awake, late at night [inclined to say, as usual]; the room light is off, although my desk lamp is still glowing weakly. Some Coldplay track is playing softly in the background, and a book of bones and skeletons lies open on my desk. Pictures of skeletons in various pictures and poses shimmer off the limited light in the room. How creepy.

I've actually never understood the scare factor of skeletons. They're the structural portion of something formerly living, merely giving us a very good clue of what the organism would have looked like when it was alive. After all is said and done, we have our own skeletons inside of us [and other stuff that we tend to hide], and we cannot separate that from ourselves. I am most likely analyzing this too scientifically to deem scary. That's no fun, oh well.

Perhaps the whole horror genre has taken this to the next level with skeletons that move and have been reanimated with "dark magic." Plenty of fantasy games, RPG or not, have used skeletons as an integral part of their mystical, mythical brutes of some diabolical mastermind's evil horde. What that says about what people view about the skeleton, I won't be able to even scrape the surface; all I know is that it would seem that culture has deemed the skeleton an object to be feared and the cause of many children's nightmares.

I suppose that's why the phrase "skeletons in the closet" is deemed so apt and appropriate about nasty little secrets that people hide. Now those, not skeletons, are truly scary.

The Power of the Space Bar

There's a small difference between a girl friend and a girlfriend. That small space, silent to the ear, speaks volumes on how one should react to and interact with this person. It's apparent to some people on which one is being used, knowing the context of the sentence, and the people involved, but other times, it's not so clear.

This lead me to think: what does this space actually signify? After much thinking, I didn't get anywhere, as it was a question too simple to over-think, yet too complex to provide a simple solution. While busying myself with reading, a relatively satisfactory solution appeared in front of me. The space is like a termination of a thought process. It is how we denote that a bundle of letters jumbled together creates one coherent thought/meaning, and is then separated from the bundles of letters before and after it.

It's a thin [invisible] line separating those two ways of addressing someone; isn't it the point to find a boyfriend/girlfriend who has those traits that allows you two to be best of friends? What dictates the differences? Why are there differences? What changes when that small space is deleted?

After all, shouldn't it be nothing?

Classes, People, among other things.

First day of classes. Some people view it as a blow-off day, to really just go to classes to see which of their friends are in which classes, and how they're going to have "soooo much fun" in [insert generic class name]. Other people view it as a time to shop for classes, which ones are worthwhile and which ones, not so much. Finally, there's me, sitting through the 3 hardest classes of my fall schedule, with an interesting sense of apathy. What I have realized, is that I no longer look towards classes with great anticipation. Rather, I start calculating exactly how much time I will need to invest into each class, and pull away with a grade that is acceptable to no longer just my own (albeit declining) personal standards, but also the expectations from those medical schools looming in the background, waiting to see what [insert AMCAS ID#] exactly is going to do in his final year in college.

That being said, I resolved that I was to finish strong in college, and follow the trend of how my grades went in high school (Note: starting strong in freshman year, caring progressively less through until junior year, and then finishing spectacularly senior year), which means I will be committing more time to the books, all the while juggling the ridiculous amounts of things and people I need/want to do and see (respectively, don't be silly and/or ridiculous). The realization that I am now a senior, a 4th year old fogie, probably hit me when I walked through the campus. I saw the anxious little freshmen running here and there, clearly not quite accustomed to the infamous "7 minute rule." I look at them, and then to how I now walk to class, alone or with friends, and we've clearly slowed down in our "old age."

This last year has presented itself as the opportunity to not only buckle down and leave with a long-lasting good impression of the school and education received, but also to really reinforce the relationships that I've built over the past 3 years. Along with spending more time with the academic texts, I find myself constantly rearranging my schedule so that I may squeeze in just one more meeting with people. It is definitely not a bad thing to invest in people, and frankly, that's the most I'm going to get out of college. Not this B.A. in Biochemistry or Anthropology. Rather, the friendships that will continue, after we toss our hats into the air, and shake hands and hug each other knowing that another phase of our life has been completed, will be what makes all the money (that I personally believe this school is wasting on flowers and unnecessary buildings) I've paid worth it.

Cheers to and prayers for a great senior year, and to the continued commitment to investing in people. Fellow seniors, let's take this last year and rock it loud. Real loud.

Choices in Dreams

Once in a while, I dream a dream that feels so real, the details so vivid, that I believe I lived it, experienced it in real life. These experiences seem to be burned into my memory; I can recount them like they happened just now, even if they are a couple days past. Yesterday, I woke up from this dream sweating, but not in cold fear; rather, pure heart-pumping adrenaline.

The dream takes me to a place I don't remember travelling to with family or friends, but it seemed like somewhere I've been to multiple times. I had rock climbing gear on, clipping on all my belays, staring up at the cliff before me. Before I even realize it, time fast forwards, and I'm already halfway up the cliff, pulling stunts even Tom Cruise wouldn't dare do on Mission Impossible. A couple of close calls and a few lucky grabs, I make it up to the top of the outcropping. There, I see two things on opposite sides of the apex. On one side, I see a zip line, guided straight back down in the direction of the camp that I came up from. On the other side, I see a hang glider, perfect condition, facing the horizon of the setting sun. I did not know what was beyond that horizon, only that it compelled me towards it. I look back at the zip line to safety, and swallowing any remaining nervousness, I hooked myself into the hang glider, and pushed off. Right when I looked down to see how high I was flying

I woke up.

The Healer

What can I really say about you? You’re humble beyond compare: you’ve helped millions of people around the world, and you do it without taking any credit. You know just what to say at any given moment. You know when to make someone laugh, you know when to help someone cry, you know even when they’re just out to have fun.

You look out for people, you really do. I can’t say your medical practice is orthodox, a lot of skeptics all say it’s a bunch of placebos and nonsense, but I think there may be something to what you do. You can make any furious person calm again; you can make any happy go lucky person reflective. Your power never ceases to amaze me.

After all, what greater compassion could there be, than you helping a grieving friend smile again? What greater dedication could there be, that you offer your help time and time again, without a thought about yourself? What greater intelligence could there be, that you can move millions with your words?

What is there left to say, outside of Praise God for creating music?

(Great) Minds Think Alike

For once in a very long time, it’s finally just me and you. Imagine yourself in that place where you feel the most comfortable, the most relaxed. Purge your mind of everything else for this little moment, while we play a little game. Listen to your heartbeat, it’ll help slow time down.

** ** ** **

Close your eyes. Breathe deeply. Now hold that breath. Count with me in your head. 1…2…3…alright. Slowly exhale, and at this moment, conjure up an image of the first person you think of. Now place that someone in a pleasant memory you shared with that person. Recollect when it happened. Where did it take you? What time was it? A café…no, a lounge…a dining area? In the afternoon, you say? Interesting. Close your eyes again, and let’s keep going.

** ** ** **

Bring up that person again. What are you two doing? You say it’s just talking, but are you sure that’s what it is? What are you talking about, then? Anything and everything? Huh, fancy that.

** ** ** **

What’s wrong? You seem deep in thought. What did you say? You thought of me?

Funny, I thought of you too.

Music in my ears.

NOTE: Although I will continually update this list, this post may get bumped down from various other works I may write, so you may want to keep this tabbed if you're into following this work-in-progress.

Now anyone who has even a slight grasp of who I am, knows that I like music, and my ears allow the transition between headphones or speakers to the keys of a piano. This is what people call "playing by ear."

This summer, a side-project of mine was to look into figuring out as much music as possible, as it is one of the few big chunks of time I have without having to worrying about biochem problem sets, board meetings, pick-up games, and rendezvouses with various people, be it in person, on skype, or on the phone.

Now, what kind of music is fair game? In all honesty, I enjoy the challenge for pieces that are unconventional on the piano, but let's be honest, it's hard to do a rap when you're relying solely on musical notes (granted, I've done rap choruses). Anything else, well, if it gets stuck in my head, it's fair game. As you'll soon see, genres are being broken down faster than the Berlin Wall.

Songs in the bag:

Love Story - Taylor Swift

I'm Yours - Jason Mraz

Not Afraid - Eminem

Love the Way You Lie - Eminem

She Will Be Loved - Maroon 5

Hey Soul Sister - Train

童话 - 光良

都是你 - 光良

Fireflies - Owl City

I Could Sing of Your Love Forever - Sonicflood

Unashamed - Starfield

You Are Holy - Michael Smith

Bulletproof - La Roux

Cooler Than Me - Mike Posner

Basket Case - Green Day

Beautiful Girls - Sean Kingston

God of this City - Chris Tomlin

Safe - Phil Wickham

Libertango - Astor Piazolla

Happy Birthday to Me - Bulldog Mansion

Apologize - Timbaland ft. One Republic

Victory - Bond

The Scientist - Coldplay

Alejandro - Lady GaGa (Prepped to Record)

Holiday - Green Day

My Girl - The Temptations

Baby - Justin Bieber

Yesterday - The Beatles

A silly little song.

You Belong With Me - Taylor Swift

Dynamite - Taio Cruz

Hey There Delilah - Plain White Ts

Viva La Vida - Coldplay

This Love - Maroon 5

Pokerface - Lady GaGa

Airplanes pt. 2 - B.O.B ft. Hayley Williams and Eminem

Where Is The Love - Black Eyed Peas

Bad Romance - Lady GaGa

Beautiful One - Tim Hughes

You've Got a Friend in Me - Randy Newman

Halo - Beyonce

Our God - Chris Tomlin

My Heart Will Go On- Celine Dion

新鸳鸯蝴蝶梦 - 黄安

Clocks - Coldplay

Merry Go Round of Life - Joe Hisaishi

Beethoven Virus - Banya

Georgia on My Mind - Ray Charles

Songs currently partially down or could use some polishing (some are getting dusty):

My Girl - The Temptations - 8/14/10

Where Is The Love - Black Eyed Peas - 8/16/10

Bad Romance - Lady GaGa - 8/16/10

Through the Kaleidoscope - Steven Cravis

Merry Go Round of Life - Joe Hisaishi - 8/21/10

Halo - Beyonce - 8/18/10

Baby - Justin Bieber - 8/14/10

Bleeding Love - Leona Lewis - 8/19/10

You Belong With Me - Taylor Swift - 8/15/10

新鸳鸯蝴蝶梦 - 黄安 - 8/20/10

Holiday - Green Day - 8/14/10

Love Game - Lady GaGa - 8/19/10

Airplanes pt. 2- B.O.B. ft. Hayley Williams and Eminem - 8/16/10

Viva La Vida - Coldplay - 8/15/10

Clocks - Coldplay - 8/20/10

Hosanna - Hillsong

My Heart Will Go On - Celine Dion - 8/18/10

The Only Exception - Paramore - 8/15/10

Dynamite - Taio Cruz - 8/15/10

青花瓷 - Jay Chou

Georgia on My Mind - Ray Charles - 8/23/10

Our God - Chris Tomlin - 8/18/10

Beethoven Virus - Banya - 8/22/10

King of Anything - Sara Bareilles

Songs currently on the list to do:

Hey There Delilah - Plain White Ts - 8/15/10

Alejandro - Lady GaGa - 8/13/10

Beethoven Virus - Banya - 8/17/10

The Only Exception - Paramore - 8/13/10

Beautiful One - Tim Hughes - 8/16/10

King of Anything - Sara Bareilles - 8/24/10
Georgia on My Mind - Ray Charles - 8/16/10

Our God - Chris Tomlin - 8/16/10

Dynamite - Taio Cruz - 8/13/10

Avalanche - Marie Digby

Sky Sailing - Brielle

I'm Letting Go - Francesca Battistelli

Mine - Taylor Swift

青花瓷 - Jay Chou - 8/16/10

发如雪 - Jay Chou

菊花台 - Jay Chou

You've Got a Friend in Me - Randy Newman - 8/17/10 (Recorded)

Keep in mind, I may have forgotten a bunch of songs, so this list is definitely tentative. Any recommendations? Let me know. I'll add it to this list.

Music is my drug.

I have to admit it: I must be hopelessly addicted. Some people say I have a problem, but they just don’t see what good comes from it. It gets expensive, in its own way, me spending all this time and energy on varied musical nonsense almost seems…counter-productive. People want me to do something useful with my life. But don’t you see? This is my little wormhole out of reality; to a place where time falls into my control. If it so calls for allegro con brio, then let the clock ticks quicken with my heartbeat; but if we’re humming a nice dolce andante, time will bend and slow to my whims.

How does one stay sane? Let me ask you this then, why do we dream? Our minds working ever tirelessly when we’re supposedly at rest; it is our way of staying productive, staying active. Once we lose that, then and only then, is when insanity sets in. The same can be said about the connection between music and me. This is how I “stay productive,” how I refresh myself after a long, tiring day at work. This is how time flies by. Now this may seem contradictory to the old proverb, “slow down and smell the roses,” but just because our minds stay active doesn’t mean they’re sprinting; as runners may know, slowly jogging for an extended period of time is less tiring and taxing on the body than sprinting and stopping in short bursts.

It used to sound like a chore, when my dad told me to stop playing video games and practice piano; of course my then childish desires were to stay glued to the television screen, guiding an Italian plumber wearing a red cap I’ve never met before jump through obstacles of a dream world. Little did I know that my dad was, in reality, giving me the set of keys that allows me to traverse through a dream world of my own.

I can’t imagine a world without music, a world where everything is silent. It may help me concentrate or focus on something in the short run, but if I had to give up my hearing, life wouldn’t be peaceful; rather, it’d be quiet…too quiet…suffocating.

What’s your drug?

Another Notch...

...in the belt of life. Ever since starting this long, tedious, sometimes repetitive road, there have been many "moments." These include: moments of brain freeze and sighs of near-defeat during the essay writing, moments of depression and anxiety staring at my glaringly less than perfect GPA and "good-enough" MCAT score, moments of hesitation before clicking the submit button and paying each school's application fee, and moments of joy when truly finishing and checking off each school on the giant checklist that I have made on a sheet of notebook paper.

Now being officially done with said secondaries, I suppose I've moved on from the writing phase to the waiting phase. Although now it is now completely out of my hands, I know He'll guide me to where he wants me to be, and it'll all work out in the end.

All this work and belt tightening is making me skinnier, I think.

Perhaps

Perhaps this scene was used as a snapshot in a movie. The fan is whirring, humming a cool tune, letting its song fill the small, dark room. As per usual, a solitary light coming from the laptop prevents the blackness from swallowing the entire space. It is mysteriously hot, uncharacteristic for this time of day, for this part of the nation, given this section of the year.

Perhaps that's why the young man is still up so late; the inability to find a comfortable spot to fall asleep in without overheating from simply his own body heat. Instead, he finds himself tapping away at a keyboard, diligently working; it's surprising how much more work he gets done at this time when everyone else is sound asleep.

Perhaps he should realize this incredibly ironic situation. His mother complaining to him, asking why he never works, and that all she sees him do in the daytime is slack off, play games, exercise, and read. Maybe if she would look past all that and see the young man's work as an end result, she'd be satisfied; but alas, that would be asking too much open-mindedness for someone who has long solidified their perspective like a concrete tunnel.

Perhaps it is he who should adapt; it's not like the young man doesn't understand where the opposing arguments and points are coming from. As he continues typing, he pauses, and chuckles to himself on the silliness of it all. Soon he shall be done with whatever it is that he had to do, before whenever the deadline was, and sent it to wherever it needed to go. The details no longer matter; all that is important, is that it is done.

Perhaps he'll get a breather when all of this clears up. Although the young man has rested quite often over the course of this summer, he doesn't exactly feel...relaxed, calm, poised to take on the last year. The whole process of waiting doesn't sit well with him; he likes to be moving. He likes to be in control.

Perhaps it is painstakingly obvious that this "he" is me.

Perhaps it isn't only me.

Perhaps.

How do I stop...

…this wagon of worry, this pushcart of pride, this locomotive of little faith?

I feel more and more out of control and the result of a crash is never a happy ending.

I need to stop feeling like I need to be in control of everything I do; truth be told, I can control little of what’s to come. I know that these things are better left to hands much more capable than my own, His hands, and yet I am unwilling to let go of whatever “free choice” I have.

I need to stop comparing myself to other people. Be it the result being feeling of inadequacy, or the unsubstantiated sense of pride for being better than someone at a certain aspect, it is never to the expense of anyone else. That may be the case now, but just having these types of feeling means that the mindset is still there, and only sooner and not later, will this spill out more catastrophically than the oil spill in the gulf. Why do I subject myself to meaningless comparison, when I know that everyone’s conditions and backgrounds are different, hence listing apples and oranges?

I need to stop actively looking for an answer, but rather, open my mind and my heart to what He has to respond. He’s been there, at times very clear to me, and other times, not so much. I need to stop thinking like a child, “If I can’t see it, then it’s not there.” This mentality just highlights the weakness of my faith and not completely trusting what the Lord has in store for me.

I need to find the brakes, and hopefully do not stomp on the gas while trying to do so.

The Writer

It’s silent…disturbingly silent. Even if it is 3 in the morning, you’d expect the crickets to be out serenading each other. In the middle of the darkness, a dim blue/off-white glow of a laptop computer monitor flickers. In front of it, the faint silhouette of a man, hands on his head, shaking with disapproval. The keyboard clicks a few times, and words disappear off the screen. The man has been at this since he ate Chinese take-out for dinner, and hasn’t left his chair since answering the door to tip the high school boy who drove him his food.

Writer’s Block? More like Writer’s Great Wall of China, the man thinks to himself. Frustrated, he throws a crumbled fortune cookie at his overflowing trashcan, bouncing out, showing an ironic fortune: Your ideas will inspire others. He looks at his watch—3:18am. With a sigh, the man looks at what he has accomplished thus far; 8 prompts, highlighted in bold, lines of personal notes italicized, and a variety of key points underlined. Unfortunately, none of that translates to the necessary yet elusive essay form that will satisfy the requirement.

Tap, tap, tap, tappity, tappity tap. The cursor dances across the screen, words left in its wake. It halts, seemingly realizing the sloppy trail it has been leaving behind, and quickly retreats to clean up its mess. The man is taking two steps forward, three steps back; this must be the hardest assignment he has had yet. The fact that there is a deadline does nothing but add stress to the entire already dicey situation.

He tries to reread the text that is already jotted down, but prevents himself from deleting it. He quickly hits Ctrl + S, and closes the lid of the laptop, letting the poor thing finally go to sleep. Now that the room returns to being pitch black, the man rolls onto his bed, and lies there thinking, patiently waiting for the darkness to lull him to sleep.

------

On a completely unrelated note: cheers to half a century of posts in 2010.

An Experiment

Now I'm not sure how many people I've told, or how many people have picked up on this, but my left is stubbornly refusing to admit it is the off-hand. From experiences and slowly noticing the habits that I have across various activities, a story that my mom told me of my childhood makes more and more sense.

My mother tells me of a time where when I was young, before I could speak. I would grab everything with my left hand, and swing it around, only using my right hand to perhaps hold onto something that did not quite capture my attention or that I wanted to "put away for later." Now growing up in the stereotypical Chinese family, where chopsticks are ALWAYS held (not so strict anymore, I guess) with the right hand, as I grew older, my mom said that I would slowly be "corrected" to prefer my right hand to my left.

To this end, I believe that I was truly ambidextrous at some point of my life. At some point, my right hand most have felt just as natural as my born-instinct to use my left hand. I think the tipping point of no return was when I entered pre-school, where we started to learn how to write the ABCs. I think that day I felt pretty good with my right hand, and thus the teachers taught me to write right-handed, and that was that.

Now there are certain aspects or habits that all point to why I am not naturally-right handed. The biggest indicator, is that I am completely left-foot dominant in soccer, where it is pretty hard to switch dominant feet. My penmanship with my left hand, is that of perhaps a 3rd grader, someone who just never really learned cursive (which leads to many additional questions). Whenever I'm drinking any beverage, I always reach out for it with my left hand, unless it's more convenient to take it from someone with my right. Finally, I may dribble with my right hand, but I am a left-handed shooter. At any rate, now as a 21-year old, I decided it was going to be fun to experience what it was like when I was little: to be left-handed.

I went to work today, and basically did everything that would normally be done with my right, with my left. To my pleasant surprise, most tasks, such as pipetting, sorting tubes, writing on plates, were just as easy, if not easier with my left-hand.

Coming home, I suppose the only task that was significantly challenging was pretty obvious: eating dinner with chopsticks. After getting my left hand locked into the chopstick hold, I felt like I was following the 1-2-3 step directions of how to use chopsticks seen on disposable chopstick sleeves. "Now you can pick up anything!" If only it were that easy, then I would have been tearing it up with my lefty chopsticks.

I found that today was a very enlightening experience, that within my day at the lab running experiments, I was running my own, personal experiment. Perhaps one day I can return to being truly ambidextrous, but that may have to wait until much later in the future.

Slow down...

…and smell the roses.

Despite knowing this little tidbit of wisdom, I rarely ever get the chance of put it into practice. This would not be the case tonight.

After a session of basketball with my high school friends, I found myself driving back home alone, since all of them head the other direction to their homes. With a cold AriZona Sweet Tea that I picked up from a BP, I noticed something. I wasn’t in a rush to get home, nor were there any cars on the road. The streetlights seem to line my path like those little LEDS on an airplane’s aisle. I turn off my radio, and listen to the sounds of the night. As the crickets play their maracas happily (they stole the spotlight from the birds in the daytime), I realize that I’m driving 15 miles per hour under the speed limit.

In the final stretch of my little cruise, I flicked off the headlights, just to get a feel of what the night looked like without me there, without the light pollution. The amount of fireflies that appeared after the pollution was removed is simply incredible. I could still see the road fully, but instead of a mechanically generated electric bulb, I’m being guided by the transient flickering of nature’s flashlight. By this point I’m driving at around 20 miles per hour, on a road that normally requires one to go 45.

As I’m rounding the corner before the subdivision, I see a group of four deer prancing across the road. Because my headlights are off, they danced so freely; one even stopped by my car, seemingly to ask me if I wanted to dance with them. Alas, the night grew darker, and I had to respectfully decline the generous offer; I rolled into my neighborhood, looking how each house had more lights than the next. With a sigh that marked the end of my little journey, I parked into the garage. As I was walking inside, I looked back at the wilderness, and smiled at the pleasant, albeit unexpected date I had tonight.

A Letter to the Moon

Dear Moon,

Normally I wouldn’t write you, because the postage would just be monumental. But I haven’t seen you out and about lately, so I almost feel obliged to talk with you. Is it because of those pesky clouds are always stealing the spotlight? Or is it that you’ve been pretty shy lately, waiting for the opportunity to really shine?

Speaking of shine, you look breathtakingly bright tonight. I would be stumbling and fumbling around, lost in the darkness, but with that aura, you can be my protector, my flashlight. The way that you look at me, I lose sight of all of the rest of the stars in the sky. Tonight, it’s just you and I, staring across a 240,000 mile canyon of emptiness between us.

I’ve always wondered this though. You must have been asked to play the messenger between two people who love each other, but are separated by distance. Do you actually relay their thoughts the other person, or are you there to merely reflect them like you do sunlight? When I am talking to someone on the phone, I always feel closer to a person if I’m gazing at you at the same time. How do you do it? I’m mystified by how if two people are looking at you, you bring them closer together.

I hope you will divulge me some of your tricks; I'll be here, watching you, admiring you.

Sincerely,

Steve

Long Unanswered Question

People often ask me why I stay up so late, or how I am so energetic in the day, despite getting 4-6 hours of sleep on average per day. The surface level answer is that I practically intake caffeine intravenously, be it coffee, various soft drinks, or sips turned gulps of Full Throttle. But to be perfectly honest, caffeine is usually my answer and solution only when I have to get work done, and there happens to be not enough hours in the day to accomplish it. I am often guilty to over-committing myself to different things, to the point that I might as well be that fabled headless chicken running around aimlessly. On a deeper level, I simply like the naturally reflective nature of the night, and being a person who likes thinking, there is that fundamental affinity to stay up those extra hours to really let my soul wander. Of course, my vessel of choice is the keyboard, for both music and writing endeavors.

The piano is like the perfect fast-food employee (for the most part), doing precisely what the customer wants (usually); after all, “the customer is always right” (sometimes). The strings are my easel, the keys are my brushes, and the notes are my paints. The only difference, is that if the painter were to perform in the same environment that I am in, he or she would need color-tuned night vision goggles (wouldn’t that be amazing?).

Similar to how I like to practice and improvise on the piano in the dark, I do my best writing when it is late at night, away from all the busy, hectic schedules and appointments that soak up and frolic in the daylight. During the day, my mind is cluttered and my attention is forcibly spread across multiple fronts. However, like Jekyll turns to Hyde in the night, I become calm and collected when the moonbeams shine through the clouds, and the stars invite me out to play. It is during this time, in my conversations with the stars, that I can adapt other people’s styles into one of my own: much like a remix artist records his own version of a well-known song. Something about the clear black sky is so soothing, that my mind simply cannot help but emulate it.

So, why is it that I stay up so late? Because the best part of the day has yet to start when others are heading to bed.

The Mash-Up

This is something I've wanted to explain for a long time. The respect I have for Eminem as a rapper is something beyond just being a fan of his music. So without further ado, here goes:

I am not partial to the rap genre. The glaring reason for this is the lyrics. After all, what is mainstream rap without rhymes lined up to a bass and rhythm? Granted, I’ll tolerate, even enjoy many rap songs purely for the amazing instrumental flow they have in the background. If I could, I’d just lose myself in the music (Lose Yourself), and never find myself again. But you can’t go into the Louvre, and say you enjoy a piece of artwork and call it priceless when all you liked was the frame. The lyrics, be it spoken clearly and recited or slurred into incomprehensible slang, are, nine times out of ten, derogatory, offensive and unoriginal. They say that music can alter moods and talk to you (Sing it For the Moment), but what’s talking to you in rap?

There is one exception to this broad yet sadly true generalization, and that is Eminem. Not being African American means he was alone in the rap genre; he’s had to stick out his neck for respect (Soldier) just in his own industry. It just so happens that Eminem’s lyrics actually do mean something, not just talking about having money, guns and women. Talking about the rough life he’s had, the struggles he’s had raising his daughter while rising to fame, just gets on the mic and spits it (The Real Slim Shady) about his life; after all, food stamps don’t buy diapers (Lose Yourself). Now, blind and ignorant haters that make up most of the rap lovers come strutting their stuff, getting all up in my grill with their Gs and homedogs about how I should back my punk ass off before I get a cap popped in me. I just want to say that I am beyond confident that none of you haters that who defend those rappers are anywhere near gutsy enough to run with an actual gang that your rappers roll with, so don’t try to call me a poser when you guys are the biggest of them all. You guys can claim to be thugs for life; that’s alright, because I love the way you lie (Love the Way You Lie): your personal delusion of grandeur is nothing but amusing for me.

Truth be told, I’m not afraid to take a stand (Not Afraid), because nothing you say is founded on truth or realism. You just depend on swagger and a mob mentality to keep this dream alive; it’s just another way of saying that you’re nothing but weak-minded and a bandwagon groupie. I’ve had to deal with people like you Saturday through Sunday, Monday, Monday through Sunday (Superman).

I’m done trying to reason with you.

The Pianist's Letter

The lights are off. A young man is alone, in a soundproof room, sitting calmly in front of a grand piano. Everything is silent now. It didn't used to be this way. There used to be music pouring out from the piano. There used to be someone who sat with him. As he tries to hum a tune to himself, he keeps time with his heartbeat. His hands reach out to play something, but his mind tells them otherwise. As he pulls the rebellious pair back, he looks around the room again. On the side of the varnished wooden piano bench, there sits a little chair. As he reminiscences, a soft sigh is all that is heard echoing through the room.

His hands finally take over while his mind is distracted, and a slow, somber melody leaks out. It may have been from some romance movie, or perhaps it was some top 40 song 10 years ago. At this point, it doesn't matter. His mind is a blank, trying to find an image of that someone. Suddenly, he stops playing. He pulls out a sheet of blank paper and scribbles something down, and leaves it on the piano stand. Upon closer examination, it reads:

Hello there, friend.

By the time you read this, I may have gone far, far away. In that case, I am sorry that I will probably never get to say this to you in person. Do you know how much I think about, worry about, care about you? You may be aware or unaware, but it's true. I am a coward; I hide behind my music. What I don't tell you when I am with you, I pour into my music, in this little sound proof room. What is sad now, is that my piano doesn't want to be the messenger anymore. It refuses to play what I mean to say to you. Perhaps another time, where I can spend all the time in the world with you, I'll muster up whatever courage I need to tell you how I really feel. Circumstance has prevented this from happening sooner, and I guess the cowardice continues by me writing you this letter.

I am happy that you are picking up piano again, since that is probably the only way you'll ever get to see this letter. When you play, this piano will spill all of its secrets, my secrets, to you. You'll be able to see what I see; my world will become yours. You probably won't ever be able to return or share the feelings I've stored in this piano, but that's perfectly fine. I am more than happy to take a backseat, and lend a secret helping hand, behind the scenes, like the set crew of a musical production, of which you are the star.

Take care, friend. You should know where and how to find me.

Yours,

The Pianist

The Mirror

Josh woke up this morning, slightly shivering with a stuffy nose. Somewhere in the middle of the night, he kicked off his comforter, and was barely covered by a light blanket. As he glances over at the clock, he realized that he woke up 5 minutes before his three alarms were timed to go off. Reluctant to try and steal a couple minutes of extra sleep, Josh slithers out of bed, resets all the alarms, and trudges into the bathroom to freshen up.

As he walks in, he's greeted by a familiar face. Josh picks up his toothbrush, and right before he starts brushing his teeth, his reflection starts talking to him.

"Hello Josh. Good morning."

"Whoa, who are you?"

"I'm you, silly, is that how you greet yourself everyday?"

"I guess I haven't really thought about how to greet myself."

"Well, don't you have to deal with yourself the most? Why haven't you thought of this?"

"Hmm..."

"Honestly, I'd think my other half would have more smarts than to ignor--"

The reflection's conversation was cut short by Josh starting to brush his teeth. Not only did he silence his reflection, he gained some valuable quiet thinking time on what the reflection had to say. How do I greet myself everyday? Do I really know myself? Do I change from day to day? These things bothered Josh, but he couldn't risk stopping, where the reflection could start yapping again. As he swished out the toothpaste and wiped his face with a warm towel, Josh's reflection cried out, "Remember to be true to yourse--"

Josh already turned and walked away, out of sight of the mirror. One thought ran through his mind: Do I really know myself well enough to know how to greet myself?

Things recorded in a little black book...

...are usually secrets.

Not mine.

I sit down in a cafe, order a medium mocha, double shot of espresso. I pull out the little black book from my back pocket, and start writing into it with the black pen in my pocket. Scribbling away, I look around, seeing if anyone is looking at me, trying to figure out what I'm writing down. Perhaps doing this in a relatively crowded cafe wasn't the brightest of ideas, but at this point, I don't mind. The looking around feels almost obligatory, even if what I'm writing down isn't some secret worth 80 billion dollars, or what not.

A friend of mine walks into the same cafe, recognizes me, and comes to sit down next to me. As she is sitting down, I coincidentally finish what I was scratching into the book, and put it back into my backpocket. She glances at me, and after ordering her coffee, asks me, "What do you write in that thing?" "Reflections, thoughts, prayers." I reply almost immediately, sipping my mocha.

The more I think about it, I realize that even my answer to her was strangely secretive for something that was completely and utterly truthful. Ironically, none of the three kinds of things that I told her, are actually secretive. My reflections are usually applied to what I do, and seen in how I act. My thoughts are shared with those who have the ear to listen to them, and those close enough to know what kinds of things I think about. My prayers are heard and answered by the Lord, and there's nothing secretive or shameful about them to hide.

My friend gets her coffee, and simply responds with a "Ok, cool." She follows up with the question, "Are you feeling okay? Anything we need to talk about?" I look from the window view outside back to her. "I'm alright. Nothing in particular that's bothering me. What's up?" We sit there, and talk pleasantly over coffee.

Things recorded in a little black book are usually secrets.

Not mine.

Thought Experiments

You find yourself on a game show. The lights are almost blinding, but you make out three doors ahead of you. Whatever you have done, you are now presented with a choice: Door number 1, number 2, and number 3. The game show host, in his bright red suit and quirky snicker, tells you that the prizes behind each door are aligned in order of value, but doesn't say in increasing or decreasing order. Which door would you pick? He opens up door number 3, and shows you that this prize is absolutely terrible. Which door do you pick now?

----------

You're now journeying in a mystical dream world. Interestingly, you come across an bizarre sight. A small strip of land that separates an inconceivably large pool of lava from an equally inconceivably large pool of water. Where would you walk on the strip of land? Closer to the lava, or to the water? What if you were notified that there were piranhas in the water? Where would you walk then?

----------

You're back in your own shoes. Life presents you a dilemma in which you could take a stance between two polar opposites. For argument's sake, you could swing either way, neither is necessarily pleasant. Two little figurines appear on your shoulders. One tells you to consider which of the two sides would be the worse of two evils. The other tells you to just pick the middle ground, as the argument of which is worse is irrelevant. Who do you listen to?

Same Old Scheme, New Theme

As it may very well be obvious, I've decided on changing the color theming to my blog. To be perfectly honest, the change was made for a couple reasons: 20% boredom, 25% the feeling of needing a change, 55% a black background doesn't hurt my eyes as much when I'm blogging into the wee hours of the night.

In contrast, here are the things I've been up to, and plan on keeping the same:

1) Reading - I have probably read in the past 2-3 weeks than I have in the entirety of my high school experience. I suppose it was more of finding the right material to read. CS Lewis, you're my man, reading your work and loving it. I've devoted a good chunk of my day to studying the Bible. I plan on continuing this through the summer and into the school year; it's very liberating and educational at the same time (something I definitely did NOT feel with Orgo).

2) Piano - Similarly, I've probably messed with piano and experimented with new chord progressions and melodies more in this last week than I have all of junior year. Oh, dear pianoforte, how I've missed you. This will be a very happy summer.

3) Basketball - My friends back home do not have a summer pick-up league for soccer. None of them really play football either. Bummer right? Instead, we're now playing basketball perhaps 2-3 times a week, and I get to practice my mid-range jumper on my hoop at home. Gotta stay fit somehow, right?

4) Prayer - My summer started off with the Lord guiding me through a difficult time, and I couldn't have done it without all the prayers of those dear to me. It's my turn to pray for those of you going through your own challenges.

5) Computer - As lame as it sounds, I spend a fair amount of time online, doing various things ranging from online video games to episodes of Glee. But most importantly, I get to catch up with all of those I've managed to catch online on GChat. I've managed to webcam with a few of you guys already, always nice to see your faces. Do chat me up, I'd love to hear from all of you!

I think this'll keep me fairly entertained/busy for the most part. Like the Black Eyed Peas sang, I've got a feeling...this summer's gonna be a good summer.

The Mad Scientist

Thunder booms, lighting strikes, a house in the middle of the forest.

The house is empty, a few creaks from the doors, but otherwise silence rules. Suddenly, a shadowy figure appears from an upstairs study, flies down the stairs, and dashes across the foyer. The flash from the lightning gives a glimpse on the shadow's face: one of a young man. The man disappears behind shelf. Closing the door behind him, he puts on his sound-canceling headphones. Let the experimentation begin! A lone smirk is seen on the young man's face.

As he stretches his arms and flexes his long fingers, he thinks on which instrument he shall work with. Looking around, he smiles at the large one, standing upright in the corner. Bigger is better, hmm? A marvelous machine of creation, black and white with gold imprints, the young man is happy with his choice. As the young man's fingers fly across its studded surface, the instrument responds quickly and pumps out waves of consciousness.

He is manufacturing mellow melodies, hinting at haunting harmonies, singing slick syncopations, and dancing with dangerous dissonance duos. They call him a madman, trying things that no one has tried before, mixing things that no one has dared mixed before. The young man pays them no heed; this is what he does best, what he loves: that is all that matters.

The trees outside are swinging back and forth, humming to a beat in the wind, jamming to the techno-esque lightning flashes; in the background, a soft bass-line of laughter is heard echoing.

Love, Unrequited.

Sitting outside on the steps of the apartment complex, a lone voice is heard at 3 in the morning. He is calm, having conversed with the stars in the peaceful night sky; now listening on the phone, where a girl's crying leaks out.

A young soul that cannot love in return is a soul in trouble indeed; but is that truly possible? Can there really be a love, unrequited in all forms? Oh, the good and the hurt that can come from such a predicament.

Love is not governed by laws like nature, how would it actually be possible to have a situation in which love continuously flows in one direction, like a stubborn stream, laboriously cutting through solid rock? This is not to say that love isn't natural; rather, it is a delicate thing, held in balance, nurtured by people. Given such resistance, love isn't as persistent as the wind that blows past him; love isn't as everlasting as the earth under him; love isn't as absolute as the fire that glows in the distance.

He comes back inside, the leak from his phone now fixed, but the question remains. If it isn't dictated by laws of, and like nature, then what controls how love is given and received? Is it not unsettling when one cannot return love and caring that one receives? Is it not so upsetting when one does not receive love in return for all that one has given? If that was the case, could love ever be unrequited? Can't love be given without expectations, without the strings of custom, under the influence of the puppeteer of social norms?

Unresolved, his mind wanders, perhaps there is no answer just yet. As the sun slowly rises, the stars go to back to sleep, and he follows suit.

My journey, in two regards.

The day of relief and release arrived for me May 22nd, at 4:30pm. Having just taken and finished the ridiculousness that was the MCAT, when I clicked the final blue button that read "END TEST", I felt this lifting feeling overwhelm me. I breathed a long deep breath as I exited the testing center, and I thanked Him. Father saw me through my difficult week of preparation, and hasn't failed to bless me in my times of difficulty. Before I had clicked to begin the test, I prayed to the Lord, to give me the discipline to stay focused, the courage to face the challenge ahead, and the endurance to finish the trial strong.

Never before, had I felt the effects of His blessings so immediately, but this was a different, special case. Never before, did I feel this relaxed during the test; I've never had this air of confidence in any of the practice tests that I did the week leading up to that day. I never felt so sure, so awake, so energized during any MCAT.

Lord, I've done all I can in this matter; I leave the rest of this process in your capable hands.

I want to thank all of those people close to me, talked to me during my study breaks, that prayed for me through this entire process; you guys made this process that much easier, and it is clear to me that God answered your prayers. Thank you.

The Study Break

It's late. Real late. Unfortunately for Jacob, this isn't, and won't be for a long while (he thinks), bedtime. He stares down at the tiny text that lay in front of him. Things are starting to blend into one incomprehensible jumble of letters. Formulas, main thesis of passage, enzymes...it's all a mess.

With nothing but the slight buzzing of his room lamp, the silence is again broken with the closing of his book. Jacob isn't content with how he's been scoring. Too inconsistent. I'm still making really stupid mistakes. The test is staring me in the face, why can't I get this down? Jacob's frustration comes with good reason. This test will literally decide his future.

He turns away from his book. He picks ups the cans of energy drinks that litter the floor of his room, and after throwing them away, Jacob can't stop pacing back and forth. Perhaps my mind is too cluttered to study right now. Looking at his online buddies list, he chuckles to himself, realizing no one is on at this hour. Well that plan fell flat on its face.

He's trapped, Jacob is; if he tries to continue to study, the effectiveness of his stressed mind dwindles like a flickering flame in the wind. On the other hand, if he tries to do anything other than study, he feels guilty in not "trying his hardest." What if that one mini-review was what got me that extra point in Physics? Jacob can't stop psyching himself out.

I'm not normally like this; this is probably a testament to how important this test is, compared to whatever other exam I've taken before. Jacob breathes in deeply a few times, and looks out the window. The sun is rising, and an incoming chat comes in: "Boy, you should go to sleep soon." Words of wisdom. Jacob takes another glance at his stack of books, shaking his head, he turns off the light and pulls the covers over his head, knowing that the stack of books will still be there when he awakens.

Dear Friend

It's certainly been a while since I last got to see you.

What would I do without you?

I just wanted to take the time to say thank you, for being there, friend.

You are always a call or text away; even though we live so far apart, you'll always let me know if you're stopping by near my room. I'm so grateful we've taken time to get to know each other so much more, we're a lot more alike than I originally thought! We can talk literally for hours, and I don't mind putting those hours aside just for you. To be perfectly honest, I don't know if there is anything we can't talk about, our experiences seem to mesh very similarly; it makes for a great support system.

I know you've talked me through some hard times, and you know I'm more than willing to do the same for you. Your good news makes me happier; your bad news makes me sadder than any equivalents in my own life. The level of understanding that we have between us is most likely something no one else can quite grasp or ever experience; it's almost like it's imaginary, too good to be real...

I'm so thankful that I know you, friend; you are irreplaceable in my mind, my heart, and my prayers.

You are a blessing in my life.

Yours,

Friend

Junior Reflections

"If you were waiting for the opportune moment...that was it."

One of few things that Johnny Depp will say, and I will quote. I feel like my life is dictated by a series of missed opportunities, unfortunate issues on timing, priority clashes, and forcibly having to choose between two things that both matter to me. "Why can't I have it all," says my inner 5-year old.

As we may all be familiar with the tendency of hard tests to seem to "clump" together and come in waves; I find comfort in the one or two days after aforementioned waves, and just ride it back to shore. This year has taught me that it is more useful to appreciate the little things that are good, than to complain about the big things that are bad.

To be perfectly honest, I should be studying more and taking my last final a bit more seriously, but the motivation has leaked out from the holes in my older, broken body, and I was admittedly too lazy to bother remedying the situation. My heart goes out to those of you who are studying hard for your finals: stay resolute and finish strong.

Rather, I found it more interesting to start (and by start, I mean basically finish) packing; it has opened my eyes on how much stuff I've accumulated over the 3 years I've been here in St. Louis now. Honestly, when I came in as a silly, unknowing freshman, I had 2 boxes of food and school supplies, and 2 luggage cases of clothing. Now, leaving as a junior, I have 4 full boxes (each weighing probably around 50-60 lbs) of stuff (or crap, depending on your take), 2 overflowing luggage cases, and not to mention about a dozen bricks in my backpack, and an absurd weight in my carry-on. Is it that I assign that much value to material objects, or is it that I am simply unwilling to accept the fact that this world is too tangible and capitalist to truly give everything up and follow Jesus?

I suppose it's not my place to know this just yet, I still have much of my life to live, places to see, people to meet, and much distance to cover in my own spiritual path. However, I will leave with this.

Psalm 147:5

Great is our Lord, and mighty in power; His understanding is infinite.

Chapter 9: Into the Night

Yuan walks back to her place after picking up some lamb skewers from a street vendor, the complex hardly lit. She pulls out her cell phone, and uses the screen to light her way up to the top floor. After closing her double lock door behind her, she flips on the light, and plops down on her futon. It’s like 8pm, she goes online, onto QQ. As more and more of her friends come online, she isn’t particularly interested in talking to any of them. She figures that most of them, the guys anyway, despite being shown online, are actually busy playing their World of Warcraft. Best not interrupt them, as they’ll probably get annoyed at me anyway. The night life for everyone is different.

Many of her guy friends usually just play those silly online games until really late. As for some of her other guy friends and girls, they usually go out for cheap movie showings, or go karaoke at a bar. Yuan knows what goes on in the “other rooms” in the karaoke bars; it’s usually not an issue when she goes with her group of friends because there are both boys and girls. It’s difficult to imagine the hostesses, or xiaojie, “performing” in those hidden rooms, but Yuan would rather not think about it. This is why she will usually never look at those girls, afraid that she’ll see the pain and suffering in their eyes. She gets an online instant message from one of her girl friends, asking her to go out with them tonight to catch some dinner, and then see a movie at around 11pm. “No, I’m not feeling up to it tonight,” Yuan responds. “It’s been a long day.” Her friends tell her to rest up, and soon sign off to start their night.

Yuan switches to her pajamas, puts on some pop music from her laptop, and picks up a skewer of meat. As she looks outside of her window from the top floor of her complex, she breathes a heavy sigh, and stares into the night. Will I ever leave the country? When will I leave the nursing field? One thing is for sure, however. Yuan looks at her calendar, and crosses off today. She cleans up after eating, and flips the light switch off. As she climbs into bed, a single thought flies in circles in her mind, another day, another shift.

Fin.

Chapter 8: Seeing Stars

Yuan slowly walks out after finishing and paying for her coffee, still shaken up from the news of Guojun. Perhaps another day when she has more time, she’ll give him a call, and ask to meet up so they can talk. As Yuan looks up at the sky, the stars in the sky shyly hide behind the heavy, dominating cloud cover. It has been a long time since Yuan’s actually seen stars; the last time was when she visited the hometown of her great-grandparents in the countryside in Cuijiacun. There are no tall buildings, no night lights, no Dior, no trains or airplane flights. The countryside is quieter, peaceful, and simpler; of course, the trade for westernized amenities comes with a price. Because the ride from her home to her great-grandparents place was only 30 minutes, Yuan did not even notice the transformation of scenery. Yuan remembers looking outside the truck window; the cold, metallic atmosphere along the abiotic skyline of Jiujiang changed to living, breathing rice patties lining the grassy hills within a blink of an eye. The rivers of black asphalt in the city ran dry into narrow dirt capillaries. Things have since changed though; the urban sprawl of Jiujiang has invaded the natural landscape in Cuijiacun. Cuijiacun has become an urban enclave of Jiujiang, the farmer markets replaced with small store fronts, the old, more decrepit houses marked for demolition and reconstruction.

Yuan and her family haven’t gone back to Cuijiacun in more than 10 years. The westernization has affected her in two ways. On one side, Yuan would probably not even recognize the places that she saw as a little girl, as many districts were bulldozed and reconstructed to fit in with the ever-expanding urban machine. On a more personal level, the westernization has changed her family’s priorities since her great-grandparents’ and grandparents’ generations. The focus on filial piety, or xiaoshun, has been shifted; no longer is the focus on the previous generation, rather, it’s shifted to the younger generation. Yuan has maybe visited her ancestors on two occasions, but that was when she was young. After her father landed a travelling business position, it’s hard to ever find time to travel back to Cuijiacun as a family. Just within her family, her parents don’t seem to apply the concept of xiaoshun to her; they are content with maybe a phone call every 1 or 2 weeks saying that she’s still okay. They don’t require her to send money back; her father brings home enough so that she doesn’t need to worry about it. What will I do with my own children? And what about grandchildren? I’m not even sure how true xiaoshun is displayed. Yuan doesn’t know what to expect for her family’s future, let alone whether her children will be filial.

Chapter 7: Comrade

Guojun’s personality definitely fit his name; literally “national army,” Guojun was physically strong, mentally smart and decisive, and unfailingly loyal. Yuan met him when they were put in the same class, their final year of high school. Granted, most people were focused on studying for the college entrance examination, Yuan saw a simpler person in Guojun. He didn’t seem as stressed or competitively cut-throat as the other smart guys. In addition, despite being very physically fit, he was very gentile, so he was popular among both the guys and the girls. Yuan liked the fact that Guojun was always there to talk to, be it about schoolwork, dreams, the latest movie, or future aspirations. Guojun talked about joining the military; serving the country was what the men in his family have always done. Yuan didn’t want him to go, as him joining the military meant that he would be gone for long periods of time, and she wouldn’t be able to keep him by his side. However, Guojun could not be talked out of it; his mind was made up. Last Yuan saw of him, he signed up and marched off to private training camp.

“I hear Guojun is actually gay!” Read the text from her friend. Yuan dropped her phone; how is that possible? Guojun was probably one of the most “alpha male” types she ever knew. Snapping out of her daze, Yuan scrambles to pick up her phone up again, and calls her friend up, looking for an explanation. It turns out, that Guojun left the army after a year; he’s now running a gold farming enterprise with his partner, Shang. To everyone else, Guojun is being a filial son, running a business, making money to send back home to his parents, but as he secretly revealed to his girlfriend, he was only dating her to appear normal in front of his parents. Being the only son and only child of his parents, Guojun did not want anything to disappoint his parents. Yuan’s heart goes out to him; Guojun has always wanted to please his parents. He’s the true fighting comrade; ironically he also happens to be a tongzhi.

Chapter 6: Boys to Friends to Boyfriends

Afternoons have always been pretty slow. Most patients that would come in or need care would be taken care of in the morning, and afternoons were usually reserved to filling out paperwork, and patients’ medical charts. Seeing as Lin usually took over these processes, this left Yuan relatively bored with nothing to do. She scribbles the remaining few medications onto patient records and puts the charts back at the nurses’ station. She’s never really enjoyed chit-chat with the doctors; they either never stop talking, or are too shy to say a thing, let alone flirt with her. Yuan usually goes out with some of the nurses in the ward; they giggle about various cute graduate students that just rotated in to work in the ward, or what new rising pop star is on the music scene. Yuan finds solace in these types of conversations about boys; she remembers how her mother said that marriages used to be arranged, and how she and her father didn’t really meet until a few weeks before the actual marriage. Yuan is happy that she now has the freedom to choose; not that the choice is very easy or straightforward. She knows that the social pressures of finding a husband have decreased dramatically; it’s more prevalent for women to marry later and focus on their career. What career?

As she waves goodbye to the other nurses, Yuan goes into her favorite coffee shop, Dio Coffee, and orders a mocha cappuccino. As she looks out the window, Yuan receives a text message from an old high school friend: “You’ll NEVER believe what news I have on your ex-boyfriend Guojun.” Yuan’s has had very interesting experiences in dating guys. She started dating probably right at the start of high school; the guys’ family background ranging from the son of a wealthy businessman to a boy whose parents came from the countryside as migrant workers in order to give a better education opportunity for him. Guojun, however, her latest boyfriend was different. Yuan replies, “This better be good, what is it?”