Mortality

I guess I'm one of those people who don't fear death. It has nothing to do with courage, and all to do with ignorance, arrogance, and denial. I'm 16 years young, 17 in a week. What do I have to worry about death for? Death seems so far away, so obscure, so intangible. It's almost as incomprehensible as Heaven and Hell. We know it exists, but we fail to see it's connection to our life at this one moment in time. Death has always been something for the old and senile, the sickly, the gangbangers out in Oakland. Death would never strike in my neighborhood, let alone in my family. I am impervious to death. My youthful skin repels Death like Gandalf fights Balrogs. "You shall not pass, bitch!!"

Death is something you never want to come knocking. Something you never want T-Boning you at a four-way stop, running you down as you cross the street without looking. Death is something that only happens to idiots and martyrs, and honestly, who's to say there's a difference. But Death is something you have to come to terms with, something you have to embrace as a fact of life. It's the last period at the end of the last paragraph on the last page of the book of life. (In my case, my thirteen page auto-biography.) It's final. It's fatal. It's the threshold to a new life.

My Grandma is lying in the emergency room today. Well, tonight, as it is. My grandfather found her this morning sleeping on the couch. After waking her up, he noticed that her movements were a little uncoordinated. After helping her onto the couch, she slid off. He fed her some chicken soup, and upon asking her how it tasted, she had already forgotten that she had drank it. She tried to place something in the refrigerator, but the refrigerator shelf just wouldn't stay still. My grandfather decided that my grandmother should take a nap.

My grandfather then called my Dad. Nothing serious, he said. When you asked her where her dentures were, she just moved her mouth noiselessly, he joked.

She'll be fine. She fought the Communists.

My Dad immediately tells my grandfather to go get my grandmother. He can't, grandfather replies, she went out for a meeting. This little old woman, who had woken up from her two hour nap with no memory of what had transpired that morning, decided to get up, go downstairs, and attend a meeting. God bless her.

My Dad rushes back to San Jose from his office in Fremont to pick my grandparents up from the senior home. They drive to the hospital, only to discover that my grandfather, in his rush, had forgotten all of my grandmother's documentation at home. Dad is pissed. Time is lost. Maybe thirty minutes later, they find themselves back in the emergency room.

Doctors say that she may have suffered from a mild stroke. Coincidentally, I had learned about strokes today in Physio. Drooping side of the body, difficulty walking/talking, confusion, headache, fainting. My grandmother is only three for six. 80% of strokes are caused by blood clots in the brain. I have come to understand that these are detected through CT scans. My grandmother's is scheduled for tomorrow. My medical knowledge is limited, but I know that doctors can administer a clot buster within three hours of the stroke. However, she exhibits almost no symptoms now, if not for the slight memory lapse. My grandmother is a hemophiliac, her blood shouldn't clot easily. I want a concrete reason for why this happened. I don't want theories.

My grandmother is a hale and hearty old woman. She carried the entire ping pong table up three flights of stairs during a flood back in Taiwan. She grabbed a man's balls to stop him from thrashing my grandfather. She dances the ribbon dance a capella. Nothing can keep her down. I have faith.

I guess it's just weird to see my grandma in the hospital. Not that I got to see her. I spent two hours waiting in front of the Silicon Valley Hospital because only my grandfather and my Dad had visitor passes. I want to know how she is. I want to see for myself her condition. I want to feel the strength in her hands and see the spirit in her eyes. Usually it's my grandfather lying in the hospital, telling us that he's not afraid to die. My grandmother never leaving his side, sleeping on the hospital cot. Now the roles are reversed, but the cast is ill-fitted. There are no hospital beds available for Grandma, so she's still lying in the emergency room. There's no place for grandpa to sleep, so he's back home. Alone, for the first time in years. Is this where time takes us?

I don't fear death. I fear loneliness. I fear isolation.

I'm not a rock. I'm not an island. I am a human being with a soul that craves the emotional balm of human relationships. I see my grandpa lying in bed, alone, on the sixth floor of the senior home. No karoake tonight. One bed occupied, one lies empty. The lights are on, he can't sleep.

The sounds of downtown San Jose keep him up, the silence in his bedroom is deafening.

Emo Rut

Has anyone else ever felt that no matter how happy you are in life, there will be a time in the distant future when you will find yourself back in the Emo Rut? (Fondly shortened to ER)

It's as if the Emo Rut is pleasantly situated in the Valley between the Hugging Hills and Merry Mountain. OK. That was just an excuse to squeeze in some disgusting alliteration.

I have been more happy than I have been in a long time. It's been a combination of things really. A reunion with ADVENT that I thought was never going to happen. The Baptism. Just really getting in touch with the person God wants me to be instead of the person I want to be. But no matter how hard I work at it, there is always a bit of a lull that leaves me feeling disappointed. As if the huge ball of anger and hate that I've been slowly chipping away at left a vaccuum that leaves my insides feeling chilly and empty. I still get angry, I still get irritated. It's not always easy to tamp down on my emotions. But I'm not perfect. I do my best. I get by.

Maybe it's because I'm on my period. It's the best excuse. I'm easily irritated by the little things, overly emotional over the nonexistent. A friend says or does the wrong thing, and immediately, I can feel myself judging and assessing their character. When I'm like this, I find it's better to just distance myself a little bit from people. It's better to move them into the safety zone and prevent the inevitable hurt feelings.

I've been struggling with something of late, and I really don't see a solution in sight. I've been praying about it a lot, asking for guidance and wisdom. I thought the best thing to do was forget about it, but it seems that my subconscious is particularly unforgiving. Even in my dreams, it bothers me. I keep on trying to convince myself that if I immerse myself in college apps and television, it'll resolve itself. Frustrating. Irrational. Why can't I have the emotional capacity of Bones. ): But then again, she had Seeley Booth.

I want one.

(sigh)

H

Paranoid

It occurred to me today, as I was googling appendicitis symptoms, that I might be the slightest bit paranoid. It's been slowly gaining over time, but one of my grandfather's more annoying quirks has finally caught up to me.

Damn it.

See, the math adds up.

Months ago, when I felt chest pains, I was convinced that I had a deadly heart condition (arhythmia, a hole in my heart, heart disease, impending heart attack) and I was going to die. Soon. I still feel those chest pains, and I am still alive...obviously. However, my thoughts have evolved. I no longer have a heart disease. I have lung cancer.

I had food poisoning last weekend, or at least I tell myself I had food poisoning. All I know is that I spent all Saturday through Monday spewing out liquids (from both ends, thank you very much). But then after experiencing abdominal pains today...I have changed my mind. Now I have appendicitis. I'm almost positive.

Well, so far, I will refrain from calling all my long lost relatives in China and informing them of the bad news. I don't quite want to be grandpa yet.

The Morning Of

OK. It's the morning of my baptism.


Second thoughts? None.


I'm still feeling a little bit nervous as to how its going to go. I'm hoping that nothing will be awkward as we bring the people who mean the most to us, but are virtual strangers to each other, together to celebrate our "coming of age" of sorts. It was looking a bit cloudy before, but the sun came out about five minutes ago. I know that God provides, so I'm putting my faith in Him and bracing myself for a day that's going to run devastatingly smoothly.

We stayed up until 3 AM last night, or should I say, yesterday morning. Turns out, the "something that came up" was Daniel and Nick's big surprise! They came to our door at two in the morning, and asked us to help them "bring something in." OK. That's just suspicious. They never even let us carry our own baggage...and now they're asking for help? Hmm...

We get to the car, and BOOM! Professor Hsieh and Anna are there waiting! SURPRISE!

Best surprise ever. Let me explain(probably, again to some people): Professor Hsieh's family was our "host family" in Chang Hua. They let twenty something of us invade their house, fed us, nursed us in our ill health, and prayed for us nonstop during our week stay there. Last year, Professory Hsieh and his wife prayed for every single teacher on the night before their altar call. As they prayed for me, they told me thing about myself that I never told anyone, things that I never even realized about myself. I remember bawling my eyes out, but feeling so much better after it was all over. It was as if they had unlocked something inside of me that I couldn't unlock myself, as if they had freed me from something that I had been in denial of for a long time.

This year, they prayed for us again. However, as most of us were sick and tired, the prayers were volunteer based and not mandatory. That night, our team stayed up until around 12 working on our skit. I thought, screw it, and laid down to sleep. My sister turned to me and said "Abby. I think if you don't get prayed for, you will regret it." And I knew she was right. I ran downstairs, praying that they were still there...well, praying. I got to the first floor just as the person in front of me was finished being prayed for.

This prayer was no less powerful than the one before. I bawled my eyes out quite unattractively. When they had finished praying for me, and I had wiped away the tears, boogers, saliva, whatever, Professor Hsieh turned to me and said "I think you should think about getting baptized. If you believe that the Lord God is your Father who lives in Heaven, then you should not be ashamed to call him your Father."

I had been thinking about baptism for a long time. This was probably the push I needed to make the final leap.

Professor Hsieh and his family have played a large part in the development of my faith. I cannot think of anyone else that deserves more to be there today. Well, besides God. (: But he's always there. Considering all the drama with invitations and such in the casa de Wang, I really think this is God making us think twice. We should be proud that people want to take part in our baptism. We should be proud to share our faith. We may be doubtful, but God will provide.


This is a big step. haha. The biggest, perhaps, besides actually believing. This is like the moment in a relationship when you decide to "go steady". Hmm...or maybe more like marriage. Today, I am making a commitment to God. :) I'm excited!

Writing Block

I'm in my senior year of high school. In a few months, I'll have to start submitting my college applications. Can you believe it? Me in College?

There's only one problem.

I've lost my ability to write.

Surprisingly enough, this happens to me quite often. Usually, I just have to wait it out, be patient until something inspiring comes along and nurses my muse back to life. But could this have come at a worse time? It's partly my fault. OK, it's all my fault. I haven't done any reading all summer, neglected to blog about anything worthwhile, breezed my way through summer essays, played Blockles until my eyes fell out... Maybe there could have been a bit more studying in there. Maybe.

I haven't written anything good since last year. My essay for Daniell was postively atrocious. I got a 40 out of 50 on my essay for Abel. But both times, I felt nothing as I was writing. I was writing because they told me to, squeezing blood and tears out of a dry sponge. I feel the garrote of formal writing tightening around my neck as I lay helpless and uninspired. I enjoy writing. I've always enjoyed writing. But writing quickly becomes torture when I'm sitting for hours in front of a blank word document, writing and re-writing the thesis statement of an essay I have no opinion about; when I'm squeezing each sentence out and hoping to God that when I double-space, it'll look like a real essay; or when I think to myself "fuck it" and start playing Blockles again. What has school done to me to reduce me to this? What is life without the joy writing brings?

Can you imagine a world where all books read like school text? Where instead of Harry Potter lining the bookshelves, we find "Firsthand America"? We cannot let school cheapen us! Pointless drabble must live on!


So anyways. I'm going to start using my blogs as a rehearsing studio. I need to find that delicate balance between my colloquial and formal writing. I have a personality problem, but I must be able to mask the "problem" part in my writing. This might be a little painful.

Thank God for chocolate.