On Dreams

I have big dreams. Bigger than my heart can hold. A deep and undeniable presence within me, my dreams weigh heavily and unbalanced. They morph. They scream with passion though I must be extremely careful for they have the tendency to scamper away at the mere peep of dissension. The faintest whispers of such outside voices are enough to do the deed. Voices that do not hesitate to remind me of my limitations. My humanness. They yank me down from cloud nine to planet earth, sometimes crushing me to the ground, slamming my face into the dirt. The pain is too much for me to bear at times, forcing me to shamefully reenter the puny box that I had shaped for myself. It's a home that I'd started building for myself ever since my first encounter with criticism. Brutal, unadulterated yet truthful criticism. I remember how badly it hurt. The lasting pain. A sting about which one desperately tries to forget without success. The exposure. The naked truth. A pair of eyes, though terrifyingly not my own, had shone light upon my capabilities, which were no more than scanty. My already overflowing bin of shortcomings being brought under the spotlight. Labeling, defining, measuring me. And what absolutely crushed me to the bone was the fact that I had no control over these thoughts, perceptions, and truth claims made about me. And so I learnt to hide. I am the tip of the iceberg concealing most of who I am, carefully revealing only an amount that I have decided through calculation that I can control. Withholding and disclosing at my own discretion. However during this process, I had begun burying my dreams, muffling the once loud and clear sound of my heart's deepest longings. Fortunately for myself, however, my dreams are and remain wild and untamed. They run freely and continue to grow without my mind's consent. And for that I am thankful.

I used to feel stupid. Embarrassed to have dreams of such immensity, but that guilt is slowly diminishing as I reflect more and more upon just how I've come to be such a dreamer. And that reason is undoubtedly my parents. They have taught me how to dream, and I mean really dream. I suppose all children of immigrants, to some degree, share this same sentiment. I wonder what was running through their minds at the airport in Korea, each with one carry-on in hand, a couple thousand dollars, and of course, a one-way ticket to the United States. My father had recently arrived back home after having worked in Saudi Arabia, leaving my mom husbandless for a year. I cannot begin to fathom the considerations and compromises which led to this ultimate decision. Were their families supportive? Who initiated the conversation, my mother or my father, about possibly emigrating to a place they've only read and heard about? What I would do to go back in time. To have been a fly on the wall during this life-shaping part of their marriage... After 24 years of living in America, I can only imagine the emotions and memories that now overwhelm them in their times of retrospection.

Being home after graduating from college is rather difficult. On the bright side, though, I can't imagine myself being anywhere other than in Albany to process the past twenty one and a half years of my life. This is namely because I have the two most helpful resources to guide me in a time of mental and emotional turmoil, assuring me that all the chaos that exists inside my head is absolutely natural. That I have no reason to fear what my future may hold simply because of the good and perfect nature of the One who holds my future. That dreaming big, in the right context, is healthy and necessary. That my dreams, too, hold both weight and meaning.

This Race We Run

You'd think the second time around I'd learn from my past mistakes, but I'm just as ill-prepared if not worse off than I was in my sophomore year, which was when I decided to run a half marathon for fun. What was I thinking?

As horrifically unprepared as I am, I want to make the effort to prepare myself mentally and spiritually during these final 3 days. Physically, the training has been difficult. I don't know if it's because of my new sneakers or because I drastically changed my form in the past couple weeks, but my shins, ankles, and achilles are not happy with me right now. Nevermind my so-called nutritious diet...completely threw that out the window on day 2, which is the way everything always seems to pan out in my life. le sigh.

Nevertheless, I think it would be fitting to fast until my race which is on Saturday. Fasting a few things, literally, but more importantly, fixing my gaze upon what motivated me to sign up again in the first place. Why this idea of running a marathon is so significant to me and my belief in God. I need to regain focus and appeal to the one who can heal me and restore me in all the ways that I'm looking for right now and in all the ways past. From one angle, I'm pretty much screwed for this half marathon; I'm nowhere near ready, but I think that's the point.

Simply Put

I need to get my shit together.

Sometimes

Sometimes I feel as though I'm in the middle of a terrible dream in which I've found myself trapped on the express train headed to an unknown destination. The pace of life moving faster and faster the longer I stay on. I look up to read where the next stop will be. I incline my ears to the speakers, desperately wanting to hear the automated voice determine my fate. But I neither see nor hear anything. And with a tired sigh, I sit down on the lavender seats, sitting across no one, finding absolutely no comfort in the fact that I feel, in that moment, completely alone.

I'd be lying to myself if I didn't say I was scared about my future. In fact, I'm petrified, but I don't want to say it out loud just yet. I'm afraid I'll fall apart once I hear my voice say those words as I release them into the world. Into my world, making it that much more tangible and real. Because somehow I've convinced myself that as long as the actual thoughts don't leave my lips, they'll remain a mystery and thus cannot be one way or the other. However trivial or serious, things left unsaid will remain that way, and will not come to fruition.

Sometimes, it's as if I'm having an outer-body experience, a bit like watching a movie about my life, and in this third person perspective, I see a scared, hurt, and stubborn little girl, eyes tightly shut, hands over her ears, too cold and calloused to cry. Too proud to open up and ask for help. In another scene, I see a disproportionate human being with a humongous inflated head on top of a tiny little body, arms and legs barely visible. Eyes wide open, but an apparent emptiness within. A posture communicating false composure. Clear discomfort heard in her voice. Shaking and out of breath.

Sometimes, for sanity's sake, I decide not to go to class and stay in my apartment instead. I realize that spiritual death is a real thing. I'm reminded of how much bigger life is than the realm of Grace Rhee. That life goes beyond New York City and the 80 or so years that most of us assume we'll live. Sometimes I become all dramatic because it's necessary. I hear my neighbors downstairs playing the same song over and over again, but just the introduction, trying to get the opening of a song on their guitar. And in this moment, when I attempt to envision my life in 5 years, 3 months...I see nothing but a large grey cloud...hell, I can't even see past tomorrow, but all I know is that I don't know. However, my unbelief in the only thing that makes sense in this world proves that I am completely unstable, and therefore to depend on my own efforts to plan out the most perfect life for myself would be absolutely absurd. Nevertheless, quite strangely, in my perpetual cycle of unbelief, I fling myself onto believing all the more as my eyes are opened to the vast areas of life that are, and have been, out of my control.

merry and new

monday february seventh twenty eleven (repost)

Numbers

sitting in my room

in a big city

insignificant as can be

with dreams that cannot be tamed

they say it’s bound to happen

so quit your wishing

it’s gonna take us for a ride

and we’ll have no say

i guess we live in a world

where our lives are just numbers

and we’re waiting for more numbers to take us away

but you said this won’t last (repeat)

and so i close my eyes and continue to dream

Let It Be Me

What does it mean to be a good friend?
Forget the labels. I'd just like to see broken people accepting their brokenness and owning up to their faults. Readily available and forgiving. Genuine individuals with ears open, iPhones off. Eyes peering into each other's souls. Sighs of relief and comfort, knowing that each and every one of us longs for the same thing. Tearful vulnerability. Words of affirmation. Gentle challenges. Quiet sometimes silent understanding. Imperfect growth but growth nonetheless.


That's when you need someone
Someone that you can call
And when all your faith is gone
Feels like you can't go on
Let it be me
Let it be me
If it's a friend that you need
Let it be me
Let it be me _Ray LaMontagne ("Let It Be Me")