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Tommorow’s my art class, and that means today is painting day. The night before is probably the most productive day in my life. (Every time for the last 26 years) I set up today in my new room. This week, I got a new (used) desk from someone on Craigslist that I really like. It was a little pricey at $45 but it’s real solid, and it came with a cool drawer thingie. After like 25 minutes of setting up paint, a makeshift easel, arranging lights, and clearing out space, I was pretty tired. I almost called it a night, but I did all that work, and I’m an outstanding member of the Procrastinators Club of America, so I figured, it’s time to paint.
I don’t like what I painted, so it ended sooner than I wanted it to. Actually, I don’t like any of the homework I’ve done. I like the stuff I do in class, but not at home. I think it has do with studio space. The studio’s really nice at Merritt as opposed to my home made solution. In any case, that’s my art update. I’ve been really inspired by some art blogs that I’ve seen online, and I think I might start something similar. But that’s a secret, so don’t tell anybody.
I’ve gotta confess.
It’s been hard being back. Real hard. I think I’ve written abit about it before, but I think this part of an email to my best bud Mikey sums it up:
tonite i lit a candle and prayed. i came home and it was ok. i was tired, but i think moreso, i felt the ‘letdown’ of being back to a place that’s really not very fun or encouraging… i still feel so lost. i’m praying for more hope, that God would show his love to me, that i would not put so much of my life being good … in this idea of finding perfect or better community. that I would learn to love and be loved by God fully.
I still pray for better community, and sometimes any at all. i think i often feel like a failure in relationships with peers. i’ve been here for like 3 years and i still feel like my friendships and support is still something to long for. it’s a pretty big stumbling block for me. it’s a weird thing, but i’ve really struggled with that coming back…
I ain’t gonna lie. I think that’s the biggest thing that gets me down. It’s slightly humiliating sometimes. I’ve had some good folks here-and-there who have really come through, and I’m thankful for them. But overall, it’s been eerily quiet, and I’ve had an empty ache from it. I still struggle with relationships here in Oakland. I don’t get it but I just feel like my closest friends are in other far away cities, and now also across the globe in Africa. I think that’s a big reason why I feel restless in this place: I don’t feel like I’ve found a good place to put my shoes down to call home. You know that feeling when you finally get to take off your shoes and it feels so good? I want that.
I get different responses:
You’ve got high expectations, so you get let down / You go to a small church, so it’s pretty much on you to find more folks outside of that circle / It’s hard to find close relationships anywhere, especially when you are working / People at New Hope are such a diverse group of people…I wouldn’t really choose to hang out with these folks on my own, but we’re a church together, and there’s enough shared values and mission that it keeps us together / American culture’s wrapped around things and stuff, not particularly family and community, so it’s just how life operates here / I hope you’re able to learn that you’re not alone, unloved, or unwanted
I think the last one’s the truest of all of them.
I just thumbed through my pictures from my time in Atlanta, and I was filled with so much grattitude for the folks there, and the way that God really allowed me to grow and be changed by each of my friends (and enemies). Life is a lot different now, and I think those pictures help to remind me about my “roots” and where I’ve come from, in terms of life’s purpose and hopes. All lof of those questions are still unanswered, but I’m going to light a candle again. And pray.
Good night.
This one will be short.
Two interesting things. I watched The Boys of Baraka and Hardwood on KQED (public television) last night. A lot of thoughts came to me about my own experiences in the ghetto, and learning about the crush of poverty and hopelessness in cities here and far away. Even though I point myself back into the direction of the fringes, I think I’ve drifted a bit further away from it all in thought and spirit. TBOB of reminded me about the grave reality of unjustice. I nodded, laughed, and almost cried, recalling all of the friends that I’ve met in Atlanta and Oakland. I remembered the guys I coached in Atlanta and the violence and frustration, and the desperation to survive that they lived each day in the projects. I was really close to staying in Atlanta, just to be with them. I don’t see life in the lens of regret, but that one still kind of haunts me.
I wish you could have been there with me in Jonesborough South, or Leila Valley, two enormous and violent projects in our Atlanta neighborhood. I wish you could have stood there for five minutes. I wonder if you’d ever question your own sense of entitlement. I wonder if you’d even bat an eye at affirmative action. We can argue and conjecture all day about systems and theories. We can use hot words like poverty, justice, and accountability but when was the last time that we were hungry, hopeless, or forgotten?
Poverty has become an exercise of intellectualism for myself. I have issues of entitlement, and frustration with making enough money. It’s unfair to me that I have no pension plans and that social security is something I’m paying for others and not myself. It troubles me that I have such little success with my BA in Visual Arts. I confess that I align my life to a system of goals and accomplishments that may seem to be more cultural than real to the Kingdom of God.
In Atlanta, I learned that poverty kills people. People die violently, and it comes in all shapes and sizes. By bullets. By the way of miseducation. By the way of racism. By the way of hope that is crushed to nothing. I learned that people can be alive, but their spirits dead inside. I learned that people could be bare with nothing, but be alive with a great spirit inside of them. Beautiful children were ready to bloom, but no one was there to shine love onto them, or to give them good water, or to prepare their soil where they rested. All of it was rocky, dry, and poisoned. I knew some who made it, but it was never easy.
I am no hero. I say that often because it may come off as if I have great tales of danger and adventure to tell. As if they are badges to hold up on a podium. Nope. Not at all. Still, there were times when I felt that I might not live when I stayed in Atlanta, when I worked in Oakland, and when I was in West Africa. I’d been close to danger and at any given moment, it could’ve been part of those reports that we hear about on the news. I would marvel at the strength of some of my friends. I had new heros to look at, to observe, and to root for.
So, it’s crazy. On one hand, I’m all up in this culture. I’m reloading the web site called Engadget to see what new technologies that Apple computer is rolling out for us to consume. I’m thinking if I want to get a new music player (aka iPod), and I’m thinking about a way to get to Art School and a nice open space to paint more often. On the other hand, I have been in the other land. I have my own Boys of Baraka, people who have loved me and I have been able to love and be with. Children who go to violent schools. Broken schools. I spent time with a man who’d never been given an opportunity his whole life, so his work was mowing lawns. I spent my whole Saturday with him once and I came away feeling all of it: gasoline fumes in my lungs, grass bits all over my clothes, sweat, dirt and dust caked up on my body, and a sense of satisfaction from a full day’s work.
There’s one hand, and then there’s the other. The more I live, the more I learn that the two are so far apart, between the rich and the poor. Between those with opportunity and those who have no hope. Often times I’ve felt that I’ve had to turn my back on a lot of safe and practical things in order to step towards the fringes. I’m not sure about all of it, and in many ways, it’s really hard for me. I give up and I want to do and be with what fits: security and comfort in the middle and upper class. It is part of who I am, and where I seem to fit. On the other hand, I’ve found life to be beautiful and so hopeful on the other side. I feel called to a place where I don’t keep all of my posessions and talents to my own self, or to the access of only those who can afford to relate to me. It’s been a constant struggle for me in my conscious 20’s.
That last paragraph is kind of jumbled. I’d like to write more about the great tension I have between a call to less and a desire for more. And maybe it’s a fitting way to end because I’m tired and I said this would be short. What do you think? Or do you think at all about this stuff? I’d just like to know. Sometimes it gets lonely to think and write for the whole world to see without much (interesting) response.
Part 2 will be about Hardwood. (If you leave feedback… just kidding)
Good Night.
Where do I get this idea that I should be accomplishing things?
This came up today as I wrestled with my school schedule. Should I take two classes (fours hours each on Wedneday and Thursday night)? Or just one? I really want to put in some good time in the studio, and to be more disciplined and dedicated to art making. Still, I’ve felt like a limp rag at class, coming straight from work to class. I had a lot of questions going on my head like: Am I really serious about my art? Am I considering the health of my body and the quality of my life? I care about community and being with people intimately, but am I opening up empty space in my life for that to happen?
I woke up early this morning (6AM!) and all of those thoughts were spinning in my head. It didn’t help that I was super tired at the same time. I’ve decided to just go with one class on Thursday nights.
Through all of my crazy, anxiety – filled thoughts, I came back the first question. I wonder about it. There’s this idea in my head that seems to be ingrained in there. This idea of needing to be accomplished. Needing to have arrived. Maybe it stems from culture and other people’s expectations. Maybe it comes from my own Asian – American upbringings ( I know , I know, don’t go there…. but it’s true!). Sprinkle in a bit of middle class America and you get a bad case of the keeping up with the Joneses. If I’m not up and pushing for the finish line, then I’m getting passed by on the highway of worth and signficance.
Right?
Granted, I’m not saying that we shouldn’t do anything, or have any goals, or live in pursuit of good things. Actually, I feel that we are called, as beloved people to be very aware of our own lives. I feel strongly that our lives are very precious. So much that we should be careful not to waste our lives. That’s a strong thing to say, and it opens the door to asking what is worthwhile, and what is wasteful, if anything at all? I have my own thoughts about it, and I’m sure everyone else does too. But, I think it comes back to this question of values, and where our hopes are invested in.
I hope this can all connect back to my the first question, which was my initial thought. There’s this voice that seems to tell me that I need to be accomplished, to have arrived, to have good explanations of (my) life, and in a sense, to be sucessful: monetarily, socially, and have a healthy portfolio.
I’ve noticed that other people seem to be confused or distraght over my own lack of understanding or explanation for my life. Folks seem to be really uncomfortable about my unknown outlook. Sometimes I feel like I talk about graduate school or art school because it lets me off the hook. People can respond to those (supposed) future thoughts, but they have a hard time responding to: “I just don’t know what I’m doing most of the time.”
At least one thing is true. My uncomfortability with life always makes me hungry.
It feels that way a lot. Granted, I do want to be a better artist, a great one actually, but I don’t know what that looks like, how to get there, or who I will partner with to get there. I do know that most successful artists are dirt poor, and are pretty obsessed with their work. I’ve got half of it down!
I wonder about contentment and being close to the things of the Kingdom. Those things eternal. God. People: our souls and lives. Truth. Beauty. Hope.
And lastly, in regards to one’s ETA. I’m not sure if we’re ever able to make those determinations of arrival. “This particular method does not take into account any unexpected events (such as new wind directions) which may occur on the way to the flight’s destination.”
Today I went bike riding with my friend Scott.
My quadriceps muscles are really sore, especially the Vastus lateralis and Vastus medialis. That was nerdy. It’s been a long time since I’ve been on a bike and it’s felt good to get back on one. Maybe this will help me when I play ultimate tommorow. I think I did well in sports in high school and college (with ultimate) because I was always doing a couple sports at a time. In high school I mountain biked (with my buddy Redmond) and played a lot of basketball while running track and cross-country. In college, it was real fun to play intramural or pick-up basketball because I was in awesome shape from playing ultimate. I didn’t have as much time to refine my basketball skills, but I sure could run people up and down the court. I loved to hustle and push it up the court, sometimes a bit wrecklessly. My philosophy was to run it down their throats, and I feel like it worked really well, especially late in those games.
I think the strongest parts of my body are my legs. People in college used to poke fun at me because of my trunk legs, and big calves. I think at one point, Vinny penned the nick name of Cleveland in reference to my calves because they were “Cavalier.” Get it? (Cleveland Cavaliers, NBA basketball team) Brian Chen aka Milhouse on the ultimate team would make funny remarks about “Chia-calves”, asking me what I fed those things. I just usually shrugged. I think Matt Yee aka Yoshi would call them Thunder Thighs. That was one to take to the bank. I think it comes from mom and dad. They have pretty strong legs. I think it comes from playing a lot of soccer and being kind of heavy set. Carrying around a bit more weight has always made my legs stronger. Secretly, I liked the jabs.
We biked from Oakland, through Emeryville and up to Berkeley. Most of our trip was spent on the coast of the bay, and all in all, it was really beautiful today. Riding through the city streets is kind of nerve-racking because cars are a lot bigger and faster. I think we did pretty good though, and I liked seeing life from a bike as opposed to a car.
Now I want to try out critical mass. Does anybody have any good bike stories?
