집으로 가자

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dqBx7u7ctak

구원받은 몸이라 안심하고 있었나
끊임없이 생기는 어둔 죄 감춰둔채
의인은 믿음으로 살리라 하셨는데
친구 넌 그뜻을 진정으로 아는가

A Tree by the Water

Something I've been increasingly realizing these days is the aptness of the metaphor between trees and Christians (or maybe people in general). Like trees, we stand there, completely rooted and unable to move. It is completely up to whoever plotted the land that we inhabit (God) whether we are near or distant from the water. We don't control the weather, nor can we move nearer to the water. Sure, we can try futilely to grow branches at certain angles and in different directions, but we will never determine the water that we receive.

As a tree that's been placed in a superfluously blessed position, I have no words but thanks.

Isaiah 30:19-22

For a people shall dwell in Zion, in Jerusalem; you shall weep no more. He will surely be gracious to you at the sound of your cry. As soon as he hears it, he answers you. And though the Lord give you the bread of adversity and the water of affliction, yet your Teacher will not hide himself anymore, but your eyes shall see your Teacher. And your ears shall hear a word behind you, saying, "This is the way, walk in it," when you turn to the right or when you turn to the left. Then you will defile your carved idols overlaid with silver and your gold-plated metal images. You will scatter them as unclean things. You will say to them, "Be gone!"

Information and Opinion

I was a rather tardy entrant into the world of intelligent cellular technology. By the time I got my first smartphone, many of my friends had already disposed of a few of their own. As a matter of fact, I can only think of one friend who still did not have a smartphone when I purchased my almighty iPhone 4(no S), and I'm about 97% sure that she is now a hippie and that the immediate predecessor to her phone (which she still uses) belonged to Zach Morris.

One of the pillars upon which I propped up my opposition to smartphones (besides my penultimate decision-making factor in life, convenience) was phone addiction. Already having a penchant for people and communication, I did not want to risk undue attachment to my cellphone (people). I did not want to become a person whose palm slowly morphed into an amoled touch screen.

Of course, once I actually did have my own iPhone, I soon realized that in order to become the aforementioned cyborg, I needed at least some semblance of popularity (which I freely admit I did/do/will not have). Regardless, I found myself becoming slowly addicted. However, my drug was not, as I had previously feared, people; it was information. More specifically, I was addicted to updates. The simultaneous buzz of minute novelties and the reprieve from the weight and responsibility of my own thoughts tickled my blood stream with endorphins.

Through this addiction, I've come to realize that the media is an all-inclusive crutch for the brain. I don't mean media in the traditional sense: newspapers, television, magazines. Rather, I mean it as any ways through which information is passed from one party to another. Now, when faced with a problem, one just needs to google "how to tie a tie," "what is my ip," to figure out meticulously detailed, well thought out instructions to questions.

This accessibility is certainly helpful when in a bind, but when it is time to form opinions, it provides a lazy way out for people. There are now people who can eloquently sum up the opinions of the great minds of today, but cannot or are afraid to form their own. Informed opinion is dropping its inefficient, antiquated caboose and becoming, simply, informed.

And then there I am, lying lazily in the midst of all this, in bed, oblivious to the happenings of the world outside my social media networks.

46 Days

"he was a slave to his own moods and he felt that though he was capable of recklessness and audacity, he possessed neither courage, perseverance, nor self-respect"

- F. Scott Fitzgerald

One of my favorite aspects of reading is finding textual reflections of my thoughts or emotions. However, when a couple lines of text manage to encapsulate the essence of my nature in such a way that even I pause to say, "Damn, there I am," it's a bit disheartening. While relieved to be absolved of that particular burden, I'm daunted by my inability to verbalize my own angst and my reliance on the genius of a man with whom I have absolutely no relation, familial or otherwise.

edit: On second thought, I decided that F. Scott and I are kindred spirits.

Denial and Epiphany

A few years ago, I was at a church retreat playing Mafia. I normally hate Mafia because, for some reason, I never ever am selected as the Mafia. Therefore, I really try to savor the few opportunities I get to assassinate my fellow church members as they apprehensively sleep. Luckily, this was one of those few instances that I actually flipped the card to see an ace, marking my entrance into the simulated crime world.

After a few "nights" passed, however, my joy was threatened by my inept accomplice, who had attracted too much negative attention. As the accusations flew at my accomplice, I sat quietly, putting on my best poker face and looking for any hole to rescue him and continue our mission of civilian annihilation. And then, right as I was giving up hope, I heard one of the accusations fly at a new target. Without even thinking, I piggybacked on the later accusation and tried to shift the suspicious focus from my accomplice. Little did I know, it was a trap: “John, I think you’re mafia too. No one else was accusing this person until I did just now, and you agreed with me too easily right away.” In my eagerness, I had foolishly been found out.

I think one of my defining characteristics is my honesty. I lie very rarely, and if I do lie, my lies are usually more short-lived than mayflies. Of course, you can see how this could have been an issue for my parents when I began socializing as a toddler. I loved free stuff. The lessons I remember most from my childhood involve appropriate behavior in public: decline every gift or favor offered to me in any situation.

As I aged, this training evolved into other aspects of my life. Empowered by a special talent for laziness, my just-say-no campaign eventually ended up pervading my life. The phrases, “It’s okay,” “Don’t worry about it,” “It’s cool,” and “It is what it is” took firm root in my daily, perhaps even hourly, communication. What’s worse, I had told the same lie enough times that I believed it.

However, despite this suspended state of want, I still find myself being provoked so strongly by things that I didn’t think I wanted, by things I swore I did not want. I’m increasingly figuring out that no matter what my words say, I am still a fool in front of my objects of desire. When placed in front of me, the tantalization overwhelms me. I’m also finding out that regardless of how nonchalantly I feign disinterest, losing something desired on the cusp of attainment brings incredible pangs of disappointment. Sometimes it’s a girl, sometimes it’s a job, sometimes it’s a conclusion, sometimes it’s normalcy, and sometimes it’s not being found out in Mafia.

Ironically, within these moments of overwhelming enticement and disappointment, I catch very quick glimpses of my passions. It is here that I find my misplaced passions, the same passions that I have searched for since high school. More importantly, these passions manifest themselves not only as simple desires and cares, but as goals and, ultimately, ambitions. I want to be courageous enough to constantly be honest with myself. That way, I can dictate when I sneak peeks at my ambitions, and not be abruptly surprised time to time by my own self.

RIP

"너무나...유쾌한 형이었습니다"

이 한마디만이라도 할려고 줄을서서 다짐하고 머리속에서 연습을 하고였다. 정신을 차리니 제삼자는 더이상 보이지 않았다. 오직 나의 앞에 누워있는 친구와 그의 가족뿐이었다. 어느새 친구를 지나고, 어머님을 지나고, 아버님앞에 서있었다. 어머님에게서는 폭발적인 슬픔이 느껴졌다. 하지만 아버님은 믿기지않을 정도로 침착하셨다. 내가 만약 그분앞에 서있지 않았다면 몰랐을거다, 그의 슬픔을, 그리고 그슬픔을 억누르는 그의 힘을. 그런 아버님과 눈을 마주쳤을때 나는 모든 연습과 다짐을 잊고 부끄러운듯이 바닥으로 눈을 피하고 악수를 하였다. 그리고 그식구를 지나간 나의 앞사람들처럼 나의 갈길을 갔다. 나는 친구의 누워있는 모습, 어머님의 눈물, 그리고 아버님의 감정적인 절제앞에 비겁자가 되었던거다. 


나는 그 순간의 무게를 견뎌내지 못한 내자신이 너무나 싫다. 또한 슬퍼하는 식구에게 한마디의 격려도 해주지못한 내자신이 너무나 싫다. 허나 제일 싫은것은 죄와 죽음이 있어야하는 이곳이다. 우리가 사는 이곳은 특별히 친하지도 않은 친구가 겪어도 너무나도 슬픈 죽음이라는 것이 존재하는 곳이다. 너무나 싫다.

슬프고 짜증나지만, 나는 삶과 죽음에 대해 아무것도 할수가 없다. 단지 하나님의 계획을 믿고 잠시나마 유쾌함을 나눠준 친구에게 감사하는 것뿐이다.

My Sister the Lazy Salesman

Scene: I am in bed, on my computer, when a IM pops up. No hello, no what's up.

sarahkim [10:17 PM]: i have beer
me [10:17 PM]: lol
me [10:17 PM]: ok
me [10:17 PM]: what did u buy
me [10:17 PM]: damn
me [10:17 PM]: im trying to cut down
me [10:17 PM]: i got so fat
sarahkim [10:17 PM]: but i need a bottle opener
me [10:17 PM]: lol
me [10:17 PM]: theres 1 downstairs
me [10:18 PM]: and 1 on the living room table
sarahkim [10:18 PM]: bring it upstairs
me [10:18 PM]: lol
me [10:18 PM]: u r so lazy
sarahkim [10:18 PM]: and i will give u one beer
me [10:18 PM]: LOL
sarahkim [10:18 PM]: dude
sarahkim [10:19 PM]: its pretty good
sarahkim [10:19 PM]: and i only got 3 left

Needless to say, one beer was traded for my delivery services

Eggs

Random thought of the day:

Hard-boiled eggs taste best in Korean noodle dishes. If I were an egg, I would be able to overcome the disappointment of never becoming a chick(en) if my life's culmination (and simultaneous end) came in a bed of noodles.

Letters

I want to start writing letters to people. This is, of course, just another of my forays into self-expression and "writing" doomed for failure. However, I do think that so many genuine thoughts and feelings get lost in the monotonousness of everyday conversation. Kind of like cyber thugs, I think not having to face the receiver while expressing my thoughts gives me the courage to push the limits of honesty within that relationship.

So, who wants a letter?

Edit: I guess another way to ask that question could be: so, who reads this blog?

Birthday

Birthdays are so odd. I've never really felt comfortable on birthdays; partly because of the whole two-birthday thing, but mainly because I find it awkward being celebrated for doing nothing. What have I done to merit a celebration of another year of life? Breathe? Eat? (lol) Yet, this culture of excess celebration (hopefully another blog post to come soon) makes us feel entitled on a day we did nothing. A day that, save its function as a marker of age, bears no significance at all. If anything, the celebration belongs to the mother who withstood unbearable pain, the father (and Father) who gave up all he had, the sister who shared, and the friends who stuck around. And yet, annually, there I am, blowing out candles on a cake I don't deserve, receiving gifts I have no business receiving.

Reminds me a bit of God's grace.

I sincerely thank all of you guys for all that you've done. Thank you for reminding me of grace. And thank you for your selflessness.

John the Israelite

When I was younger, I always wondered - often out loud - how the ancient (this is an immense stretch of time here: Adam to Jesus) people could be so foolish. I remember saying repeatedly in Sunday School that the Israelites must be really dumb. The Bible, among infinite other functions, also serves as a recording of some of God's greatest works. These include the Disney-favorite splitting of the Red Sea and the oft-forgotten burning of the bulls in Elijah's day. And then, of course, there are Jesus's own miracles: water to wine, feeding 5,000 (or one of me), to name a couple. After experiencing all these miracles firsthand, how dumb do you have to be, I always wondered, to doubt a God so clearly mighty and powerful?

AND THEN, as I was driving (car thoughts/talks are the best) home one day, it dawned on me. I am an Israelite. I have, without a doubt, experienced God's miracles in my life. At the very least, I've seen the imprints of his (are capital h's still a thing?) hand shape it. However, time and time again, I doubt his might and I deviate from the path. And yet, just because I don't have the confirmation of having my story recorded in the Bible, I always find ways to finagle out the importance of God in those events. Oh John of little faith.

This mini epiphany led to another revelation. We are frequently reminded of the importance of faith and how faith like a mustard seed can move mountains. I realized that I had been viewing that little nugget from a completely erroneous perspective; actually, I may have never understood what it really meant at all. As far as I understand now, it seems that we serve and worship an infinite God. Therefore, to have a little faith - that is, to grasp a small chunk of infinity - still leaves us with infinite amount of. . . everything. 

Anyways. Sorry God.

Plank in Your Own Eye

When I was younger, I recall having a few conversations with my mom about my friends. More specifically, I remember telling her about my peers whom I hated or was annoyed by (I guess I've always been somewhat of a "hater"). One time, she gave me a piece of advice that I still remember: When you hate somebody or are annoyed by somebody for no reason, look at yourself first and you will see that those characteristics are often reflected in yourself.

Maybe my mother knew that I would grow into an overly introspective, self-loathing, self-centered 22 year old "adult." Because, you know, mothers know everything. Or maybe she herself struggled with and overcame some of these difficulties. Or maybe her words were the inspiration for my self-loathing, self-centered ways.

Regardless, it's impossible to discount the prophetic ways in which my mother's wisdom works. For some reason, whenever I hate (and I use that term loosely - I don't really hate anyone) someone, the source of malice always seems to be something - egocentricity, for example - that I hate about myself. I'm really not sure why this happens. It might be because I obsess so much about my glaring personality flaws that seeing them outside my sphere of control irks me in ways other annoyances don't.

Anyways, I guess what I'm trying to say is that life is tough. Especially if you hate yourself. Your self-loathing will extend itself into your relationships with other people. Get over yourself. Moms are always right.

Good night