A Hurtful Taboo

We used to talk about this precious little gift around the table – an obvious apple of somebody’s eye – the first grandchild of both uttering ethnicities beget by intermarriage – now an avoided subject.

I’ve seen a similar situation in the past and for several times it gave me ideas about the imperfection of every nuclear or extended family. But nothing’s more painful than being deprived of a joy; that once a true joy. And so I’ll just clam up not to make this evaded talk a broken taboo.

“I miss the little angel so much!” I told an uncle to start a conversation.

Silence.

“Are you planning to see your little angel this year?” I asked Uncle.

“No!”

I could sense the dryness of the night amidst pouring rain; a black mood which left a bizarre discussion. Blame it on my wrong timing if I failed to get a tête-à-tête or a heart-to-heart chat that late night; not that night.

I get the same feeling once in a while, too, and so I understand. That’s what I thought, but the seemingly barking up the wrong tree was actually an unintentional insensitivity. I swear didn’t know. The truth is, I actually have forgotten that awkward interaction the next day –disregarded as in.

“Please never mention our precious jewel to him again. Thanks for understanding.” Auntie reminded me while we were having breakfast.

“I’m really sorry because I didn’t know.” I said.

Then she wept. And it almost killed me.

I know it’s just part of life – only for a while – soon everything’s gonna be alright. For now, let them go through all these heartaches. Mine now is to pray for healing because it’s not my responsibility to mend the broken hearts.

Just hope they will learn to patch the holes up to experience restoration in the process. And may this hurtful taboo will soon become a bunch of joy like it was in the old days.

To the best of my knowledge, I’m so aware of the complexity raising a family, but also aware that whatever pain we have is normal – lessons vary and endless. I am a sentient person and so I know how it feels – the experience of a hurtful taboo especially.

Prayer and Paranoia

Coming here in Saigon today isn’t about seeking political asylum, but a precautionary measure in case worst scenario arises. Heaven forbid! After all, I’m not a citizen of Cambodia, and it’s about safety first. My heart is in earnest prayer for a peaceful election.

Forgive me because I really can’t help it. My thought is preoccupied with so many things as I crossed the border this morning. What if? And many more “what ifs” I could imagine. I understand that these are just illogical feelings or unreasonable beliefs called paranoia.

I’ve been restless the past few days thinking about this unpredictable political scenario. One big reason is my love for this country and the people. I apologize if my head is running wild this time. But it’s not a mortal sin to worry about dangers, is it?

But even then, expatriates have different reactions and outlooks on the situation at hand – some take it seriously while others take the opposite stand. In spite of warnings from respective embassies about the possible political unrest during or after the election, not everyone buys the idea. I just hope it won’t lead to full-scale civil war as worried minds think. God forbid!

On my way to the bus station, I got stuck in traffic for twenty minutes due to motorcade election campaign. From the city to the border, all but parades in white shirts, endless sound of election jingles, and hopeful shouts of victory. There my mind went wild again thinking of others who are left behind. I felt uneasy and unhappy all the more – it was just paranoia for sure.

I could have entitled this article a “political paranoia” alone, but it involved prayer to understand this seemingly normal scene – when you don’t really get or hear the truth. As I said, I’m no voter and so leave it to the right people. It’s not my business to mind. Yet, my spirit is in constant prayer for a fruitful election.  

Paranoia or overreaction or anxiety or fear, still won’t make this story complete because it took prayer more than just wishful thinking to battle a heavy heart – when worries never end – and all I could do is stay safe and pray.

Am I safer now that I am out of the country?

For one obvious circumstance maybe and yet I also believe that aside from war anyone could also die even from sleeping. This is not about my own death which worries me for it never chills me to the bone, but it’s about people killing people unnecessarily in greed for power or in pursuit of peace for all. 

I could have stayed as much as I preferred to but have to listen to what my heart says this time. Sorry, I don’t have a super freak faith like others who are too much ego about it, and so I listened to reasonable advices from logical people. There is no harm in being alert or being safe anyway. Let these super holy people ridicule my weak faith for as long as they want to. I don’t mind.

My joy is overwhelming for those who are fearless to exercise their rights to votes. Meanwhile, I pray for peaceful and non-violent election to happen whether both oppositions win or loose.

If I sounded silly in a wild way or if this is just paranoia, hope I won’t end up in a lunatic asylum. But then it will take sincere prayers to understand everything – in this obscure situation – when only God knows and in control.

Brilliant Defiance

As far as I can tell, the borderline between defiance and disobedience isn’t that hard to distinguish although they imply a lot of similarities in meaning. But “defiance” is my pick of word to describe this scenario – whether or not it’s blunt or soon would cause distortion to other minds – it is by no means my intention.

As an educator, I’ve learned to challenge every theory for the better, and so being defiant isn’t always a bad thing. I defy but not provoke and so these are totally poles apart in implication. If anyone doesn’t have the courage to change a thing, then he/she will never be able to see what bold individuals call – a defied description or beyond description.

For I rather be typecast as an insolent man or a maverick teacher than being submissive to rote learning or a monotonous teaching – a suffocating environment I couldn’t imagine myself engaging.    

To defy or disobey whatever current at the moment doesn’t mean a negative connotation – it’s but a wonderful intention of a detour – I won’t regret still using this jargon or let it be a taboo for awhile.

 This week is our school’s project week, to call innovative and creative learners come out of their shells – a week of fun and imagination and ingenuity and inventiveness putting the routine on the back burner.

Not that I don’t fancy artistic mind’s eye or the idea of this ingenious task, it isn’t just my cup of tea at the moment. I have useful alternative than this complex project.

And so I defied the mainstream ideas especially the middle-of-the-road ways of teaching to engage with the unconventional side.

“I want to do something different then, if it’s OK?” I told our Academic Coordinator at the meeting days before this week.

One reason, it won’t work this way for my entire class. I know them – one thing I am sure about. That is why I thought of a better plan to supply something beneficial and yet interesting and fun. And so there’s no project for me and my learners this week.

Another reason, Project Week like this has no mileage for my type of students – it is not something they would look forward to – they want something useful. I am not saying that this idea isn’t creative or isn’t nifty or it’s useless – I have just a dissimilar point of view.    

Everyone is busy doing load of stuff at school, at work, at home and it’s not just a great idea to add more pressure. Then I defied subscribing a project week, but as promised I have provided my students things they won’t regret not doing projects this week.

I was right with my decision because it went really well. And so it is worth flouting after all. It’s a brilliant defiance for sure – not for the worst.

Here are some of what I have given them this week.

Unsung Writers

A note: This article was intentionally written for my Facebook friends.

Today I wrote something on my wall:  “I am not going to post any articles on this social network again. And for one last try, I will leave a link to my blog. I had enough of wasting and saving breaths. Thanks for those who were following.”  

Not so sure how brutal this confession may sound, but I’ve made up my mind to speak it out completely. It’s not my intention to put the cat among the pigeons though – I couldn’t care less – it’s now or never.

It could have been more gratifying if you took time reading my articles, but only few did. I knew it from the start. And so whatever alibis you’ve got, save it for Oprah. I had enough of saving and wasting breaths.

From now on you won’t be hearing anything about my journey while I won’t be seeing your unnecessary “like” signs because all I ever wanted was for you to read them. I am not going to buy any of these pretenses again. It’s all off – I’m up bringing my world in the open – better off.

More than just telling stories, I did my hardest to get a conversation out of you in years. I realized it wasn’t worth talking and trying. Then let me be one of those unsung writers. I had enough of insisting my pursuit to be noticed, and of barking up the wrong tree here on this social network.

I don’t want to be a famous writer. It isn’t my ultimate intention in life – I write to tell my day-to-day whereabouts when by words of mouth isn’t enough – nothing less, nothing more.

In all honesty just want to share my heart out to people I thought the right ones, but I always found the contrary. The right ones were the wrong ones, and vice versa.

As much as possible I don’t want to fall for the “like” sign because it never gives me accuracy who’s reading what. My blog’s statistic does and so people couldn’t lie to me saying they’ve read my posts. It will always leave marks of truth, but not on Facebook.

When writers (famous and aren’t yet) asked me to read their books, I always did. One big reason, I know how it feels like to be a writer. I also read books of not famous and even infamous authors – simply to give respect for their hard works. I don’t have to like them.

When bloggers plugged in their pieces of works, I never failed to read them. I really respect other bloggers and their labors. Besides, I understand how time consuming it is to run a blog. But even then, bloggers fail others and selfish at times. And so they don’t deserve following.

This is not how I should let the cat out of the bag – my hidden feeling towards lazy readers – gentleness won’t make any difference – again it’s today or never. After all, I’m treated the same among those unsung writers.

Agonizing Travel

A trip to Paris or London or L.A. or Disneyland or the various wonders of the world, is the most enticing picture one can imagine about traveling – a clichéd assumption called leisure. But for people whose get-up-and-go existence is so attached to rigid travels, they think of the other side of the coin.

“How long have you been working as a journalist?” I asked my Level 8 student.

“About five months. I left my previous job because it required so much travel.” He replied.

Some people just detest going on a trip or barely travel or never at all. I’m not one of those sorts fortunately, but truth is not denying that it always requires patience and endurance to be on a long and winding road. Like in the case of my student perhaps, no matter how well paid the job, he is just not one of nature’s travelers.

Got no seasick or carsick or alto phobia or any fears related to travel, I’m probably in a transitional stage where my body is no longer tolerant of long journeys – trips I used to enjoy – thought I could still stand until these days. Every single cell and muscle is now complaining a lot about this seemingly endless voyage.

When traveling was so much fun to look forward to no matter how tiring it felt like; when trips were but adventures regardless of odysseys along the road; when travels looked like jaunts even if they weren’t – now an agony.

It’s really a pain in the neck for me especially going in and out of the same countries; sitting in the bus for long hours. But I’ve no choice except to hit the road oftentimes. It’s a chore. This is when traveling is no longer a pleasure but pressure.

I had it again last weekend – an unanticipated ride one tired person must take – an annoying dilemma – to go or not – both had cruel disadvantages. So I had to choose the agony because it was a necessity even if against my will.

Please don’t get me wrong if this seems whining to you because I am always thankful for every opportunity to wander and wonder and simply travel. It’s just that successive trips these days worn me out a lot unlike my younger years.

“Wow, you’re very lucky to travel a lot!” many friends told me this. I wish they knew the agony it brings at the same time treading the same path again and again and again – it’s actually very restless in my case, and maybe not for others.

Honestly, have enjoyed every travel I had in the past, but just don’t want to sweet-lemon the situation this time or insisting that something unpleasant is in fact desirable. I had enough of this trip countless times.

Another plead to insist, just don’t accuse me for being ingrato because ungratefulness and honesty are two different things. I am both thankful for this life and also transparent about my feeling on the one hand. I am not!

As a matter of fact, I understand that from this so called agonizing travel is where my finiteness unveiled as a stranger in foreign lands in need of grace.

From this agony is when God’s protection, strength, and provision also disclosed.

And from this unwanted flights where favor after favor is given.

                 

First Impression Dies

Wearing your elegant clothes along with your fancy necktie and the shiniest pair of shoes ever made – all this but to impress or get dressed for success – to make an impression to someone that would change your life forever.

For years and years we have tried to go with the flow and have conformed to this childish influence at our impressionable age because first impression lasts. 

One can actually wipe the floor to swim against that current, but it isn’t always a happy ending to run the risk of doing something – whether or not you’ll get the opportunity – it all depends on you.

I’m no exception to this bondage allowing my self entangled in many chances, but I have proven my impressionistic subjugators wrong in many chances as well – that’s when first impression dies.

Because I prefer casual wear over a popular style, a lot of times they’ve got me feeling as simple as a person who does not have a normal level of intelligence or got no special talent at all. And when I said or did something extraordinary, it was a bolt from the blue. That’s so human tendency becoming subjective or conclusive unreasonably.

Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m a different person at school – this is where I wear various and sundry clothes everyday – to surprise people; to win the hearts of my critics; to give them idea or a complete picture of a jigsaw puzzle out of me.

First day at school is for all time having a feeling of cognizance or paranoia to the extreme. So I’m always careful selling the products – my self, my experience, my accomplishment, and my skills – for one intention – to disprove each first-impressionist-creature alive.

“What if my students won’t like me?” my anxious thought in endless query. Before I realize, I still have more of these “what ifs…?” to resolve. It’s so annoying, but then it’s always my call to face the situation for man is born to trust first impressions.

There is no place like my TESOL environment – where racists live and where individuals endowed with prejudices against Asian teachers reign. That’s why I had to stand up for myself, for others, and what I believe in – a big NO to first impression. For each person deserves grace or more including me to be honest.

I am truly aware that there is no such thing as “first impression dies” unless someone has learned to defy the gravity or judge the book by its content – then you will find it hard to believe. Let this phrase remains uncanny or only exists in my own dictionary. But it doesn’t stop me from sharing one of the most unexpected stories of my teaching life, lately.

“Here we go again!” I said quietly; a self-talk as I call it.

One student was already in the classroom few minutes before me. He was the earliest bird to meet his teacher who has brown skin and not a native speaker of English. He seemed unhappy by the look of his eyes. He didn’t smile at all. Let me call him Dara (not his real name).

“So you’re not white?” my worried mind could hear him freak out, but thank God he didn’t.

So used to this scenario, but like I said, got my own way – for this reason I’ve survived and was loved by my students. And no need to mention those awful moments because they were uninspiring.

Few days after, Dara brought me some muffins for snack and then some Chinese kikyams the following day. The next time around, his generosity was beyond expectation – he bought me sunglasses. Wow!

It such a delight to know that he’s very happy in my class every single day. Above all this, it’s a joy to know that he’s no typical impressionable at all. I think it’s time for me to remove this lasting negative impression in my mind towards students or anyone else, too. This is how first impression dies works in some ways.

Now it’s all up to you to break this bad habit – trusting on first impressions or to give others more consideration that first impression may die.

Mystery Talks

Two in a row over a span of just an hour revealed two messages today – both were unfolded ambiguously – thoughts expressed with sensitivity and that require contextual awareness – now still mystery talks.

Not in my loud personality for I speak out my mind more often than not. And so I’m no mysterious man – what you see is what you get – an open book who isn’t hesitant to show the real me. Needless to say, keeping secrets in the name of privacy is a non-negotiable alternative.

I won’t blame anyone for not being able to grasp my intention vis-à-vis the posts earlier, but I appreciated your “like” signs and comments. One day when I’m ready enough, then you’ll be the next ones to know. For now, let me leave it as is – an odd curiosity.

“Thank God for the abundance of coffee at school, it makes every worker really happy.”

I wrote on my Facebook timeline today because I could no longer contain the feeling of isolation and the thought of being forgotten, left out. Maybe in one message a way, one sincere person would come to inquire at least.

This is when I felt the deafening silence of God’s voice – when answers to prayers seem slow; not a single mark to trace. All I had to do is to wait and pray in hopes of things I’m still clinging to.

But then it’s in this mystery talks I’ve understand the importance of swallowing my pride and set aside this messianic complex I presumed didn’t have.

Yes, it’s in this vague story I’ve decided to open up a bit as I prayed for the right people to listen.

And it is in this bizarreness I realized to give room for other people to know instead of keeping it myself.

“Five days in a row – breaking someone’s record – not a legacy the next generation wants know.”

My second note – as a status on Facebook – another mysterious thought in follow up of what I have been feeling and thinking since last week. Sure enough, only two people got this message as clear as mud. I just felt to unleash this uncontrollable feeling of uneasiness within me through this social network.

The world has been unfriendly to me lately including destiny and those people I imagine friends. Maybe one more message a way they would come to me sincerely and pay attention to my silent cries. But these silent cries turned mystery talks – it would take genuine person to comprehend – or I’ll leave it forever like this – the greatest taboo of my life.   

And so I have a note to my dear family:

“Don’t worry about me, I’m still OK. This is not related to the latest incident. I apologize if I will deprive you this time from knowing the story. Rest assured that this is not concerning serious illnesses as well – it’s just a solvable silent cry. Just pray for me in this time of discouragement, pain, and loneliness. I count it as trials while following the Master. Let’s think of it as part of my calling to serve other people. If I couldn’t endure it anymore, I will always run to you. For now, let it be mystery talks.”

To those who lent ears to listen…a countless thanks to you.