Fighting Myself

It happened suddenly… it’s one of the reasons why I haven’t written in so long. On June 5th, I met a man who sees more in me than I’ve ever been willing to see in myself. Despite everything I throw at him he refuses to leave… if anything he becomes more stubborn to stay and show me how he sees me. He uses elegant words and phrases to tell me who I am to him, who God is to him, who he was and who he wants to be. I get tongue-tied, awkward in my own skin and fearing the day that he realizes what he’s done, and who I am. It’s taken a toll on me, this fear, and its come to the point that I’ve realized that its not his fault. It’s mine – and I’m tired of fighting myself. 

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Forced to Write

One of the downsides to choosing to double major with Creative Writing so late, is the requirements. After taking the amazing advanced writing classes that inspired me to pursue it even more, I now have to take the introduction classes. It’s these classes, or this class in particular, where I find the reason why so many people knock on MIT’s writing program. Today marks the day that I can no longer stand up for my department. 

Wishing on Bubbles

I wish I could have my friends back.

It’s only happened three times, but for me it’s three times too many times. They were all dear to me, like brothers. And they all disappeared from my life without any kind of explanation.

I wish I could ask them why: what did I do wrong? When did this happen? Why was I the last to know that we were no longer friends? Well, I suppose I wouldn’t ask the last one.

I see them sometimes, and it baffles me how I used to know them so well a lifetime ago. Well, one of them is in Germany, so I don’t see him at all except when his posts come onto my Facebook newsfeed. Which counts, I suppose. But it’s sad too, in a way – Facebook friends, but not friends, really.

I still consider them to be my dear friends though. I’m not the kind of person who can forget what people mean to her easily. The memories will always stay with me: all the times we hung out, cried on each others shoulders, laughed together, helped each other….

But I suppose it’ll always be this way. After all, our lives have changed. I suppose we don’t know how to be friends anymore.

I don’t know why I do this to myself, but I always wish on bubbles. And they always pop in my face.

A Scary Thought

“There must be something wrong with me.”

Shock #tbt

It’s been a while since I’ve written, and while I know that no apology is necessary, I almost feel as though it’s compulsory to give an excuse for my absence. I don’t yet have the words for it, but I will do my best to try. Later.

In the interim, I stumbled across a short musing I had written early last semester. It’s wordy and written in a voice that I no doubt integrated from a book I was reading at the time, but it’s true nonetheless. That was a time that I quite enjoyed writing down what was going on with me. It is probably an exercise that had kept me sane back then. I know this because the throwback was enough to make me return here, as I’ve been trying to make myself do for the past few months. Perhaps that’s an indication that God has something to do with this – plus, it’s Thursday, the official day of the week for pensive throwbacks. 

The Choice That Reeks Suspiciously of Failure

I didn’t do what MIT students are supposed to do. At 3AM this morning, when I saw that, despite all of my foresight and planning and scheduling, I was unable to finish my assignment by 9AM this morning, simply because I didn’t understand what was going on. Instead of looking things up and searching for the answers in my notes and my textbooks and being a “real MIT student” who says, “I don’t need sleep. I need an A,” I said to myself, “I can’t do this. I need sleep.” And I’m very much afraid that I’m going to look back on this missed assignment and cry my eyes out.

Coming Home

My friend described my past summer as a “vision quest,” a Native American tradition of sending out the youth in pursuit of some sort of revelation. While somewhat accurate, it’s missing the key element, which is that God aspect that never seems to let me go (thank God): I went in search of myself, but I came back with a revelation of God. It’s interesting, but the more I look to myself and look for myself and try to find the meaning of my life and how I relate to people, the more depressing life becomes. Perhaps I’m alone in this, but I see the gifts I have, I see the opportunities I’ve been given, yet I cannot help but feel like a constant failure. My lack of wisdom in certain situations, the evil that I always fall back into for the sake of not having to fight against it anymore, are only a few of the many elements that I see in myself that make me hopeless. I can’t do it, and what’s worse, I can’t do it without God.

It’s okay to not be okay

There’s one thing that people see as a huge flaw in the church or in Christian community as a whole, that being how it feels so fake.

Because everything, and everyone, has to be alright. There is no room for problems – God’s love casts out all sin. There is no room for being disheartened – we delight in our infirmities. There is no room for loneliness – God promised that He will never leave us nor forsake us. And God forbid if you’re mad at Him – who are you to question what God does in your life? Remember – all things work together for good. Yes, God is the answer to every problem, but that shouldn’t be a reason to ignore that problems exist.

Why Me?

“Past, present, future,” he said, in his typical cryptic “yoda” fashion. I wasn’t in a mind to take that kind of thing from him, not right then. Usually it gave me a mental exercise, along the lines of, “Whatever could he mean by that?” But yesterday night, I just wasn’t having it.

“What’s that supposed to mean??”

“What do you mean what’s that supposed to mean?”

“What I just said!”

“Woah now, you actually sound mad!” Upon inspection it seemed that I was, and that’s not normal. Not with him.

After an exasperated sigh I continued to seethe, trying to calm myself down. He laughed at my efforts.

Then he remarked thoughtfully, “Don’t you know what you’re asking?”

“No!” I yelled, taking advantage of the opportunity to set his head straight, or at least to make myself clear. “I’m just trying to figure it out. I’ve talked to God about it, sure, but with Him I don’t feel as though I need to be completely coherent.” He nodded with a smile in understanding. “I’ve never really tried to talk it out with someone. I’m just… confused.”

“You’re wondering why God called you.”

Things my dad used to say [2]

HUFPSUSU. Prounounced “huhfp-soo-soo”. The ever-so-clever acronym my father came up with to help us remember the sins most abominable to God: hypocrisy, unlove, fear, pride, slothfulness, unbelief, selfishness, and uncleanliness.

And I’ve found myself in the unfavorable circumstance of battling every single one of these.