Slow to anger

slow to anger
That means you still get angry right?
Somehow that concept always made me think of burying your anger. Hide your frustration and hurt. Don't acknowledge the pain and injustice.

I first started realizing this after the Japanese Internment Camp exhibit in the Oakland museum. So much pain. No acknowledgement. Move on. Prove you belong.

There was no lament. There still isn't

So I realize that maybe my slow reactions are Japanese American- bred from generations of 'push it down' 'don't fight' 'let it be'. Don't be unsettled by someone else's offense.

It's this facade of calm and serenity with a neglect of raw reaction and lament. Am I continuing cycles of injustice by neglecting the lament? Am I letting the white man walk all over us again by having grace and forgiveness?

slow to anger. quick to forgive.

Who is repenting? And why does it always have to be me?

Healing.

The never-ending journey of finding freedom.

Freedom in Sexuality- as an Asian American woman

Freedom in owning my gender as very good

Freedom in healing from past injustices

Freedom in eyes being opened too soon, desires being satiated too early, fantasies being realized before their time

Freedom in receiving the forgiveness that is given

Freedom in owning the grace of new life

Freedom in hopeful journeys of renewed experiences

“See, I am doing something new”

It has been seven years since that night. It has been 3 years since that relationship. It has been 3 months since this new thing. And yet I feel it. I am burdened and wounded and raw. Where years and time have eased the blow, prayer and confession have reduced the scar. But the scar still remains and the memories still persist and the attachment still manifests in dreams and recollections.

What does freedom look like? Is there such a thing as complete healing?

The question of my life.

The trust in God’s promises.

The hope for something better.

What plagues our people and gender is something to be lamented for. What is exploited and heralded should be shamed and condemned. I cry, “Freedom for our mothers! Freedom for our sisters! Freedom for our daughters! Freedom for…me”

What does freedom look like? Is there such a thing as complete healing?

“It’s a girl, and that is very good.” –Kathy Khang, More than Serving Tea

Village Ashes

This is a piece for BayUP about our work site, based on stories and words we heard from the children. We presented this to our friends and family on Visitors' Day.

Village Ashes

Ashes.

I live in the shelter, but I am homeless.

Can I trust you?

Can I tell you my real name?

We enter into the Ashes- ready, eager, excited.

Where are the children?

What can we do?

But we are met with- Disappointment. Distance. Mistrust.

     

     We are rebuilding our lives.

     Can't you see it?

     From the Ashes we emerge- more guarded than before.

     Don't you understand?

But why do you have to sit in the Ashes?

Why did these things happen to you?

Why are the odds against you?

This isn't right. 

I want to fix this.

I want to defend you.

Layers upon layers of brokenness.

Systems upon systems of injustice.

What will happen to these fatherless children?

Who will restore their stolen childhoods?

Smiles

Glimpses into life

Stories. Games. Real names.

True identities.

We will let you into our family

Small goals in Big Systems

Real Hope in Greater Understanding

Resiliency in the Journey

Belief in the Future

Prayers for the Potential

Rising from the ashes, I see life and restored hope.

Rising from the ashes, I see tremendous potential and weighty choices.

Rising from the ashes, I see small goals and tangible ways to love.

Earth to Earth,

Ashes to Ashes,

Dust to Dust.

I die to my quick fixes and critical lenses.

And I rise with the Ashes,

     to find home...in The Village.

     

BayUP Day 47: Staff Debrief

I've changed. I know it.

The world that I once knew and lived comfortably in is now a hostile environment- exposed dissonance everywhere. How do I give honor and credibility without exploitation and sexification? How do I communicate mutual conversion without charity?

I fear the silence of my voice with the weight of these lessons and truths.

This summer, I learned about God and justice. But could I even do this experience justice?

Lord, help me not to forget:

     the necessity of lamenting
     the beauty of perseverance
     the hope of dreamers
     the cost of resilience
     the dignity of voiceless
     the responsibility of privileged
     the faces of oppressed
     the need for change

If Shalom is to be brought to this city- then bring it.
If systems are to be overthrown- then do it.
If lives are to be forever changed- then change it.
If justice is to be our narrative- then send me. send us.

Believe in Oakland.
Believe in the hope- that God is big enough
Believe in the trust- that these pearls are never wasted.
Believe in the truth- that God has more for us beyond this summer.

Messy. Untidied. Incomplete.
Shalom to this city.

God made me mixed and He made me mixed up

Raw
Pain unspoken
Unrecognized

Jesus, I'm broken and it's still raw. She's dark already?! Filipino, Chinese, Hawaiian, Vietnamese You're not really Japanese. We don't want mono-racial people there. Right side Japanese, left side Chinese. Prove that you belong. Don't mess up everything we have worked for. Wear stripes to make your skin lighter. Do you speak? You're the reason my language is dying. 

What are you?! Not enough.


Doubts can force us to sidestep pain- coping, but not really healing. 

"There's no pain so cutting,
No battle as in vain
As the constant battle
to avoid the pain" - Justin McRoberts


Loneliness

I don't belong to either group. I don't feel whole because they lower their expectations of me. I'm torn between 4 worlds, looking for 1 home. Not even other mixed people can fully understand and know my experiences and pain. I will always feel unknown.

Tension of privilege and rejection leads to isolation and loneliness, leaving us powerless. 

I'm looking for affirmation and acceptance. I'm afraid that this place- even this safe place will reject me too. Then who will identify with me? Who will understand my pain? Who will walk with me on this journey to wholeness?

Do I have to prove that I'm mixed enough?

Welcome Home

We have a choice to invite God into our whole ethnicity and pain. 

Invitation. Invitation into my pain, life, and mixed experiences. Invitation into full healing, understanding, acceptance. Invitation to be fully known by the Father who created me- the one who intentionally made me this way. It wasn't a mistake. It wasn't random. It is beautiful.

You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of the dust
You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of us

You make me new, You are making me new
You make me new, You are making me new


You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of the dust
You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of us


Forgiveness
Healing
Letting go

Letting go of holding onto pain to prove that I belong here. Releasing my parents from the expectations that they should've known. Forgiving them for the misunderstanding turned rejection. Accepting the Yonsei experience of being cut off from a culture. Lamenting a nation's history of racism and injustice that shamed, hated, and forced my family to forget. Crying for the brothers who just want to be one- to choose even at the sacrifice of the other. Repenting of using a relationship to feel whole- to be white instead of half. Recognizing the fears of bringing these pains and brokenness to all relationships- to never being known even in the closest intimacy. Combatting lies with truth that loneliness and pain don't have to remain.

I believe God can heal me. I believe God sees me whole- fully me. Japanese and Chinese, He created me. In His image, I was created. Fully both.

After this I looked and there before me was a great multitude that no one could count, from every nation, tribe, people and language, standing before the throne and in front of the Lamb. 

When we stand in front of our maker at the end of the Ages, I will be mixed.

Too Close to Home

I come home after a night of games with grown up friends in Stockton, to find this: shattered glass next to a car I don't recognize. Is this what I think it is? Whose car is this?
I go into 'ok I think I should do something about this' mode. Ring the downstairs doorbell. Call Lauren. Should I call the cops? Why aren't they answering? Katherine isn't home. Should I knock on the neighbor's door. What time is it?
When I see 2 people walking down the street- students. Maybe drunk. One guy carrying a skateboard, and another carrying a Commerce street sign. Oh great, really?!
They find their car window smashed and something taken from the back seat. And with a stolen street sign in their hand, they call the police...oh Stockton. oh Pacific students.

Part of me doesn't know what to think. This is normal, this happens here. They could have been smarter- they probably left something in the back seat to steal. They deserved it. Should I have done more? Even if the victim was a thief, should I have intervened? I went up the stairs, slightly appalled and confused.
This is my home space. This is where I park my car. This could have been me. When does the fear of not feeling safe in your home affect you? What do you do when sometimes you feel helpless? I don't want to write this off because it wasn't my car or my house. My best friend reminded me that I don't have to. Validated in this being too close to home.

In the daytime, with a roommate back from home- safer, apathetic, distancing...still

Preparing for Urbana

1 of 3 voices. I am 1 of 3 Asian voices out of a team of 20- going to be heard and seen through words and movement on stage at Urbana. It is both an honor and a great responsibility.

It wasn’t until a conversation with my mom that I started to realize the weight of this position. When we go to these conferences, we look for people who look like us. Like us.

Because when we see people like us- in front, on stage, speaking, acting, dancing…it means something more. It means we can do likewise. It means we can be heard. It means someone is representing our voice. Giving permission to speak, to externalize what’s inside. It means others feel the same way. It means God knows. God knows and understands us.  

So when Kim, a Vietnamese Candian, and Min-Soo, a Korean Canadian are on stage. They are representing me too, a Japanese and Chinese American. Every time they make people laugh, cry, sing, dance, see God through their art…they are representing us. 

Our voices on center stage at Urbana.