I have realized that childhood experiences have absolutely no weight or meaning in the world. The innocence that is embodied by the little children dies quickly away when exposed to culture and the environment. When I think back, I remember the good days, the happy days where I didn’t see or care about life’s sufferings.
Again I emphasize that lack of weight of childhood memories. Especially those shared with other people. I think back and wonder, do these people I’ve have known for years and years ever look back and see the good times we have shared together? Doesn’t that qualify us as friends? Don’t you care about me now, as a friend? No, no matter how many delightful or sad moments experienced together, I have concluded that at the moment of the turn of the tide, those pages are locked away, never to be brought to light again. People change, and that is something I have to accept, though unwillingly. I see stories, novels, dramas, epics, ballads, tales, and poems talk about friendships and love, from all cultures, yet they all seem so ideal…to the point that I want to believe the message they carry is true. But alas, reality is of course as far away from ideal as possible.
I am truly grateful to my parents, especially my mother, whom I love dearly. She has traded her life away for mine, superimposed all her dreams and future upon me, may I never let her down. When it was time for me to be born, she made a choice, one highly unfavored by all educated doctors in two countries, one that chose between her life and mine. Through the grace of God, we were both spared, but she had to suffer great pain and risk to do so. She has devoted her time solely upon her kids, given up the dream of perusing a career in the land of opportunities. Though countless times I blame her for her raising decisions, such as keeping me deprived from both American culture and Asian culture alike, I am glad she was there for me when I felt as if the whole world came crashing down around me, and a multitude of voices and fingers pointed and condemned for existing in an environment unsuitable for a person like me. She kept my faith alive, had hope that I may find a place in the world where I can be truly at peace, truly comfortable. Alas, I do not know if I had found such a place, or if such a place even exists, but for her, and my dad, and all those who continue to support me and I them, I will persist and have hope that a place like that in my dreams will be provided for me. If not, I will surely find such a place in heaven with my Father.
I would say I am a person who has suffered a lot. Then others would scoff and ask if I had ever broken up with a person I love, if I have ever felt prolonged hunger before, if I have a terminal illness, if I have ever watched a loved one die before, or if I have ever killed a person. Then all I can say is that my suffering amounts to nothing compared to magnitude of these tribulations. My suffering only consists of torment at the hand of the American public education system, the story of a Chinese kid in a very American environment with no one around to share his pain, and abandonment by the Church, the one and only sanctuary I believed I had in this cruel environment. I will not say no one in the Church came to my rescue, as there are always people filled with compassion and love wherever the Spirit dwells. But the need for an environment for a pitiful child like me never provided, though it may have been on the top of the “to do list” for decades before I was born. Now I pray that though I am not the first victim, that I may be the last. Not only did my church refuse to accept my Taiwanese culture, but rejected me when I asked to be taught and assimilated into the American culture. The influence of culture has spread deep into the youth of the Church, no longer containable by the deacons and elders. Though they pray and hoped for a better future for the future generations, the blight of culture has already taken root. And I was swallowed and torn to bits. I do not know how long I was depressed, or how long I stayed aloof. Circumstances have not been kind to me. Everyone close to me has moved away, some to New Jersey, some to California, some to far away places I can never reach, though geographical distance is not an issue. The sadness of leaving a familiar place full of friends to a foreign one is great, but the sadness of the one left behind can sometimes be greater. I was left behind, and left with the responsibility to bring new people into the church. Though the duty was imposed upon me, I followed through, and my actions have blossomed in the church. Regardless, I have been effectively kicked out of my sanctuary, only to watch from afar. No longer can I keep my duties; no longer do I exist in the records of the church. I am now one of those poor children who enter the doors of the house of love, only to be ignored and never come again. Yet I continue to come, each time greeted as if it was my first time, as if I know no one at all. I sympathize with the regulars whom are now ignored, those who have called the church home for over twenty, over thirty years. They come, but few greet them, and none include them in the social atmosphere. Why bother come at all? There is no longer fellowship here, and worship can be done anywhere, at any time, as long as the heart is there and sincerity is there. For a long time, my church has taught me indirectly that fellowship is not necessary for my walk with God. That is not true. There is no greater joy than finding fellowship. Maybe when I was a kid, I experienced it, I remember it, and I loved it. But for a long time now the concept of fellowship has eluded me. Maybe the cure to depression is fellowship. Maybe it is God.
Forgiveness is the hardest thing for me to do. I cannot forgive the world, for treating me as if I amounted to nothing. For treating me as if I didn’t belong. Maybe I didn’t belong. Maybe I should have stayed in Taiwan. The food is great there, the education system is great there, the 24/7 studying I can relish, as long as all my peers are doing the same. Military service is no problem. Up to 20% unemployment rate is no problem. Living in a dirty urban atmosphere is no problem. Sometimes I dream I could read and write Chinese, sometimes I wake up and find my hundreds of Chinese children stories that I remember the plot and themes, yet can no longer read the words. I wonder if I can recover talents that have been aged away. If it’s possible, then I shall try. Can I forgive those who have hurt me by their selfish actions, even if they meant no harm or do not even know the depth of their cuts? I have to forgive my parents for not understanding a lost child in an age of information. I refused to change, I wanted to remain innocent. The world would not let me, nor tell me how to change. I enter college as a blank slate, even now my understanding of how the inner workings of culture works. My parents didn’t understand either, but persisted in keeping me solitude and deprived. Alas, when I utterly collapsed did my parents realized and apologized, for I have suffered, and they have suffered with me. May the future of my younger brother be blessed and full of happiness, as he will not have to share some of the problems I faced or will face in mine. Can I forgive my church for not coming to my aid? Even after evidence was leaked out and blasted in their faces? I am grateful of the encouragement and counseling I received after that event, but the real help I needed, I never received. To be honest, I felt as if I was being rejected even more. Some ask me now, why didn’t I try to get involve? Why do they have to come to me, why cannot I go to them? Why can I not seek the help I need. Didn’t? I believe I did. I never gave up. I persisted. Not all my efforts were in vain, but again circumstances kept me apart. Geographical distance, inept social skills, childhood brainwashing, depravation of culture, status as a high school male, and time restrictions all led to futile efforts and short-term relationships. What can I do? I refused to give up though, but again, freshmen year in college, circumstances kept me from finding fellowship. Even though I met some people in ACF, like Joy, Tiffany, Kevin, and Jeff, I wanted to maintain relationships I have already formed, and entered Overflow. At first I thought I was amazing. The power of American Christianity never ceases to amaze me. But alas, the people I knew started leaving, and I felt abandoned. The small group I attended chose to be a poor one, one that has already build strong walls of memories, feelings, and culture around them. I couldn’t break through. Thus, I eventually left second semester, as well as taking a break from my walk with God. I focused my entire attention and energy into getting to know my floor. Whether that succeeded, time will tell. Again circumstances led me to be in the smallest class to consist of Asian Christians. Even though I know them now, the lost of one year of time spent without them will be a huge impact. I now feel blessed for having entered Asian Christian Fellowship my sophomore year. Some things I will remain bitter about, as all the efforts are one-sided. No one sought me out, no one took time to get to know me, to disciple me, to reach out to me, or to congratulate me. But I never gave up. It felt like the first few times at GPC, where after the sermon, there would be a social, but I felt left out. I felt as if each time I go, it was my first time. I was a newcomer, to be greeted, but greeted shallowly. I knew no one, and I felt left out of all conversations. Again, regardless of my feelings and pessimism I continued to go. I now see the fruit of my efforts, but wonder how deep the ties truly are? Have I finally found my dream, an “Asian Christian fellowship” I have long wanted back home in KC that I saw elsewhere across the world? Will I be disappointed in the future? Can I even be disappointed now that I have come so far? That is the question.
When people did not provide the things I need, did they wrong me? Even if they were the only ones who could? What if they didn’t even know? Is there any responsibility for them to provide? What if they did know, and intentionally refuse? What if said people didn’t even know who I am? Is there anyone to blame but myself? Or can I not even judge myself? Does God command me to forgive all who have wronged me? Even if they don’t know the person whom they have wronged, or don’t know they have wronged, or refused to admit they have wronged?
Who am I to judge, but who am I to dangle a piece of meat and a jug of water in front of a starving child, and refuse to acknowledge his plight and relieve him of his suffering.
Is the answer to forgive and forget? The painful memories still bring me to the ground in tears whenever I remember. Can I be forgiven? Can God take the pain away?
What if the answer is to confront these people? I don’t know if I can bear their confused looks, their pity, and their apologies. I don’t even know if I want to hear their apologies, or ever forgive them deep in my heart. I do not know if I can forget the pain I have suffered, even though I have forgave them.
What I do know is I cannot remain as I am, bitter and entrenched by my memories and my pain. I do not want to live out my nightmares that plague me during the night. Life is too wonderful for that. God is too powerful and loving for that. I will see what I can do. I will change. I will grow.
Again I emphasize that lack of weight of childhood memories. Especially those shared with other people. I think back and wonder, do these people I’ve have known for years and years ever look back and see the good times we have shared together? Doesn’t that qualify us as friends? Don’t you care about me now, as a friend? No, no matter how many delightful or sad moments experienced together, I have concluded that at the moment of the turn of the tide, those pages are locked away, never to be brought to light again. People change, and that is something I have to accept, though unwillingly. I see stories, novels, dramas, epics, ballads, tales, and poems talk about friendships and love, from all cultures, yet they all seem so ideal…to the point that I want to believe the message they carry is true. But alas, reality is of course as far away from ideal as possible.
I am truly grateful to my parents, especially my mother, whom I love dearly. She has traded her life away for mine, superimposed all her dreams and future upon me, may I never let her down. When it was time for me to be born, she made a choice, one highly unfavored by all educated doctors in two countries, one that chose between her life and mine. Through the grace of God, we were both spared, but she had to suffer great pain and risk to do so. She has devoted her time solely upon her kids, given up the dream of perusing a career in the land of opportunities. Though countless times I blame her for her raising decisions, such as keeping me deprived from both American culture and Asian culture alike, I am glad she was there for me when I felt as if the whole world came crashing down around me, and a multitude of voices and fingers pointed and condemned for existing in an environment unsuitable for a person like me. She kept my faith alive, had hope that I may find a place in the world where I can be truly at peace, truly comfortable. Alas, I do not know if I had found such a place, or if such a place even exists, but for her, and my dad, and all those who continue to support me and I them, I will persist and have hope that a place like that in my dreams will be provided for me. If not, I will surely find such a place in heaven with my Father.
I would say I am a person who has suffered a lot. Then others would scoff and ask if I had ever broken up with a person I love, if I have ever felt prolonged hunger before, if I have a terminal illness, if I have ever watched a loved one die before, or if I have ever killed a person. Then all I can say is that my suffering amounts to nothing compared to magnitude of these tribulations. My suffering only consists of torment at the hand of the American public education system, the story of a Chinese kid in a very American environment with no one around to share his pain, and abandonment by the Church, the one and only sanctuary I believed I had in this cruel environment. I will not say no one in the Church came to my rescue, as there are always people filled with compassion and love wherever the Spirit dwells. But the need for an environment for a pitiful child like me never provided, though it may have been on the top of the “to do list” for decades before I was born. Now I pray that though I am not the first victim, that I may be the last. Not only did my church refuse to accept my Taiwanese culture, but rejected me when I asked to be taught and assimilated into the American culture. The influence of culture has spread deep into the youth of the Church, no longer containable by the deacons and elders. Though they pray and hoped for a better future for the future generations, the blight of culture has already taken root. And I was swallowed and torn to bits. I do not know how long I was depressed, or how long I stayed aloof. Circumstances have not been kind to me. Everyone close to me has moved away, some to New Jersey, some to California, some to far away places I can never reach, though geographical distance is not an issue. The sadness of leaving a familiar place full of friends to a foreign one is great, but the sadness of the one left behind can sometimes be greater. I was left behind, and left with the responsibility to bring new people into the church. Though the duty was imposed upon me, I followed through, and my actions have blossomed in the church. Regardless, I have been effectively kicked out of my sanctuary, only to watch from afar. No longer can I keep my duties; no longer do I exist in the records of the church. I am now one of those poor children who enter the doors of the house of love, only to be ignored and never come again. Yet I continue to come, each time greeted as if it was my first time, as if I know no one at all. I sympathize with the regulars whom are now ignored, those who have called the church home for over twenty, over thirty years. They come, but few greet them, and none include them in the social atmosphere. Why bother come at all? There is no longer fellowship here, and worship can be done anywhere, at any time, as long as the heart is there and sincerity is there. For a long time, my church has taught me indirectly that fellowship is not necessary for my walk with God. That is not true. There is no greater joy than finding fellowship. Maybe when I was a kid, I experienced it, I remember it, and I loved it. But for a long time now the concept of fellowship has eluded me. Maybe the cure to depression is fellowship. Maybe it is God.
Forgiveness is the hardest thing for me to do. I cannot forgive the world, for treating me as if I amounted to nothing. For treating me as if I didn’t belong. Maybe I didn’t belong. Maybe I should have stayed in Taiwan. The food is great there, the education system is great there, the 24/7 studying I can relish, as long as all my peers are doing the same. Military service is no problem. Up to 20% unemployment rate is no problem. Living in a dirty urban atmosphere is no problem. Sometimes I dream I could read and write Chinese, sometimes I wake up and find my hundreds of Chinese children stories that I remember the plot and themes, yet can no longer read the words. I wonder if I can recover talents that have been aged away. If it’s possible, then I shall try. Can I forgive those who have hurt me by their selfish actions, even if they meant no harm or do not even know the depth of their cuts? I have to forgive my parents for not understanding a lost child in an age of information. I refused to change, I wanted to remain innocent. The world would not let me, nor tell me how to change. I enter college as a blank slate, even now my understanding of how the inner workings of culture works. My parents didn’t understand either, but persisted in keeping me solitude and deprived. Alas, when I utterly collapsed did my parents realized and apologized, for I have suffered, and they have suffered with me. May the future of my younger brother be blessed and full of happiness, as he will not have to share some of the problems I faced or will face in mine. Can I forgive my church for not coming to my aid? Even after evidence was leaked out and blasted in their faces? I am grateful of the encouragement and counseling I received after that event, but the real help I needed, I never received. To be honest, I felt as if I was being rejected even more. Some ask me now, why didn’t I try to get involve? Why do they have to come to me, why cannot I go to them? Why can I not seek the help I need. Didn’t? I believe I did. I never gave up. I persisted. Not all my efforts were in vain, but again circumstances kept me apart. Geographical distance, inept social skills, childhood brainwashing, depravation of culture, status as a high school male, and time restrictions all led to futile efforts and short-term relationships. What can I do? I refused to give up though, but again, freshmen year in college, circumstances kept me from finding fellowship. Even though I met some people in ACF, like Joy, Tiffany, Kevin, and Jeff, I wanted to maintain relationships I have already formed, and entered Overflow. At first I thought I was amazing. The power of American Christianity never ceases to amaze me. But alas, the people I knew started leaving, and I felt abandoned. The small group I attended chose to be a poor one, one that has already build strong walls of memories, feelings, and culture around them. I couldn’t break through. Thus, I eventually left second semester, as well as taking a break from my walk with God. I focused my entire attention and energy into getting to know my floor. Whether that succeeded, time will tell. Again circumstances led me to be in the smallest class to consist of Asian Christians. Even though I know them now, the lost of one year of time spent without them will be a huge impact. I now feel blessed for having entered Asian Christian Fellowship my sophomore year. Some things I will remain bitter about, as all the efforts are one-sided. No one sought me out, no one took time to get to know me, to disciple me, to reach out to me, or to congratulate me. But I never gave up. It felt like the first few times at GPC, where after the sermon, there would be a social, but I felt left out. I felt as if each time I go, it was my first time. I was a newcomer, to be greeted, but greeted shallowly. I knew no one, and I felt left out of all conversations. Again, regardless of my feelings and pessimism I continued to go. I now see the fruit of my efforts, but wonder how deep the ties truly are? Have I finally found my dream, an “Asian Christian fellowship” I have long wanted back home in KC that I saw elsewhere across the world? Will I be disappointed in the future? Can I even be disappointed now that I have come so far? That is the question.
When people did not provide the things I need, did they wrong me? Even if they were the only ones who could? What if they didn’t even know? Is there any responsibility for them to provide? What if they did know, and intentionally refuse? What if said people didn’t even know who I am? Is there anyone to blame but myself? Or can I not even judge myself? Does God command me to forgive all who have wronged me? Even if they don’t know the person whom they have wronged, or don’t know they have wronged, or refused to admit they have wronged?
Who am I to judge, but who am I to dangle a piece of meat and a jug of water in front of a starving child, and refuse to acknowledge his plight and relieve him of his suffering.
Is the answer to forgive and forget? The painful memories still bring me to the ground in tears whenever I remember. Can I be forgiven? Can God take the pain away?
What if the answer is to confront these people? I don’t know if I can bear their confused looks, their pity, and their apologies. I don’t even know if I want to hear their apologies, or ever forgive them deep in my heart. I do not know if I can forget the pain I have suffered, even though I have forgave them.
What I do know is I cannot remain as I am, bitter and entrenched by my memories and my pain. I do not want to live out my nightmares that plague me during the night. Life is too wonderful for that. God is too powerful and loving for that. I will see what I can do. I will change. I will grow.
