10/11/16

10/09/16

Deleted my Facebook account.

I really mean it this time (lol).

Had to dig through Facebook's website to find the "Permanently delete your account" feature. They want to keep you oh sooo bad. "______ will miss you." lol. I'm still alive bruh. What is this suicide? If they miss me, that means they don't see me. If they don't see me, that means they don't want to, or they can't.

Deleted my Snapchat account as well. And Instagram.

All is well with these companies. Social media isn't bad. People make it bad. I make it bad for myself.

Maybe one day I'll etch a picture onto the walls of my cave to let my loved ones know that I have given up electricity and agriculture.

tl;dr: I'm so self-aware, look at me not looking at your pictures. Blah blah hipster self-aware, lowkey want attention look at my blog. I wonder if anyone will even see this now.

10/4/16

Many things race through my mind.

[...]

If I am made by God, and he knows me, then he can make me happy. But I lack faith these days.

I remember the days I would look around in wonder and be amazed at life: where I am, how I am, the perfect puzzle of life that just flows, even if we broke it.

The absurdity of life, the arbitrariness of it all. How skin deep the things we hold onto are. How everything is so just because the real main character of life wanted it so. He wanted to write a story, and we're the characters he wrote. How real and immediate our fiction seems: a story written by the highest hierarchy of authorship and creation. Perhaps it is real; as real as real can be.

It's liberating at the same time as it is... disabling. To know that nothing in this life matters past a certain degree, where our roles as characters inside the story end.
But if God is real and his words are real, then truth matters no? That's kind of redundant. lol. When heaven and earth pass away, all the shallow things we hold onto, his word shall still remain as the only reality.

So I guess the opposite is true as well. That this life does matter to a degree, and even beyond that: that what we do in this life matters.

I'm a philosopher. I'm a photographer. Shout out to Shane Dirty.

8/31/16 When Your Pastor Says, "Don't Share Your Testimony Like It's A Selfie."

FJC Library 11am

As soon as you think it'll be better and you take a step in the right direction, you say fuck this.
And you don't wanna bottle it up, but you just do it anyways.
And you don't wanna be sad anymore, but you think happiness is foolish too.
And as the days pass you by, you find yourself having more moments where you just want to cry,
But you don't wanna be a bitchass so you just get mad and pretend like it's any better.
And you just get up in the morning because you're tired of sleeping, but there's nothing to do so you just write some bullshit in your planner so you're not just staring at the ceiling all day.

I look at my cats and I really think God is trying to get a hold of me through them.

Like when I think about Mochi, as I think about him a lot these days. And I think about how scared he must have been. How much he must have hurt. How cold and hungry he must have been. How much he must have wanted to come home, but he was too scared to do so. How much I hate that fucking cat across the street that probably killed my Mochi.
But it's not just Mochi that hurt. Who was his father? How much I wanna cry at times when I remember him, both tears of sadness and joy.

And I look at Roxy. And every time it's past sunset and she hasn't come home yet, I worry for her. And I think about how happy she is; purring, flipping over with her belly to the sky, feeling safe and at home. How every morning, she's waiting, meowing, biting and digging her claws into my feet for me to get my lazy ass out of bed so I can play with her. And how happy she is to be with me. But is it just her? No. I'm just happy to be with her too.

EDIT: Making friends at school is really hard. I want friends, but not bad enough to force myself to talk to new people. Kinda need to though, ya know.

I'm very awkward these days. I was walking downstairs into a hallway. I looked around out of curiosity, and caught a glimpse of a girl who was in my guitar class last semester. As I turned to continue on my way, I heard her say from behind, "Hey!"
Shit. So I turned around and pulled my, "Huh? Did someone call me?" face.  You know, scanning the room, looking confused for maybe a split second. "Oh, heyyyy! Wassup?" Really not in the mood to make small talk and make new friends, but don't wanna be an asshole.
Long story short, I didn't have much to say, she didn't have much to say. We both went to Sunny Hills. Pretty crappy conversation. Lots of awkward pauses filled with cringing faces. Looked at my phone and pretended I had somewhere to be and got the hell out of there.

Bye!

7/23/16

red sun red sun red sun

Saw my friends. It was a short time, but very needed, and very helpful.
I did want to write about something else, but after thinking about it in the shower, overall, I feel differently.


Overall, I feel a monotony in our lives.

Like when we're sitting around the fire, and none of us can talk.
We're all thinking something. Why can't we just say it?

This whole time, I did not hear a single thing about Jesus. I did not see a meeting of Christians after the heart of Christ. I saw a meeting of a group of friends who do Christian things and go to church.

It makes me sad. Like, it's not bad that we had a good time. It was fun. But it was... shallow... leaving more to be desired.

I thought about it while we were in the car. If we're not to talk about Jesus, then the only things left to talk about are so shallow. I don't like small talk. Even with my closest friends. Small talk is fine. fun. good enough. normal. But... it's just empty fluff after the fact.

It was really nice to see everyone, but I can't help but feel unproductive, shallow. That's my perspective; from someone who hasn't been involved.

Everyone just seems tired, letting each step clunk down clumsily on the path they walk because... because... kicking up dust. Wanting more.

7/22/16

어떻게 해야아면 좋을까요
그만 좀 말을 시키지는 마요
정말 지겨워

할말 다했어 뭐 또 필요하니
사랑한다면 나를 꼭 안아줘
아픈 날 찔린 말
화가 나서 그래

Life is made of choices
Everyday you choose to live
Or die according to your preferences
It's a game it's inane we end up dying anyways
And right and wrong is vindicated by the one
Whom we're created by
So you can try to judge me
And even if you're right you know that you can't touch me
내가 잘못했단걸 인정할게
과거를 넘어가자 니 앞가림이나 잘해

Cos I'm flying I'm flying higher than I've ever been
And you can try to tell me different It's irrelevant
I'm doing what I want
I'm writing my music and spitting these lyrics
I ain't tryina please you so I ain't gon listen
Yeah I'm trying this out making my own beats
Cos I'm tired of copies 모든거 똑같이
And you can take a listen but I ain't giving any lessons
I ain't fronting to be something that I'm not
So I'll confess and say

난 요즘 너무 외로워
그래도 돌아가기 너무 늦었어
제발 누가 나를 좀 도와줘

I'm not sorry for falling, sorry
I'm not sorry for failing you again
I'm sorry you feel that way

Confused? Yeah I'll tell you who's confused
요즘 집에서 안 나오고 속마음을 담은 곡 이유 있겠지
난 어디를 가도 고갤 못 들고
혹시 누가 나를 알아보겠지 그게 두려워
난 책임을 다 달아나 버렸지만
오히려 난 여유가 없어지고 나인듯 desaparece
많아지는 파리세끼처럼
햇갈리게 하는 고민도

Why I'm always at Stereo
Scoping out the ladies based on their exterior
I'm wasting my time telling myself I'm fine
Doctor check my vital signs
And tell me everything will be alright
Be alright be alright be alright
요즘 말을하기 지겨웠던 be alright
Be alright be alright

아마 나만
나만 거짓말 속에 속이진거야
그럴거야 그래 이제도 그래

I'm not sorry for falling, sorry
I'm not sorry for failing you again
I'm sorry you feel that way

7/12/16

Writing lyrics is hard. Especially when you have no content in your life to write about. I don't understand the people who write themed music, stories made out of thin air on a whim. If it's not me, I can't write it. What is there to write?

Writing lyrics is damn hard. The last time I wrote good lyrics was when I journaled. So screw this fake ass, people pleasing, mainstream lyrical content I've been trying to do the past couple weeks.
To go against everything I've just written above, here is a lyric from Beenzino.

I’m unique So unique
I’m so busy I’m being myself
난 흑인 백인도 아니지
I’m busy I’m being myself
I’m unique So unique
I’m so busy I’m being myself
난 외계인 이계인도 아니지
I’m busy I’m being my

Wow. So deep.

It's nice to see people.

I also hate it, because we all know wassup.

뻔한 "How are you doing?" "I'm doing okay."

I write all my shit on my blog; how the fuck do you think I'm doing.
Spare me. I don't hate you. I just hate the small talk.
It's not even that I think it's your small talk, 'cos that's as far as I'm willing to go too.
So spare me. Just tell me you've been praying for me. And if you haven't, don't worry, 'cos I'm not.
Do you really expect me to just say "My life is a mess. Please help?" There's a reason I'm not around: I don't want your help. Actually, I just want it gone.

I'm not recharged by unexpected encounters. I feel a heavy sadness come over me, like the painkillers have worn off. It's my family's last dinner altogether, but I can't even put on a smile or crack a joke. I just look past their faces to the table where my two friends are sitting, hiding behind their heads, wondering, the lonely boy I abandoned, secretly if they're talking about me when I'm not around.



What did the prodigal son feel when he ran away from his home? Maybe the same. Seems like he didn't give two shits. Maybe the reason why he partied so hard was because he gave ten shits actually. Because he regretted it so much, but his pride said it was too late to turn around, so he drowned his depression with pussy and prescriptions.

I must say:

I'm not really sorry, but I wanna go back.
I'm not really interested in the kingdom right now

But I do miss its people

I wanna go back, but I'm not really sorry.
That's why you don't see me around.

It'd be nice if, if I go back, you pretend like poor me, poor confused soul, I did nothing wrong.
But I would rather the just reaction be and you hate me. It would only be right.

So please, until I beg and plead, I implore you to hate me if I've made your life harder than it already is. Maybe it's the only way I'll learn how fragile your hearts are.

I don't hate any of you all. But the reverse is true. I don't truly love any of you all.
No. I'm not a saint. No. Not by any means.

I don't know what love is. Can I say I love myself? I don't consider self-love love. And no, I don't think I do. Would I be living my life the way I am if I did?

If every day is filled with a thousand thoughts, nine-hundred of them are yours.

7/3/16

It's been a while.

It's been a while since I've journaled as well.

Rather than journal in a diary style, where I vomit every unprocessed, unfiltered thought onto my poor moleskin journal, I've been directing myself towards writing lyrics and melodies. Like I said earlier in one of my entries, personal dirt seems more acceptable if it's supported by good vibes. Hmm, maybe cuz people don't care much what lyrics say as long as it's lit.

I'm enchanted by the way combinations of frequencies can make me feel a type of way, a way that words alone can only do so much to try. Sorrow, glee, indifference, tension, sw4g.

5/21/16

Been working on a couple of songs.

I was looking through all the obscure recordings I made on my phone and I found this. Very unsettling and weird to be ministered to by your old self. (1/19/2016)

Not a finished or completed or thought-out song by any means. I would sometimes set my phone to record during worship to catch any musical ideas.



I wonder what happened to that boy singing, that would always be walking on sunshine, pockets full of sunshine, with a joyous smile.

I hope to see him again someday.

5/14/16

This entry is about this entries.

As my journaling has transitioned into a public blog, I wonder more about the nature of public oversharing in a hyperconnected age.

I started this project of oversharing as a therapeutic and expository way to overcome my stifling self-conciousness and pretense. I did not intend for such openness to be interpreted as validation or condonation for my thoughts or feelings. Such as David is found many times to grieve in the psalms, or as we are often encouraged to come just as we are to church and before the Lord, I too sought to radically break down any false notions of the OC Korean-American Christian facade I may have been reinforcing and perpetuating through my own life. The elephant in the room that we all know is there, but are often too scared to point out once the music stops and the sobering cool lights are pushed back on.

But whatever my intentions were, perhaps they weren't enough to affect the reality of this blog project. I feel that as honest as my posts have been, they have been soberingly depressing. Like I mentioned in my previous entry, the general structure of my posts have been: complaints, cynicism, sin, defeat. With the exception of the first two posts, my posts display a general stagnation of repentance and hope. Not a decline. I feel that these posts at least help me to reflect and analyze my heart, maybe like analyzing a crime scene. The violence has already occurred and damage has been done. But we can trace our steps and try to figure out how the scene played out and how we've arrived here.

But that's as far as crime scene investigation reaches. This is a diagnosis, not the prescription. It's like, "Oh hey! Look at that, I've been stabbed!" and then bleeding out all the way to the coroner for him to examine the stab wound to identify what kind of blade may have been implicated, and then crawling back to the location of the assault where a crime scene investigation has been established.

Call the paramedics. Go to the hospital. Go see a doctor. Make sure you don't die first and then you can figure out your life if you still have it.

There are many more things on my minds. Things floating at the water's edge and things I have to fish for. But a combination of hesitating reserve and fatigue cuts this time short.

Oh, and that fatigue is purely phsyical. Not an existential fatigue. I'm just tired. I ran 4 miles out of nowhere today. There is a God.

5/13/16

Even journaling seems kind of pointless now.

As I was sitting in worship service today, P. Joe was talking about Job. He mentioned the desire in this lifetime, the dukkha (for lack of a better English term), or dissatisfaction with the world; the intuition that this world leaves more to be wanted. Like I mentioned in a previous entry, this life sucks. All of creation is groaning

But this is where I'm stuck. I'm not really living in the conviction that there is an eternity, past this life, that is ruled and judged by God. I'm in a passive cycle of feeling a little better after talking to people, journaling, or reading the Word and immediately questioning the reality of it all and feeling indifferent out of a lack of conviction and subsequent motivation.

And maybe this is why journaling seems pointless: because I don't have an appropriate application for it in an eternal mindset. Plus, so far it's been mostly wallowing in self-pity and criticism, and no one likes to read that. I'm sure that as my journaling becomes a communal reading, people become bored of a character stuck in the slums of self-pity, never taking the initiative to rise above his circumstances becoming an icon of inspiration and writing a story of victory. No. So far my public story is pretty sad.

I do have genuine apologetical questions and reservations about Christianity. Whether seeking epistemological answers is only a distraction or can really help me come to terms with overly dramatic, extistential teenage doubt, I don't know.

The people I've talked to said that they're not particularly worried about me, that I seem to still be on the right track. Hmm... we'll see.

Here's a beautiful, haunting song. Bach's "Chaconne". Bach wrote this piece for solo violin around 1718, after returning home from a trip and finding that his wife had passed away while he was gone.

Part 1

Part 2

5/11/16

Wednesday

I was curious to record a cover of a Korean song just for fun like I used to do all the time a few years back.

It started just for fun, not very serious at all. Well, it sounded like utter crap, maybe because this is Kim Bumsoo's song, not Blas'. Well this is the best I could come up with after 15 minutes, which is when I started causing permanent damage to my vocal cords :).



I would watch this with my family back when VHS tapes were a thing. My dad would rent the episodes from the video store in Hanamchain before we got the full collection on DVD (WOW DVD!) I wonder if that store is still there. I always walk by it, but I never take notice.

Anyways, I never finished the last 30 minutes of the series. To watch those last 30 minutes now by itself wouldn't be right, but I'm not really down to commit to rewatching the whole series again.

Here is the original, magical Kim Bumsoo recording of this legendary song.

5/10/16

Tuesday 12:00 PM

Earlier I wrote about how writing is easy. Sometimes words escape me.

At the risk of being too honest, causing others to stumble, maybe I won't share EVERYTHING publicly.

I think I have a Freudian problem. I think my mind has been hijacked by an idea. I really wonder I'm alone in my thoughts in the extent that I think them. Everyone seems to be smiling all the time (for privacy or for pride). Fear and complacency can look dangerously similar to joy when worn on the face.

More than Music, World Religions has been a recurring motif in this semester. Even in my doubt and apathy, the subject has been one that provided content in my life. It's ironic. I'd have my arms crossed at church, and my arms drawn at school in defense of Christ.

But as I've come to crossroads with questions and surrender, In this quasi-joy, I've lost the skepticism and curiosity that drove me to search for answers. I don't scribble all over my copy of The World's Religions like I used to. I don't pay for the vibe and status of sitting in an overpriced cafe whilst burying my head in the text for 3 hours anymore. So with the slumber of the academic struggle, the other struggle becomes more real. As one sense is turned off, my sense of sight becomes highlighted, heightened.

We started the unit on Islam today. Actually yesterday, we visited a local mosque in Anaheim, the Islamic Institute of Orange County (IIOC). We were shown around by one of the Islamic Center's imams (worship leader) and were able to ask him any questions we had regarding Islam. It was a very nice time of establishing intra-communal understanding and bonds, like all our visitations thus far. But today we started the lecture on Islam. Among many things, we were learning about Muhammad's origins as a prophet. Once a year he liked to retreat into the mountainside by himself to have a personal time of meditation and reflection. One day while in a cave, he had an overwhelming mystical experience and he heard a voice calling him, calling him to "Recite!" Upon returning home, he shared his experience with his wife, Aisha. She was greatly shocked and amazed at hearing what happened, but she didn't know what to make of it either. But she suggested, "My cousin is Christian! He should know a lot more about things like this. Maybe he could explain what this means." They met Aisha's cousin, and he concluded that what Muhammad heard that night in the cave was the voice of God. God chose to speak to Muhammad as he spoke to Abraham, Moses, Elijah, Jesus and all the prophets. Together, they concluded that Muhammad was chosen by God to be his prophet to the people.

But more than all this I was struck by just how gorgeous my professor is.

How intelligent, funny, cool, wise, and admirable a person she is. Plus she's beautiful.

I'm romantically attracted to my professor. Am I? I'm not sure. The fear is that this becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. It's cute when children have teacher crushes. It's not so cute when a student is emotionally attracted to his/her professor. It's a problem actually.  See, Ms. Burke is actually Mrs. Burke. It's tormenting to realize the taboo nature of my heart, but like some female friends explain, "crushes are fun," pleasurable. Crushing is fun, but hey, I'm guessing coveting your neighbor's wife is pretty fun too. but the taboo is debilitating.

Maybe if I met Mr. Burke. The fact is that her husband lives in San Diego. I've only ever seen Mrs. Burke by herself in here Fullerton. It gives me the fantasious illusion that he doesn't exist. I don't know anything about him, I've never seen any pictures of him, never heard his voice, never been given any proof of his existence other than Mrs. Burke's word. Scratch that, he graduated from UC Davis. She told me that when I was wearing my kdvs shirt.

Maybe if I met him. I need a name, something. I need a person behind the ring. Otherwise it's just a ring.
It's weird to even call her Mrs. Burke. Makes her sound like an old lady. Reminds me of Mrs. Ronstadt, my first grade teacher.

I'm reminded of Youtuber, Casey Neistat, and his on screen relationship with his wife, Candice. They're married, have a ring, have a kid. Yet, aside from the occasional date, they're practically a divorced couple staying together for the baby. He lives his own life. She lives her own life. This is what I observe from what Casey chooses to capture and share.

(Casey's vlog for this day)

But earlier I said I had a Freudian problem. Where does this unhealthy obsession with women come from?

I treat my mom like crap. I act like she's my maid. Sure. I say "I love you." I give her a kiss on the cheek from time to time. I say thank you. But I'm a spoiled bratty bish most of the time. No really. It's easy to say thank you. Anyone can do it. Repeat after me.

Thank you.

Easy, right? It's a lot harder to live a life in thanks.

I have an absent father, for the most part. We "chat" everyday, and he comes to visit every 2 months or so, but aside from that, he hasn't been an active influence in my life.

I also grew up watching porn from an early age. It's really jacked me up in a lot of ways. I consider myself polite and courteous. But that's on the surface level. Last semester, one of my personal projects was giving a speech on the Biblical, biological, and humanitarian reasons to stop watching porn. Well in my apathy and rebellion, I built some bad habits. And I can tell you that it definitely does change the way you see women.

1:04 PM

Well what do you know. I ended up sharing everything I wrote in my journal, even elaborating.

5/8/16

*Sicario was Sunday

5/6/16

5/5/16

Thursday

I feel a lot happier today.

It's the second day of Protestant denomination presentations in World Religions. It's really boring. It's really boring. For an hour, we sit through PowerPoint presentations. I'm glad my classmates are up there presenting the information. How else would I be able to know what that big wall of text reads unless you read it line for line for us. And thanks for introducing a new term in your presentation without explaining it at all. Unfortunately, I'm sure you have no idea what it means either because you haven't bothered to search it up yourself when you copy pasted it off Wikipedia.

I like to take advantage of my professor's office hours. If your professor was pursuing a PhD in the subject matter, I'm sure you would too. Office hours are right after class, but I always wait before I go in. I stand outside the building formulating my question. I also take the time to question myself. In 2016, I've spent more time talking to my professor than I have with any of my friends, family, church leaders, or mentors.

I realize that in my season of confusion, what I really wanted and what I needed was intimate relationship. I did have genuine questions about the different religions we've studied (the consistency of Hinduism's view of the self, the idolatrous nature of deities versus the three-natured Trinity, the radicalism of Theravada Buddhism versus the progression of Mahayana Buddhism, the contradiction of pluralism and Jesus' exclusive claim to The Way, Truth, and Life). But where I wasn't sharing my space at church, I was trying to fill that void with surface level ontological riffraff. I definitely think there is value in the conversations I had with my professor, but it wasn't the best thing for me.

Or sometimes like today, I'm just nervous whenever I have to talk with someone. Like ordering in Korean, or calling a store, or walking into a new place.

But today I went in curious to know why she chose to live religious studies.

She grew up a very devout Presbyterian, involved in youth group and leadership. During college, she took a world religions course. This woke her up to her own lack of knowledge of the way people think, let alone her own beliefs. She realized there's so much more history and breadth to religion, so much she didn't understand.

This led to a questioning; "Why aren't we taught anything about the history of the church in church? Everything is so simplified." Martin Luther is sort of seen as a hero in Protestantism, having restored Christianity. But she never knew that he had so many demons, that he was so tormented in his thoughts, that he was so much more than just a hero. Whether this questioning was cynical in nature, I forgot to ask.

But this led her down a path of wanting to help people understand their own and others. So many bad things happen and people destroy each other in the name of misinformed religion (e.g. militant Islam)

She moved to D.C. to work as a congressional intern with a focus on religion and politics. The content was really exciting, but the job was so boring: Sitting at a computer eight hours a day typing up reports. She had two jobs: Doing her hateful job, and hating her job.

So she left that and spent time teaching English in South Korea. She cultivated a love for teaching there. Interacting with people and helping them grow in understanding. Unlike her previous jobs, it was something she wanted to get better at every time she did it.

She skipped how she transitioned into teaching religious studies.

She encouraged me that if there's anything I want to do... to just do it! And to not do something I'll hate 8 hours a day 5 days a week. TRY A LOT OF DIFFERENT THINGS! You'll find out what you definitely don't want to do.

She shared how many of her friends settled. They're doing things that just aren't them. "I used to run all the time / I used to cook all the time, but I don't have the time anymore." "I used to write a lot of music, but I'm too busy programming now." Oh God.

KNOW YOUR NEEDS. Know what makes you you. E.g. my professor loves travelling. She needs to work out or stay active. She loves reading. So she travels during summer vacation. She rides her bike for short trips. Her job requires reading. On the contrary, a lot of her friends have abandoned parts of themselves out of a lack of self-respect or in exchange for a little security.

KNOW WHAT SUCCESS LOOKS LIKE TO YOU. Maybe it's not necessarily doing what you love for money. Maybe success means sacrificing your personal endeavor in order to support your family and spend time with them.

It's funny, P.Billy gave me very similar advice a week ago. And Pastor John Piper likes to talk about this too. I don't mean to fulfill selfish desires, because that ultimately doesn't fulfill. Fulfill your needs. You do you. Christian (true, lasting) Hedonism. Joy in Christ.

But one thing Ms. Burke, P.Billy, and I have both agreed on is that sometimes you gotta stop talking, and just do it. This has gotten quite long.

Bye Bye.

5/4/16

Wednesday

Well, I did get up when my alarm went off... plus 5 minutes. And I did have breakfast. I had my music classes today. I skipped two classes prior, so I was pretty nervous to go back. The teacher gives us a piece of music we've never seen before and we have to sing it in front of the whole class. It's supposed to make me a better musician. Yeah. It also makes everyone extremely nervous and on edge.

I was about to leave my house when my friend called saying he needed a ride to school. "Sure, why not." I'm not ecstatic to go out of my way and be late, but whatever. He's a music major too. He's a music elitist actually. I'm not lying.

He feels psychophysiological disgust and anger when he listens to anything that isn't Louis Armstrong or Baroque piano. He thinks pop music is trash and boring. I'm no longer allowed to listen to my music in my own car. If I do and he happens to be in the car, he'll reflexively make a double chin and close off his body language, like a turtle trying its hardest to hide in its shell from the horrible diatonic music. Personally I find his music a bit boring.

He also keeps asking me for "driving lessons." I learned my lesson when he hit a curb and put a scratch on my car in the first 50 meters.

After school, he invited me to his concert tomorrow. I would really much rather spend my time otherwise, but I'm sure I'll enjoy it. Plus, how can I not go after everything I wrote yesterday.

I'm not sure what it is I really want out of this. I won't deny that as I upload these things and share that I get a sense of satisfaction when I receive notifications of people liking or commenting on these posts. I'm like this across all social mediums. Instagram likes, even Snapchat views. I don't consider myself to have low self-esteem like most girls (and some guys). But I guess I really do care what others think of me.

I've always wished that likes weren't a thing, so people could only comment, being forced to at least respond by intentionally typing out a "lol" or a smiley face, something personal and thoughtful. But likes are so lazy. It's lost its meaning when everything is liked. What does it mean that you liked something? What do you like about it? Do you find it beautiful? Does it make you happy? Are you morbidly curious? Do you agree or disagree? Do you like people's dark past or are you showing sympathy for one's pain? The like has no real depth. At least it's just a like and not a "love." As if the concept of love needs to be devalued any further. But like away if you wish. It's a free country. We have freedom of like.

Today was brother's appreciation. I never really have big expectations. I'm just grateful and ready to receive whatever has been prepared for me. Grandiosity is nice, and I am thankful for the hard work. But more than anything, the sisters themselves and the community is what I enjoy and appreciate the most. I don't lie and say we're perfect, me or you, but who cares. You guys are great and all inspiring in your own unique ways and I love you all. There were many people missing that I miss, but I'm certain they're exactly where they need to be (whatever that means).

Again, after coming home, I thought that maybe life is pointless. [study, work, raise kids, die, repeat] [prepare, do, repeat] Even if something great is achieved, it's not the end and there is more until you die. Sounds really sad huh.

Well Deuteronomy 32 says Israel is a nation devoid of council. Hosea 4 that people are destroyed for lack of knowledge.

Romans 8 agrees when I say this life sucks. It's not satisfactory. The fulfillment of desire is not fully realized until we pass this life. "For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us... For the creation was subjected to futility... the whole creation has been groaning together..." Hinduism, Buddhism, Islam, Judaism, Christianity, even Atheists. We all affirm suffering in this life.

But there's more to life than just this earth. It's so very hard to hold on to a motivation for joy when the redundancy of life seems so real. But have faith! "Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what he sees? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience."

5/3/16

Tuesday

Today I woke up. I felt negative again this morning. I drove. I walked. I felt pointless as I went through the motions. Like the desire to hit snooze had followed me to school. Then I thought, "But you have to do this. You must! There is life to be lived and you're going to live it." So I kept walking. I went to class and did my part. I enjoyed being there. I killed our presentation.

Again, I couldn't help but notice what a beautiful and charming woman my professor is. But the desires of the flesh are a rabid dog. She typically dresses modestly, but she's no puritan. (This is really quite embarrassing to write) I chose not to look. Just because that's not what she is. Lies bring absolutely no fulfillment or joy. I don't considerate it noble, just what is right.

I have a friend at school. I find him very irritating. Why? I don't like having to put up with him. I don't like catering to others I guess. If you're a cool person, then chill yo. But this guy's weird and clingy. I guess it stems from deeper issues in his life. I really don't like being with this guy. More precisely, he's aight, but I'd rather not.

If I'm honest with myself, I don't hate him. I think my attitude towards him shows that for as much as I actually like this dude, I'm so worried about my life and what I "have to get done." So I feel that being with him is a waste of time. Ironically, I don't find my life any better stressing about everything when I am alone. Honestly, there is so much more value in living life together and investing in this train wreck of a brother than there is in schizophrenia-inducing seclusion.

Again, I wasn't particularly productive at home, but I did study some music (secondary dominants) and got some ministry related things done, so awesome.

Shower thoughts: I haven't properly coped with the disappearance of my cat. He's just a cat, but I loved that cat. Perhaps as Croosh was a symbol for the lost sheep I saw in Japan (and everywhere), Mochi is a symbol for me, that I am a lost sheep as well. As I miss my cat and remember the cuts and bruises he would come home with near the end of his time with us, I reflect on my cuts and bruises that I've been hiding the last few months. And then, he was gone. Don't know why. Don't know what happened. The night he didn't come home, I heard yowling and screeching in a moment shrouded in pain and fear. I can only assume it was Mochi, maybe taken by a coyote, but I'll never know for sure. I still think about it almost every day.

This was actually the second time Mochi had disappeared.

Previously, Mochi had been missing for 3 days. I cried and wept like an idiot. I prayed desperately that God would bring him back home, even if just for one last time. At least let me say goodbye. Less than 10 minutes after I prayed that prayer, he back in. Skinny, matted fur, scratched up, reeking of urine. Tired, eyes glazed. He was never really the same afterwards. He didn't ever cuddle with me anymore. He would spend every moment he could outside, usually coming home very late. He still insisted on sprawling out on my desk when I actually tried to do homework. He still thought my actively writing pen was some sort of massage instrument.

Two or so weeks with us, and he was gone again.

Now it's 1:00 AM. I've run out of time to find a happier note to end on. I wanted to wake up at 6AM tomorrow, have one of those mornings you see on American television all the time. Newspaper, coffee, breakfast, minus the running late and lost keys part. Oh well. I haven't read the Bible today like I wanted to, but it's okay. Tis life.

5/2/16

So yesterday I decided to start something new in my life. Before that was Sunday, a day that started off right, moving forward, and ended in a hole with me deciding to not go to school the next morning.

I turned off the alarm. I slept in. I woke up, not feeling any better that I had ditched class. Still in bed, I distracted myself with videos of Navy SEALs sharing their stories, stories of courage, valor, and perseverance. Youtube ran out of distractions, so I took a shower to wake up. Maybe I'll actually get off my ass and do something today.

Shower thoughts: "Maybe I should just not go back again... No, I should stay. But what if I just gave up? So? But being a loser is so loserish. I need to stick it through. I need my family to survive, to live, to laugh."

"But right now, I'm not smiling. It's so hard to even think straight enough to have a convincing reason to smile. All things considered, I have to be real with myself. I have to be real with my family. My story has to be authentic."

"I need to message my friends to honestly share how I'm doing so they can pray for me and support me. No... I need to be even more radical. What if I share myself with everyone I know? Every thought, every action on Facebook. Not sharing my things, but sharing me. A social experiment? Stunt? Part accountability. Part Stupid. Part just something I feel the need to do. I only accept requests from people I somewhat trust anyways."

Later that day I met with a brother. When do I feel least apathetic about life? When I'm with people! When I'm in community. What is that something I feel the need to achieve and look back on with pride? Idk. For now, this cloud. Meanwhile, life is a series of smaller conflict and solutions and victories. I'm thankful for this brother, this family that is so selfless and willing to be there.

I wasn't particularly productive the rest of that day. 'Tis life. It was a good day.