home

"Which food comes to your mind when you hear home? Mexican? Korean? American?" Robert asked.
"When I hear the word, I think of my family. No particular food, scent, or place. Just my parents," I replied without hesitation. But that's not all.

I also think of my parents praying out loud constantly throughout the day. I think of my mom singing like an opera singer in the mornings as she fixes breakfast. I think of my dad trying to cuddle with my mom. I think of long family road trips involving deep conversations, jokes, snacks, music, sermons, and some car sickness.

I can easily tell you how much I love Mexico. I can delicately tell you how much I miss Korea. I can now tell you how much I appreciate this small Midwest community in the States. But I can't tell you where my home is.
I used to find great comfort in words such as "our home is in heaven," but Reformed worldview tells me that "our home is on earth as it is in heaven." And I don't mind it. I have faces to imagine when I say home and I will see them soon.

beautiful

"Too weak. Maybe use a different word like marvelous or splendid," a classmate commented on my paper, and as much as I respect the person, I disagreed.

The word beautiful is simply...beautiful, and no other word can quite convey the same chill I get when I say beautiful.
Don't get me wrong--I don't intend to demean other wonderful words like marvelous, fantastic, stunning, splendid, magnificent, and so on. But I get frustrated as some people order the words to express "the degrees of beauty," often the word "pretty" being on the bottom. In my opinion, they all express different kinds of beauty and there's no point of labeling one "higher" than another. To me, the word "beautiful" has a mild sense of breathtaking pleasure aesthetically and sometimes even morally.

When I watched the Canadian couple Scott and Tessa free dancing on ice, the only word that I could think of was "beautiful"--and they were. Simply beautiful. They danced, smiled, and held each other so gracefully on ice that I believed it all: that they were deeply in love with their dance, that they were enjoying every single second, and that every single movement was a part of who they were.

When I watched Kim Yu-Na figure skating last night, the word I could think of was "stunning." I held my breath throughout the performance despite the confidence she showed from the beginning. I prayed she wouldn't fall, that she would do the best she could. And when she was done, I found myself clapping and screaming in awe. Stunning, I thought. Absolutely stunning.

Both dances were outstanding yet they had different feel to them, and the words that came to my mind reflected it. Maybe it's just me. But I refuse to change the word I chose for my paper. I refuse to believe that the word "beautiful" is somehow weaker than "marvelous" or "splendid."

Beautiful.
I love the subtle chill the word offers.

religion and intolerance

"[Guiso, Sapienza, and Zingales] found that people who were raised religiously were more intolerant and less sympathetic to women's rights."
-Journal of Monetary Economics, 2003

Three fairly opinionated female students, two thoughtful and respectful male students, and the professor who did the research for his book we're helping with talked about this for the most part of our regular meeting.
The discussions moved further as we mentioned women in church offices, church limitations, homosexuality, church's lack of tolerance, what is sin, and so on. And of course, there was no conclusion. I don't even know if there can be a conclusion. We still believe what we believed before the discussion only this time, with more reasoning and justification.

But I'm still startled. Is their finding still true?
How has this happened?

Ellah Acosta

"Aaaa, me voy a morir Andres, me voy a morir."
"No te vas a morir, Vero. Respira."
"No si, si me voy a morir. Aaaa ya ya ya ya"
And I just stood there thinking I was never going to have a baby.
It was too intense and painful to be in the room. I felt powerless and useless as I couldn't share the pain. So I excused myself and called my mom.

"But what if she really dies? What about the baby? What about Andres? What should I do? What can I do?" I was freaking out.
"I said that too twice and I'm still alive. She'll be fine, don't worry," said my mom so calmly and naturally. I wanted to believe her but the painful moans and screams were more real to me.
Time went by too slow. When I first got the news that she might have the baby today, I was simply excited. Then nervous. Then worried. Then anxious.

It was 2:30pm and we all thought the baby would be born at around 10 or 11pm. Vero and Andres had been in the hospital since 7am. And apparently, Vero was about to die--or so she screamed. And she gave birth to Ellah Acosta at 3:48pm. Ana and Tazz came at 4pm and we waited together in the family lounge. We talked about how Mimi would have loved to be there with us and how beautiful the baby was going to be (also how beautiful Ana's baby would be if she had one). And we were right. Ellah Acosta (middle name to be determined yet) was beautiful.7 lbs 10 oz. 21.5 inches.

I couldn't stop smiling in awe. And when I finally managed to take my eyes off Ellah, I noticed how exhausted yet relieved her parents looked. Parents. Suddenly Andres and Vero seemed so much more mature than me.

"Your family is complete now!" I said joyfully.
"No...one is still missing," Andres said looking at Ellah lovingly.
"No, Andres. It is complete. I never wanna go through the labor again," Vero said, still in pain.
Andres stayed in silence smiling. "We'll see," his smile seemed to say.

We thanked God for Ellah was born healthy and strong, and not with six fingers (Andres' fear) or three fingers (Vero's fear). We thanked God for Vero's hunger and pain, reminding us that she was, after all, still alive.

dating worthy

"Is it right to date a person you can't see yourself married to?" Megan asked in hopes of solidifying her own opinion for her class.
"Yes," I answered without hesitating. "As long as your intentions aren't abusive, it's worth it for the sake of knowing the other person better. You get to know a person at a different level once you start dating and who knows? Maybe you could see yourself married to him then. Besides, you can date someone you can see yourself married to and find out he's a complete jerk."
Megan chuckled in agreement.
"Wow. And I don't even follow my own thoughts!" I said my surprise out loud.

It was Lydia whose impact changed my perspective. She is always genuinely interested in getting to know people as they are. She would make you feel so comfortable that you'll start telling her everything. She can relate to anyone, anything. So you'll listen to her stories, laugh along, and you'll know her. A beautiful relationship-driven person that she is, she won't forget memories she shared with you. But more importantly, she won't forget you.

"Don't waste your time with the wrong guys. Wait for the God-anointed person and marry him," a doctor's wife I translated for advised when my friends were encouraging me to date as many guys as possible for the experience. And since I didn't want to date guys for experience, I had unconsciously followed the lady's advice.
And here I was, in my twenties, unhesitatingly saying it is right to date "seemingly unmarriageable" guys, for the sake of knowing them better. Because you can't possibly waste your time getting to know someone. Because each individual is worth knowing better, worth your time, energy, and possibly even your marriage delay.

...right?

haunting questions

My day started at 3:30am today.
Tired of tossing and turning, I decided to get out of my comfy bed and be productive.
I used our big clean bathroom, checked missed calls and texts on my cellphone, turned my Mac on, uploaded pictures, and listened to pastor Tim Chaddik on iTunes while eating Activia and a bowl of cereal.
I put lotion all over my body and wondered what I should wear. A sweater? A jacket? A vest? Pants? Leggings? Boots? Canvas? A hat? Which one though: black? white? blue? pink? long? short? Should I carry a yellow purse? No, it's such a summer color. Black purse is too small (but not as small as my brown or black clutch) to put any textbook in. I should get my orange backpack out. I should wear earrings. But not a necklace. I'll wear a scarf instead.
I tucked my iPod with its red cover in the pocket and went to register. I bumped into Alice and went to have my second breakfast at her place.
Then I went to my first class in a room full of computers, two projectors and screens.
A brief training for work, sharing stories with some friends, more classes, then work. My suitcase finally arrived (I felt no need for anything even with my suitcase missing for 2 days) so I took the tripod and mics to prof. Volker's office. After satisfying dinner, I started unpacking--mostly gifts for my loved ones, dirty clothing, and camera charger. Would they like their gifts? Would they find use of these gifts? Do they need them?It still breaks my heart that I had to keep so many things to myself in the slums: mineral water, bracelet, necklace, shoes, cash, digital camera, notebook, pens... Things I have more than plenty of, yet things these little kids stared at in awe, things they couldn't stop peaking at, things they chased after. We were specifically told not to give anything away unless we can give it to everyone. Impossible.
"Can I look at your pen?" A kid asked while the other kid was playing with my camera.
"Of course!" I gave him my pen and was looking for a moment to get away, "accidently" forgetting my pen and camera in their hands. I have many other pens and another camera in the States. But I was too late.
"It's very pretty," praised the kid as he returned the pen. Gosh, kid. You're not helping.
"This is dead now," said the other kid with my camera. The batteries. He handed it back to me as if it had lost its value.
"Asante," I thanked both of them and put the items back in my sling bag Lem had given me.
What bad have they done that they have to go through such despair?
What good have I done to enjoy Cheez-It even as I write this?

let it be

"Hani, you better be careful touching the kids. Most of them are HIV positive and who knows what other diseases they might have," said the captain of a NGO medical staff.
"Thanks," I smiled and lifted another kid to receive him into my arms.
"Well, I'm just warning you. You gotta learn how to say no to these kids."
"Yeah, I do need to learn to say no," I said, wishing these kids wouldn't understand English.
I didn't want to say no. Why would I refuse to hold kids? Not only was I there to capture the ministries but also to share and receive love. How could anyone possibly reject to have this so needed warmth anyway? I held the kid even tighter.
"If I die hugging a kid," Danielle started the sentence affirming my theory on our way back to our comfortable guest house.
"Let it be," I completed it.