How to even begin…

Well, how about a “hello” to start us off.  How about an “I miss you beyond so, so, so much more than words could ever convey.”  How about “given all that’s happened, though, we are doing better than well, and I know that you’d be so damn proud of us—of all of us.”

Mom is blossoming beautifully in every single aspect of life.  She has found a fine her-age man who loves and respects her to the utmost degree to which, I believe, you’d approve.  She has found passion in her work and is slowly but surely learning to choose her battles wisely.  Needless to say, your admonishments for the last three decades to not over-commit have not been in vain.  She has discovered a lot of things in the time you’ve been gone.  Though most importantly, she has discovered Jesus, and He has changed everything for her and for the better.

David and Cheree continue to be two of the hardest workers I know.  They are the best oldest siblings I could have ever asked for.  You’d be so extremely proud of them, especially of David and the family he is leading and the values he is instilling in Caleb (and will instill in the second Iso Peanut to come).  He has really stepped up to the plate of responsibility and takes exceptional care to look after Mom and the brothers and me.  He truly is in a league of his own, and to be honest, he reminds me so very much of you.

Chris is back in Hawaii and working hard to fix up his new place.  He wasn’t too crazy about the move home at first, but I believe it was the right and wiser decision for him.  Since then, I have noticed a significant increase of depth and maturity through my conversations with him, and I feel his “I love you’s” bear more weight and sincerity with every one said.  He really is a fine young man, and though he may have required more parent-teacher conferences than the rest of us combined and still leaves his T-shirts all over the apartment, you have absolutely nothing to worry about.  You have taught him well and loved him hard, through and through.  He is your son, and as they say, the apple cannot fall very far from the tree.

Then there’s Brad.  You know we’ve always been really close.  From building Area 51 to watching cartoons at 5 AM in the morning together, he’s always been like my twin who happened to be born a year-and-a-half a head of me.  Well, he is also doing superbly well, apart from the fact that he has more mystery ailments than an 80-year old.  Still, in the last couple of years, he has displayed an outstanding amount of patience and perseverance.  For despite being put down several times, he always manages to get back up with the kind of determination that would wow your black Hanes crew socks off.  He is indeed one of my favorite people in the world to talk to and an immense joy and encouragement to be around.

And as for me, well, I am continuing to learn and grow a little more every day–learning as I get older just how much of an amazing, incredible, sensational, remarkable, extraordinary, inspiring, and loving dad you were and growing in gratefulness for your sacrifice.  Thank you.  From the bottom of my heart and on behalf of the family you have invested so much of yourself into, thank you.

We love you and we miss you.

Happy 60th Birthday, Dad.

Ps.  Give Aunty Annie and Grandma Young a huuuge hug for us!

As many of you know, I’ve been working on a coffee shop lately.  Yes, on.  Not at.  The short story is that this brand new shop that I am to work at is taking a long time to complete, so I was put to work with three Ecuadorian men, tools and table saws that total more than a year’s rent, and an ungodly amount of primer.  Lots of primer.  Too much primer!

With that said, you might be wondering where I am going with all of this.  Well, it’s a good thing I’ve had a lot of time to think while painting all those rooms by myself, because it’s led me to want to hash out, write about, and make the time to be honest with myself and with others.

I feel there is a misconception about my life that I seamlessly float about from one dashing adventure to another.  People tell me, “Good for you!” and, “That’s so exciting!” but what you must understand is that this entry on honesty is less about the fancy champagne that we use to toast to new jobs and experiences and seasons of life and more about the humongous slice of humble pie that no one actually likes.

Beware.  Facebook and Instagram are only good for broadcasting the highs.

Anyway, since I am being honest with myself, the truth of the matter is that I feel utterly unqualified and incompetent for an overwhelming majority of things that I do, particularly when there are power tools involved.  Working beside three professionals in an entirely new field plus a lot of time to contemplate your inferior status will do that to you.  Furthermore, working at the amateur level for the past eleven jobs/gigs that I’ve now had since I moved to the city in 2011 will also do that to you.  Still, I can’t help but feel that I am doing something right.  That although it often seems as if I am getting nowhere in life, there’s a part of me, deep down inside, that relates me to the little ant from Aesop’s fable  and assures me that somewhere for some unspecified time to come, there are things of worth and eternal matter being stored for me.

So while the leaves are yet on their braches and while I gear up for another transition, another job (#12!), another year in the city (#3!), I conclude this piece by being honest with you all.  Facebook and Instagram can broadcast the highs, but they can’t come close to capturing this heart of gratitude, my heart and my appreciation for all of you and every single kind and encouraging word sent my way.

To my mom who has named me her “favorite author ever,” to my brother who stayed up until 3 AM because of time difference to watch my live-streamed performance, to the other brother who left me the sweetest voicemail before my audition, to my friend who emailed me a screenshot of my face from a video I was in because he was so excited to see me dancing again (even if it was only for four seconds!), and to the countless others who continually put things into perspective for me when I become dangerously introspective of my delusional lack of position and influence and direction in life, to you all, I say “thank you.”

Now perhaps this seems premature.  Most people wait until they are on a big fancy stage to give this spiel.  I, on the other hand, I have more jobs on my resume than I have leads in life and an equally pathetic amount of expertise in every possible field out there as I do money in the bank.  I have no titles, no accolades, no fancy commendations in anything, save for the fact that I am loved by people who are wholly invested in this journey with me, come what may.

Here’s to one more honest page in my story; one more honest snapshot in time; and one more honest account of who I am right now on my way to who I am becoming and the village it is necessitating to get me there.

—

What do jazz shoes, road trips, 7-11 Slurpees, black cats, a purple castle, and Las Vegas all have in common?  Perhaps and probably, it is of no significance to you.  For me, though, it is my childhood.  It was a way of life and my world.

As many of you know, my mom enrolled me in dance classes when I was three years old.  From that point on, for the next decade, I was a part of almost every annual showcase, community performance, and competition there was on the island.  More importantly, though, my family and I became a part of a larger family of girls who danced together, parents who rallied around us and enabled this reality, and supportive brothers who came along for the ride (and also filled in as Rat Kings and Sugar Plum Cavaliers when needed be).

Together, we traveled up and down the West Coast in matching mini-vans.  We scrubbed dance floors on hands and knees.  We ate fourth meals on a regular basis, well into the midnight hour.  We rang in holidays and celebrated birthdays.  And when tragedy struck, we got together, cried together, and remembered together.

This past week, I had a lot of time to reflect on this family as I hung out with some of them in Atlantic City and witnessed one of our own on her road to Miss America.  Now while it would have been pretty cool if she had won, you know, save for the baby fact that no one would get to see nor talk to her for a year, she didn’t come out with the title at the end of the night.  Regardless, title schmitle.  This road was never intended to stop at a pageant.  This past week was merely a pit stop, another notch, another story on our way to something greater—the road through Miss America, if you will—because apart from the pageant hooplah, I am learning to a greater degree that the sustenance of humanity is not in fancy titles nor accolades.  Rather, it’s in others.  It’s in the people we love and the people who love us.  It’s in friendships and community and in eating corned beef sandwiches and Asian noodles at Irish pubs with one another at 2 o’clock in the morning.

Now, I know this all sounds cliché, but as Nancy Ortberg described it in her commencement speech to Westmont College’s Class of 2012, clichés become what they are because we try to hand them off on silver platters without the trials, tribulations, and experiences it took to learn them.  

In the same vein, I easily understood the value of getting together in my head a long time ago when windbreakers were in and Justin Timberlake still had his curly white boy afro.  I understood it in my head, though I couldn’t say until recently within the last couple of years that I really knew it for myself and in my heart.  With that said, as I venture deeper into my future and further away from my past, I am tempted to mourn the death of a way of life that once was.  I am tempted, that is, until I look up and around and see those loved ones still beside me and walking forward and growing with me.

No one can live in the past forever.  On that same token, no one has to nor should they face the future alone, for life was never intended to be lived as a party of one.

Thus, as I wrap things up, I encourage you to look around, see who matters, and hold onto them.  Call them up.  Write them a letter.  Holla at your guuurl (or boy).  Skip the pleasantries and dive into the nitty gritty.  I assure you that on your deathbed you won’t be reminiscing very much about what the weather was like that one September evening.  So make the effort.  Get together often.  And love one another extravagantly.  Your life will be better because of it and because of them, and you will accomplish far more together than you could have ever done by yourself.

In a land and time not too far away, there was a little girl who grew up with an awesome family in an awesome house and, overall, had an awesome childhood.  That goes without saying, the little girl was awesomely behaved and learned every lesson the easy way and on the first time.  Blah blah blah blah awesome blah.

When this little girl was not so little anymore, she went to an awesome college and cruised on through, acing every course she took and easily making awesome friends along the way.  Surprise, surprise.  Again, nothing less than awesome here.  Blah awesome blah awesome blah.

Upon completion of college, she then moved to the most awesome of cities where she, of course, transitioned awesomely and succeeded in all that she put her head and hand to.  Safe to assume, she had an awesome career and, in the meanwhile, met Mr. Awesomely Right and had awesome kids with him.  Blah blah awesome blah blah.

And she blah blah blah lived with her family awesomely ever after.

Cool story, huh.

You know, I’ve heard it said that all sunshine and no rain creates deserts.  Now recently, I’ve been challenged by a friend to think about the story that I want my life to tell, and well, I want my life to tell an awesome one.  Who doesn’t want that?

Yet, why is it again that I inherently cling to all that is safe and predictable and, to be frank, boring?  Surely, every good story needs conflict and contrast, suspense and drama?  It requires good.  Then it also requires some bad and then more good but then more bad, though hopefully ending up on good.

With that said, I welcome the highs with the lows if it means living a life of eternal significance.  I embrace the belly laughs along with the ugly cries if it means having a story worth telling and ultimately, a story other people find worth hearing, and I begin down the road of love as well as suffering, as John Piper puts it, knowing that the deepest lessons and sweetest encounters with God are very rarely learned on sunny days.

—–

To the author and finisher of my story, I am trusting you to write me a great one.

You have yet to make a single decision, still every day of your existence has been recorded.  You have yet to think a single thought, still the thoughts towards and about you outnumber the grains of sand on all of the beaches of Hawaii and beyond.  You have yet to mess up or throw a hissy fit or draw a mustache on your brother’s portrait in the hallway, still every deed you will commit, for good and for bad, has already been covered by grace.

Now some people say that you have the life, the easy life, that things are so simple for you, and yet we know that you are wonderfully complex.  Truly, we are undone at the thought of you being put together; and though you sit in darkness right now, you bring light to our faces and joy to our lives.

You don’t actually have a heart; nevertheless, we love you with all of ours and look forward to meeting you soon.

Love, Aunty Malia.

“The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched. They must be felt with the heart.”  –Helen Keller

Indeed, I felt it when I kissed boo-boos and cleaned out vomit bins.  I felt it when I lugged around campers’ miscellaneous items in my bag for the entire week.  I felt it when I pulled out my camera to take pictures and everyone made a big fuss but then wanted to see themselves afterward.  I felt it when my campers hung on me like a jungle gym, oblivious of the fact that I also bruise, bleed, and ache.  I felt it when I ate last at every meal, making sure everyone had enough to eat.  I felt it when I got excited over my girls getting excited about everything from catching a firefly to finishing a race to achieving goals big and small.  I felt it when I gave up sleep because they needed a hug and a hand to hold.  I felt it when I reassured my campers that their best was all that I expected and nothing more but nothing less.  I felt it when I watched some of them go directly against what they knew was right.  I felt it when I had to think of creative ways to discipline them.  I felt it when I walked with them through the aftermath of their consequences.  I felt it when I turned some of my campers back around to face the difficult thing because it was the right thing.  I felt it when I had to pursue those who continued to reject me.  I felt like you, Dad.

I felt like you, loving little me.

And I feel it now as I prop my feet up, take another sip of my coffee, loosen up my watch and continue to think about and thank God for my life, for your life, and for the 21 years that ours overlapped.  Truly, so much of me is made from what I learned from you.  

So thank you for teaching me and loving me well.  Stephen Wee, thank you for living well.  Your legacy lives on.

Summer camp, both as a camper and counselor, has always been a place of exponential growth.  It is always when that last closing ceremony wraps up that, all of a sudden, everything in retrospect becomes worth it.  It’s at that time when everything begins to make a little bit more sense.  And just like a Dove chocolate, I finally get to see the secret and inspiring love letter written on the inside of every incident and interaction with campers.

Like I said, though, that’s at the end of camp.  Currently where we are three weeks in and less than half way there, nothing makes sense and spoiler alert!– I don’t have it all together.  Still, I am in the process of learning it is okay not to be okay, and that in all which is beyond my understanding, God is teaching me to trust.  Now, I know I don’t always live like I believe that, but then again am I the only one who sometimes forgets how absolutely and wonderfully and graciously and constantly and persistently faithful God has been in the past?  What.  Just me and the Israelites?  Okay.  Cool.  Fine.

Well, here then is to being honest and admitting that growth doesn’t always–or ever?–feel too good.  However, in that same accord, here’s to becoming worthy of the future that I have always wanted, a future that makes no sense whatsoever apart from the continuously intercepting grace of God.

Mazel tov.

I raise my hands and lay down my life to You once again.  You can have it.  I trust you.  Let’s go.  Bring on the campers.

#1.  Eat at the restaurant I got fired from—That happened, and I am so glad it did.

#2.  Dance with friends from college—Remember that one time.

#3.  Write 50 entries—What it comes down to is fighting for time to write.

#4.  Go back to Mexico—I’m going back for my Karlíta.

#5.  Visit the Statue of Liberty—I live in NY.  That’s embarrassing.

#6.  Try 3 new NY dance studios—Here’s to year #3 in NY!

#7.  Invite a homeless woman to lunch—It’s much easier to just give food or money.  It’s more of a sacrifice for me to give of my time.

#8.  Eat at Archway Café.—For those of you who were directly in my life for the season while I was at Archway, you know that working there was one of the most…character-building experiences I’ve undergone.  Ever.  Sorry, Arthur, if you’re reading this, but it’s true.

#9.  Complete and frame an art piece of mine—I used do a lot of watercolor and oil pastel works when I was at our Waipio home.  Since high school, I have yet to find a space as inspiring as my old room.

#10.  See Miss Saigon or Next to Normal—I LOVE these soundtracks, but I’ve never seen the shows!

#11.  Join a team at church—So most of my time in NY thus far has been lived under the assumption that I was going to move “soon.”  This fall, though, I’m doing it.  I’m committing.  I’m going to serve and get involved.

#12.  Make HI 2013 happen—My NY friends have already begun to plan HI 2013.  However, the difference between them and me is that they have real jobs and are able to plan for things seven months in advance.  I, on the other hand, am not afforded that luxury.  Still, I am confident this trip will happen…and I will be on it.

#13.  Put my pointe shoes on again—It’s been ten years.  Must I say more?

#14.  Explore upstate NY—I’m thinking I’ll take a train up to the Adirondecks after camp ends in PA but before I get a job in NY again.  Approximate time frame, mid-August.  Holla if you want in.

#15.  Sing karaoke in a public place—Private rooms?  Oh yeah. Public bars with people I don’t know?  No gracias.

#16.  Visit Sawsan—For those of you who don’t know Sawsan, she works in the dining commons and Michelle and I used to have breakfast with her nearly every day while in college.  I haven’t seen or talked to Sawsan since graduation day.

#17.  Learn how to tie a tie—I’ve always wanted to learn.  That’s it.

#18.  Rehearse and perform—I don’t care which state I’m in or which show it’s for, I  MISS IT.

#19.  Read a great literary work—My reading list is ridiculously long.

#20.  Get together with high school friends—It’s been a while.

#21.  Explore a state I’ve never been to—I’ve been to Hawaii, California, Oregon, Washington, Utah, Arizona, Nevada, Wisconsin, Minnesota, Michigan, Illinois, Ohio, Louisiana, Pennsylvania, Massachusetts, New Jersey, New York, Connecticut, Virginia, Maryland, North Carolina, South Carolina, and Georgia, so there are a lot to still explore.  Again, let me know if you want to go to one not on the list!

#22.  Play ball in my alma matter’s gym—Hanalani or Westmont, volleyball or basketball.  I’ll take either.

#23.  Memorize a chapter of the Bible—I’ve done Psalms 23, Romans 8, and Isaiah 53.  That would be 3 chapters in 24 years.  Oooosh.  Please keep me accountable about this.

#24.  Cook a Thanksgiving feast—I’ve been the guest for so many years, I want to start practicing for when I have guests of my own.

Being vulnerable sucks.

As a general rule in life, I prefer metaphors and allegories and confusing language because it’s easier to keep people out that way.  It’s like sharing, without really sharing.  My preferred manner of self-preservation if you will, which, currently has been getting messed with.  You see, I have these things called friends, and they love me.  And in this journey we’re on together called Life, we’ve been realizing a couple of things and are slowly but steadily working on them.

One topic in particular that I hate talking about is my singleness.  Now, I’m not ashamed of it.  Pinky promise.  Scout’s honor.  Plus every other phrase out there that signifies I am telling the truth…but talking about my singleness?…and to you all?  That’s a little bit too vulnerable for me.  An absolute absurdity, I’d say.  I much rather prefer obscurity.  And yet, such is the subject of this post as I work on prying open this introverted heart of mine, as I work on being vulnerable with friends, and as I work on being honest with myself.

(Quick!  Better finish reading before I come to my senses and delete this post.)

That being the case, I embrace my girly-ness for the next five hundred words and bare it all  to give you my top five characteristics I find attractive in a guy.

#1. He has to be unread.  An imagination is a dangerous thing.  It is much more preferable to live guarded and predictable.  Good writing, however, tantalizes the mind and takes it to places far away.  A boy who gets carried away with fanciful stories and intellectual dialogue begins to think for himself; furthermore, he begins to write for himself.  He ascribes to his own story, purpose, and recognizes it in every twist and turn.  Along the way, he develops a discipline for contemplation and begins to build character.  Eventually, this boy who reads becomes the boy who dreams.  Far past that which is practical, of course.  How naive.

#2.  He has to be untraveled.  It is so much easier to be ignorant when you have lived your whole life within the same five blocks from which you were born, not to mention, amongst the same fifty-or-so people.  After all, a boy who has never ventured into the unknown and the uncomfortable will surely have everything together.  His heart will be thoroughly intact because it will never have broken over the poverty and slavery and injustice in neighborhoods far and wide.  His heart will be in mint condition because it will never have felt the ache of missing or being missed by loved ones.  And of course, it will be perfectly syncopated, never having skipped a beat over the discovery of a new happy place or the splendor of a natural wonder or the the kindness of a stranger.

#3.  He has to be uncompromising.  I’m fairly certain it was Jesus who said, * “They’ll know you are my disciples by your firm stance on divisive social issues.”  Yeah.  Trust me.  It’s somewhere in the New Testament.  And while I’m there, I might as well throw in “judgmental” as well as “legalistic.”  Now that’s trifecta right there.  That’s hot.  For a boy unwilling to listen to other people, to hear out their opinions and see matters from a different point of view, that is my kind of a guy.  For together, we will communicate sparingly and be opaque with one another.  We will disregard differences, becoming stronger and more understanding with each issue denied and deferred.  That goes without saying, we will live happily ever after.  Duh.

#4.  He has to be complacent.  Let’s talk personal growth.  I’ve always found a boy who has really low standards to be especially attractive.  He knows not to expect anything out of life and doesn’t expect to become anyone in life.  Best of all, he knows not to expect anything of me.  Growth is a difficult reality and doesn’t always feel too good.  I’d rather him not mess with that and then we can just remain forever young.  And I wanna be forever young, so we can live life like a video where the sun is always out and we never get old and the champagne is always cold and the music is always good.  Like I said, forever immature.

#5.  He has to be perfect.  MR. Perfect, that is.  At least, that’s what Disney taught me, and that’s who I am holding out for.  I can’t be wasting my time with flawed prospects who continue to mess up and are in constant need of forgiveness.  I mean, isn’t there an easier way to recognize the inherent yearning and necessity of an all-loving Savior?  You know, another way to learn of this grace thing and grow in it and give it to others without the nitty-gritty having to work through the hard stuff?  I am pretty sure there is.  I think.  And by that, what I really mean is that I know.  Because I’m actually perfect too.  I also never lie.

#Bonus.  He has to know who he is and what he wants.  So when I get freaked out at the realization that I am attracted to him and instinctively close up, run away, and throw my smoke screens up and my red herrings out, he will already know that it is me he wants.  He will esteem me as worth pursuing.  And he will pursue.

Now I could go on with the list, but as it is, I’ve said too much.  I am already 885 words too vulnerable.  So, that will be it for now.  That will be all for tonight.  Thanks for reading.  I think.  I may actually feel quite differently in the morning, embarrassed and  hungover from this literary stupor, not to mention, terribly overexposed to the world.  Still, here’s’ to being vulnerable.

And here’s to you, Boy.  I look forward to meeting you sooner or later.

—–

*  Andrew Marin [Love Is an Orientation, 13]  For the record, Marin was being sarcastic in the text.  He doesn’t actually believe that but was just making a point.  For the other record, the answer is love.  “By this, all men will know you are my disciples if you have LOVE for one another.”  -John 13:35