Policy 5.45

(post drafted in May)

Last night before I headed to bed, I went downstairs to say goodnight to mom and was caught by the TV program she was watching. It was a current events talk show in Mandarin where they featured 3 panellists to have a discussion about the Burnaby school board’s newest proposed policy 5.45.

This draft policy is to hopefully “change the attitude” towards the LGBTQ community in schools and support youth who identifies as queer (I guess they caught on the numbers of suicides due to hate crimes or bullying towards homosexuals and wanted to do something about it). Basically, if this policy passes, the school board will include a section in the elementary school curriculum where teachers are required by law to teach kids what each of L, G, B, T, and Q means.

I knew it was a dangerous thin line I was treading when I stayed and watched the whole debate with her. There I was, sitting less than 3 feet away from her and holding a very different opinion and view on gays than her own. In a Christian household, homosexuality is something that we should unanimously agree on: “wrong”. Little does she know that her precious little daughter is hiding in the closet. Well, sort of. It’s a little complicated. Regardless, the topic is incredibly sensitive. During the entire show I was desperately hoping she doesn’t ask what I think. She would nod and agree vocally with the host, panelist, and the audience calling-in to the show.

How do I tell her that I disagree with the majority of conservative Asian parents in her generation? How do I tell her that I play on the same team? She’s already mad enough as it is when she found out I voted NDP in the latest election that won Harper a majority government.

The next morning, after church service, I was reluctantly pushed to a table covered in petition forms against the policy. They had been printed by the church and signed by several dozens of people in the congregation. An Elder of the church watched over me and my brother’s shoulders, aggressively urging us to put our names down on the form. I stood there, feeling nothing but panic. I thought my heart was going to jump out of my chest. As more urging came from behind me, I picked up a pen slowly. It was as if I was going to sign my life away. I stared at the paper and started to read the statements opposing the policy. I looked at my brother, and he seemed hesitant as much as I am reluctant. I lowered my pen at the lines in slow motion and waited desperately for something to take me away from the table.

I was lucky to have escaped the signing when my mom called for us. I immediately dropped the pen and pretended I had already signed the petition when I walked away. My brother followed. The Elder was hustling more people –who may or may not even have heard of the policy– to the table. I was relieved, but was the scolded by my mom when she found out that I didn’t actually sign the petition. I couldn’t! I wanted to shout. But I just kept quiet and walked in silence. Everything that happened made me despise the church more. If I didn’t before, I did now.

Eventually the policy was passed (though not before several protests against and rallies for it occurred). I had wanted to show my support by going out to the rallies, but the thought of my mom realizing I’m on the other side of the fence was too risky. I will have to continue my hiding… for now. The thing that saddens me the most is that church and home are the most suffocating places of all shelters. I can be who I want to be when I’m working on shows or involved in theatre. I can be who I am when I’m with my friends.

The theme at the Vancouver Pride this year is “Celebrate”. I wish I could…

 

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My Sweetest Downfall

For the purpose of protecting myself from unwanted gossip and drama, I chose not to disclose a critical piece of information in the post below. And I hope that you will honour that purpose even if you guessed what “that” is and keep everything to yourself.

In the short span of approximately a year, I have become completely detached from my family at church. And I have no plans of ever getting back together again. I just don’t care that much about those friendships anymore. I mean, yes, they are still friends… not CLOSE friends, but friends none the less. So I suppose I should still put in some time to nurture those relationships.

The way I make them sound disposable is almost cruel. I was pretty close with some of them. I was pretty attached to my family. But the emphasis is on the past tense. I WAS a happy member of that group in which we so shared an unspeakable bond. Now? I just want to get away as far as possible. It’s not them, it’s me.

About a year (or even longer) ago, when I started to doubt “who I am”, I inched away from church because my heart told me that what I was contemplating cannot co-exist with my religion. Christianity does NOT accept that kind of people (contrary to what some churches have done/been doing or claim). So I turned the other way and found comfort in the arms of theatre and film. I slowly let go of the life I’ve lived for the past 3 to 5 years.

I start to despise group activities at church. Whether it be choir, fellowship or other kinds of gathering. I start to see things from the outside. I realize that one can be really blinded by the “goodness” that this home presents. I don’t understand how I was so ignorant before. There are many “faults” with this home, and when there are “faults” (aka politics) I feel disconnected with the people living there. The differences between me and the people who belonged to this home grew wider. Eventually I disregard myself as “one of them”.

(Why didn’t I try to repair those differences? Well, I didn’t see a point to “fixing” anything. Or rather, it was something no one could fix. I was starting to become the kind of person I didn’t want to be; the kind that just couldn’t care less about anything. So I was unhappy at that home. I decided to move —in secret. Why in secret? Okay, first and foremost, I didn’t want to disappoint my mom. That “home” was what she built her beliefs on. She lives a Christian life and that’s what she expects me to do, too. I keep living a lie to make her happy. But I also live this lie around the friends who I pretend to be close to. I don’t feel we have a special connection anymore. That bond where we all have a personal relationship with God just doesn’t exist in my life right now. So friends who were my big family once have become strangers with a familiar face.)

I move on. I find a resting place in theatre. Folks there are so much less conservative (in a good way that helps me sort out my issues) and open to all kinds of discussions and people. I make a choice to stay there. I continue on the journey of figuring myself out, and I start to grow as an artist (I think).

To sum up: my education (theatre and film production) caused my sweetest downfall from Christianity. (Don’t get me wrong. I don’t mean that the two can’t play out in harmony. For me it’s far more complicated than what it seems — there are details that I feel unsuitable for examination here and now. I just find the former world much more to my liking than the difficult Christian life.) And so far so good… except I hate the “living a fake life” part…

 

Faith

Faith. It’s the engine of everything I do. Well, maybe not all the time, but just about anything anyway.

Flipping back in my notebook, I come across the notes for a World Literature class I took in fall 2008. On the last page of the notes, in point-form, I documented the class when we were in a teleconference with Gina Ochsner, an award-winning author. We had been assigned to read two of her short stories, Articles of Faith and Halves of a Whole in her book People I Wanted to Be. It’s been almost two years now, and only the titles sounds vaguely familiar. But I remember her stories centered around the themes of the “good” supernatural forces and magical realism. She believes in ghosts and is superstitious. Regardless of how skeptical I was about the beliefs she held, I enjoyed her stories. Then when she she mentioned that

faith is the engine of her writing

I had no doubt she was going to be a great writer (as if she wasn’t already).

Faith is sure belief and trust. Faith is being sure of what you hope for and certain of things even if you cannot see them.

Having faith in what I do, what I want to do, and what I can accomplish is what gets me through the day.  I don’t know how anyone can carry on with their life without having at least a little bit of faith. I can’t guarantee that my degree will ensure me a well-paying job. But I have faith in myself, in what I learnt and will learn, and in my abilities that I will eventually get there. Having faith in life helps you to accomplish a lot of things, things which you might otherwise think is impossible.

Yet like how life is unfair, there are times when spirits are weary and your faith can wear thin. When that does happen, doubt starts to settle and your belief and trust weavers. So… what then, what if you do lose faith? You sink really really low… and it’ll probably take a long time to rebuild your faith. That’s when friends and family comes in handy. And hopefully their faith is infectious enough that at least you can take a little faith bug away from them.

Then you can pick up where you left off. Or not, if it’s better to start new.

I’d like to believe that I’m a pretty faithful person. Yet I don’t know if I have faith in my writing. I love using words to express myself. Sometimes they are not the most appropriate, or that they reveal too much. Writing makes me feel vulnerable… when I am indeed writing about what I’m feeling. But I guess I wouldn’t be doing it unless I have at least a little faith. Even the tiniest amount counts. Faith, it’s what carries you and me across the page.

 

Greater Things Have Yet to Come

or so I keep believing.

Every time I hear this song, sang by Chris Tomlin, I get pumped up and rejuvenated. There is a sense of hope that things in life will eventually turn out for the better —not that it’s not good enough already, but that what we do now is merely preparing for a future that’s greater than we can imagine. I suppose in part that is true: to be part of God’s plan means you have secured a “better” future. And to live a life that revolves around God means that you’re already part of this “great thing”.

Whenever I listen to this song, my hope in humanity is once again restored. That darkness inside people will no longer exist and be of threat to anyone else. Our city will be free of fear and the Utopia will spread to all corners of the world.

But sometimes I’d like to think that it applies to anyone and everyone; that even though life can be difficult, the results or consequences of your choices are rewarding in the end. There’s no way of knowing whether your decision is the “right” or “better” one, but there is a certain insurance that whatever it is, it’s going to be something great (kinda like how I like to think about my life).

It may be hard to understand, but if you sincerely believe that everything happens for a reason, then your “good” decisions will mount to something; it will count toward that greater thing which has yet to come.

 

Nothing a “Oops” Can Fix

About a month ago, someone asked me “what are the things(people) you need in order to live?” I quite simply wrote down the things I need (in order, from the more important to less important). Reading back on my response now, I realized that I did it again. I put air, water and food before faith!

When I was in grade 10 (or 11?) I went to my church’s summer youth conference, and before worship one afternoon in our small groups, the group leader led us through an activity. We were given pieces of paper, a pencil, and a scenario. So begins the story: We are about to go on a trip aboard a boat. But nothing will be provided for you on board: no food, no life jackets, no water; and you can’t take anything for granted.  So instead of packing clothes, toiletries, and miscellaneous personal belongings, we only bring what is essential in our life. Any 5 things and any matter counts. So on the pieces of paper, we each put down what we thought could ensure our survival on the ship. Then our group leader proceeded to lead us through the scenario.

“Unfortunately, during the voyage the ship hit a rock and scraped its bottom. The ship is slowly sinking,” we all listened intently, wondering where this activity is going to end. My group leader continued, “In order for you to hold on, you have to let go of one of your possessions.” So we all looked at our pieces of paper and decided among the five which one we were going to throw out. The first one wasn’t that hard. But when he continued with the story and asked us to give up our essentials one by one, we took longer and longer with our decisions. No doubt there were some hesitation, and eventually we were down to two. “It has been a while since the ship started to sink, but you have been drifting in the sea for too long to have the energy to hold on to two things. So you decide to keep one and let the other go.”

I looked at the two pieces of paper that was left in my hand: “God” and “Water”. I contemplated which one would help me survive longer and quickly made a decision. Since it was down to the last two, we opened up the folded pieces of paper in the center of our group circle to read what people have decided to give up. Among the pile were food, water, or sun. Then they discovered a piece of paper that read “God”. Someone in the group immediately questioned, “Who threw God away?!” Embarrassed, I blurted out “I threw out the wrong piece of paper” and exchanged the “water” that was left in my hand with “God”.

I finally understood what that exercise meant. No matter what our circumstances are, God should be placed first and foremost in our lives. He should be in our hearts. Even though we might not have the essentials to live, we should still have faith in Him because He is our provider, our strength and our comforter. He is irreplaceable and should be at the top of the pyramid when it comes to things of importance in our life.

I think this is what Christians continue to struggle with every day. We like being in control, and to give it up is hard. We don’t always let Him sit on the throne in our hearts no matter how hard we try. I know I am certainly not the best of examples, but I will continue to use this lesson to remind myself and others around me about letting God take the wheel.

 

What Am I Doing Here?

Lots of questions swimming in my head. And I know I won’t be able to address them all in one sitting, plus I’ve already forgotten some of the questions that I was going to discuss.

I visit PostSecret every Sunday sometimes for inspiration and sometimes to get a laugh at the secrets that are revealed on anonymous postcards. Today was no exception. I came upon one that made me read it twice to actually get what it’s trying to say:

I realized (and kind of relieved) that I’m not the only one who feels this way —that God is sort of like an omnipotent version of our dads. I know this is not the “correct” depiction nor is it justified, but I’d like to think my dad as a god-like figure. He was everything and so much more for our entire family.

I admit, when I used to pray, I would imagine as if I am talking to my dad, who was working overseas. We communicated through the phone daily, and there would be 3 or 4 month gaps where I didn’t see him at all. There I draw the resemblance to God, who I don’t see (or have never seen), and the communication is one-way. But I know He’s there. Out there somewhere.

Now, perhaps you would say that I stopped praying after my dad passed away. In some way that’s totally on the ball, but I would like to think that it’s something else, something even more complicated than just a death.

Anyway, you don’t have to understand what I’m saying. There’s too much to put down and not enough time for me to elaborate my thoughts because as much as I’d like to, I don’t think I should stay up writing if I have to sacrifice sleep. I mean, writing is important, but at the moment it’s just not my top priority.

 

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