different names for the same thing

let that be enough

rainy days make me contemplative. so here goes.

recently, i've been feeling a wave of devastating apathy. combine that along with a sudden onset of reclusive behavior, and you've got a recipe for disaster. or at least some prolonged period sitting in my little emo corner. and i'm not really sure where all of this stemmed from, it just...is.

today, walking along in the frigid rainy weather to class, i realized that apathy is perhaps not quite the right word to use here because underneath all of my weird mixed up feelings, is a general brokenheartedness about something. that something which has no name.

this is all a little vague.

i know this is strange to say but it actually feels a little bit like God has somehow abandoned me. and this utter loneliness is what i feel. that's He's not there in the leaves or accompanying me to class or sitting in on my conversations with others. this loneliness that nobody else can fill. i know i'm being ridiculous here. God is always by my side, i know, i know. but maybe You can show me a little more?

let me know that You hear me
let me know Your touch
let me know that You love me
let that be enough

pas si simple

i recently got around to finally watching Amelie (perhaps a few years too late) and found myself placing that movie near the top of my favorites list. i identify very strongly with amelie in having a ridiculously vivid imagination, day-dreaming 24/7, and the utter loneliness she feels deep down.

sometimes when on my way to class, especially on rainy days, i become amazed at every little detail of the world-- listening to the sound of each and every raindrop hitting my umbrella, gently taking in the lovely soggy wet smell of the air, becoming aware of the movement of every muscle in my body working in conjunction to move me forward. it's hypnotizing, really.

and on those days, i feel outside of myself, as if i'm floating high above the earth, looking down on the little girl holding a red umbrella. and all fo a sudden, i get this awful sense of loneliness...like the rest of the world has no idea that i'm floating there and couldn't care less as they rush by, splashing water onto the little girl.

so blended into a deep sense of connection with the world, i feel a disconnection with it. it's all a little bittersweet.

romeo and juliet

often times we reduce religion down to its people, its rules, its failings. we debate, and argue, and fight wars in the name of religious purposes. we forget that religion itself carries with it only what man has created.
christianity in pop culture has become something that christians don't even want to identify themselves with anymore. what once stood by faith alone has become so twisted, so intellectualized, so tainted with the sins of man that most people look down upon believers, and believers themselves doubt and hide themselves in the shadows. having faith now translates to "being religious" which carries with it such a negative connotation that it leaves us with a bitter taste in our mouths.
it is quite a shame because believing the gospel of Christ is quite the opposite of what pop culture has to say about it. the christian faith, stripped of all its embellishments is a rather simple love story. even after man failed Him again and again and again, God still hasn't given up on us. and what's more is that He has sent His only son to die in our place so that we may be rescued. you and i. and there's no catch. no need to do a million good deeds to earn this love. no need to pay Him back. it's completely unconditional love, completely free. being Christian isn't about following a set of rules outlined in the bible, or going to church x times a year, or even volunteering at homeless shelters in order to obtain a ticket to heaven. it's about saying yes to a relationship, one that fills you to the brim with life and love, and respecting and honoring the one you love.
i know everything i'm saying seems pretty obvious to those of us who have grown up hearing this in church, youth group, or bible study. but i also think that we often lose ourselves in "being christian" to actually be Christian. we see Him as a nagging conscience or an obligation that we must fulfill, not for the lover we choose to love back. every time i hear, talk, or read about Christ, i have a overwhelming feeling of raw emotion rise within me. a sense of awe, a sense of complete humility, a sense of longing for Him to fix me. for those of you do not yet believe, i know how you feel. it all seems too vague, a little too good to be true, and somewhat hypocritical to the image of Christ circulating in the world today (and i want to apologize for all the "christians" you have encountered who did not represent Him in his true light). i don't think i've ever truly understood the message of Christ until recently. i've heard it, but there were always too many philosophical, logistic questions in the way about suffering and hell and whatever else. now it's finally resonating within me and the answers to those question are slowly becoming clearer. to believe, you need not to be "convinced." just listen and He will provide you more than you should ever desire.

john 3:16


(wow, rob bell really inspired me to write more than i ever thought i would)

uh oh

i had a caffeine headache today.
i think i'm addicted to coffee bean. crap.

lump

recently i've noticed some changes working within me. at first, i didn't necessarily consider these changes to be either good or bad; just thought of them as a normal part of growing up. but then, i started thinking...

let me explain.

about little over a month ago, i was kind of retarded and hit my car against a pole. it didn't cause any major damage, just a semi-noticeable scratch on the front right bumper portion of my car. i failed to mention it to my parents, partly due to the fact that i know it would anger them and partly due to my own selfish desire to avoid their lecturing. thus, i just let it be and went on about my business.

the sad thing was, i didn't even feel that guilty about it and moved on with my life. i didn't consider it a big deal and chose to ignore it.

then, about two days ago, my dad discovered that scratch and he confronted me about it. but instead of fessing up and apologizing, i actually became defensive, trying to convince him that it was no big idea and gave him attitude for "overreacting." when my mother heard the news, she went on to reprimand about on not informing them when things go wrong. she even went so far as to suggest that if i didn't think it was necessarily to include them in my life, i might as well not be a part of this family. as i listened to her yell at me, i became increasingly irritated at the fact that they were making such a big deal out of this small incident. it was later that i realized that during this whole ordeal, i never once even felt guilty or obliged to apologize. clearly, i was in the wrong, but somehow, i instinctive felt that i was being wrongfully condemned for a petty crime.

where had my conscience gone? when did i become such an arrogant jerk who shows such disrespect towards her parents? who was i to think that they were overreacting?

i think many of us, in growing up, lose some of our innate childhood sense of humility and conscience. things that were thought to be SO WRONG when we were children, don't seem that bad anymore. an act that we would have suffered in guilt before, we don't even acknowledge as inherently wrong anymore. and in some ways, we've become desensitized to committing these sins. somewhere along the road, we learned to make such extravagant excuses, excuses so brilliant and seemingly logical, that we actually believe that our justifications are valid (and act accordingly). the more i thought about this, the more disconcerting the whole notion became. i never wanted this to happen to me...and yet, without even knowing it, i've subconsciously transformed into this ugly person that i don't even recognize.

as c.s. lewis wrote, "indeed, the safest road to hell is the gradual one--the gentle slope, soft underfoot, without sudden turnings, without milestones, without signposts."

today, i am reminded of how utterly flawed i am. i will try better tomorrow.

thank You for opening my eyes.

music to my ears

i'm in a mood for lots and lots and lots (did i mention LOTS?) of new music.
i'm listening to everything from m-flo to t-pain to the new pornographers to yo-yo ma.
it makes studying almost enjoyable.

got suggestions?
bring it on.

the juice is worth the squeeze

Since the start of this humble blog not so long ago, I've never mentioned the inspiration that led me to bestow the name of "Hope&Pomegranate". And even though you lovely readers out there have failed to ever inquire upon the subject, I am nonetheless here to offer a response.

I am a huge fan of exotic fruits. When I was a kid, my favorite fruits usually turned out to be the most expensive and hard-to-get fruits on the market. Starfruit, lychee, sugar cane, pomegranate, dragonfruit...loved 'em all. Apples, bananas, grapes were good, but they were just so ordinary and prevalent. I, being the little brat that I was, always wanted the off-season or imported fruits that sold in limited quantities for outrageous prices. As I grew older, my parents stopped showering me with gifts of exotic fruits and opted for simpler everyday ones. I didn't mind; I had more important things to worry about.

However, a little while back, my mother came home with a pomegranate, a fruit I hadn't remembered eating since my childhood. It was a gift from her co-worker and looked absolutely gorgeous. After dinner that night, my mother asked me if I wanted to have it for dessert along with some ice cream perhaps. Although my first inclination was to say yes, I paused and considered the consequences of my would-be decision. If I were to eat the pomegranate, I would first have to go through a series of tedious steps of cutting it open and wading through all the pulp in order to extract the seeds, only to find myself enjoying a few teaspoons of juice for a duration of seconds before having to spit out the seeds. I decided that it wasn't worth it and declined the offer.

For the next few days, that lonely pomegranate sat ignored in the fridge. I saw it every time I opened the the fridge, always glancing hungrily at it, but always too lazy to put in the effort. Poor pomegranate.

Finally, one afternoon I was absolutely dying for something sweet and juicy. My mother was running late from work and I was getting restless and hungry at home. I flung open the fridge door and without thinking, grabbed the long-abandoned fruit. I tore it open and began my long excavation of the plump, red seeds. Five minutes later, I had about 40 out of the approximate 600 tiny seeds extracted. ONLY FORTY! I could have engulfed an entire fuji apple already! Boy, was I frustrated!

But then I figured that since I had come so far, I might as well at least finish extracting the seeds for half of the fruit, saving the other half for later (or whoever else that may have the patience for such labor). So thirty minutes later, I had filled a bowl half-full with plump little red pomegranate seeds ready for the eating. I plunged my spoon into the bowl, scooped a spoonful and shoved it in my mouth. Immediately, the sweetest, most delectable juice I've ever tasted filled my mouth. My taste buds were in heaven, absolute heaven. I stared at the rest of my hard work sitting in the bowl, amazed. The juice was definitely worth the squeeze.

I have found that my walk with Christ and the process of acquiring Faith intrinsically parallels my incident with the pomegranate. The notion of having Faith was so appealing. I knew on a superficial, textbook level that having Faith in Him would do wonders in my life but at the same time, I didn't really want to commit and work hard at digging for things deep inside of me. I wanted the seeds to magically pop right out of the pomegranate and be mine for the taking. But somehow during these past few years, the people and situations that God has placed around me have really inspired me to dig for those seeds, spending frustrating days and weeks struggling with myself. And I can tell you, without knowing what's in store for me in the future, that the juice has already been worth the squeeze.

With more pomegranates in my fridge and increasing hope for the future, I write.

sometimes

i don't get many things right the first time
in fact, i am told that a lot
now i know all the wrong turns, the stumbles and falls
brought me here

what if i'd been born fifty years before you
in a house on a street where you lived?
maybe i'd be outside as you passed on your bike
would i know?

and in a white sea of eyes
i see one pair that i recognize

next door there's an old man who lived to his nineties
and one day passed away in his sleep
and his wife; she stayed for a couple of days
and passed away

i'm sorry
i know that's a strange way to tell you that i know we belong
that i know

that i am
i am
i am
the luckiest.

unremarked courage

7:30 am this morning I walked timidly into a room full of surgical residents, orthopaedic fellows, radiologists, and attending physicians from the multiple musculoskeletal departments sitting around waiting for conference to start. As I took a seat quietly and unnoticed at the far back corner of the room, I noticed an attending physician drilling his first year resident on the best course of action regarding the treatment plans of a particular case. The resident replied each question with a professional tone, seemingly at ease and confident with his answers. However, I then realized that he was actually getting everything wrong when the attending practically yelled "NO NO NO!!! RADIATION IS DEFINITELY IMPOSSIBLE!" The resident fell silent as the attending went on to explain why. Then, before I knew it, he threw another question at him. The resident didn't look quite as confident now, his body language appearing slightly hesitant, but after a moment of consideration, the same confident, professional tone escaped his lips as he announced his answer. He was right this time and managed to escape the wrath of his attending, who only offered a seemingly unimpressed "Okay, good."
By the time the head of the orthopaedic oncology department, aka my advising clinical research doctor, arrived, the room was packed with a throng of white lab coats. Cases were presented and treatment plans discussed amongst the physicians and radiologists presenting the imaging scans. In the midst of my concentration, trying to keep my spinning, sleep-deprived brain from totally tuning out the myriad of intelligent-sounding yet utterly foreign medical terminology and jargon, I turned my attention back to the poor first year resident. Case by case, my adviser singled him out for questioning. The poor kid answered quickly and intelligently, even when he had no idea what the answer was and anxiously awaited for another "NO NO NO!!!" or at least an indication if he was correct. But my adviser just looked bored and replied to each response with a frustratingly vague, "So, that's what you would do...hmm okay." For once, I was glad I was being ignored. The last person I wanted to be was that first year resident.
It gets better.
At about 8:30, the conference ended and the crowd dispersed, leaving only those going on rounds remaining. This group consisted of my adviser, three orthopaedic surgical residents, including the first year, and a mix of rehab therapists and their respective students (plus me). We were led by the first year resident out of the conference room to see the first patient. Apparently a bit frazzled by the morning's activities already, he promptly led us, more importantly, my adviser, into the correct room on the wrong floor. He quickly realized his mistake, but not quick enough to dodge the tsunami of belittling jokes that ensued. My adviser asked him if he needed a GPS for rounds. The resident embarrassingly yet gracefully played along being the object of hilarity on this morning's rounds. I chuckled out of politeness but I felt a strange pang of anxiety and fear that I will inevitably be in his place in a few short years. After finding the correct room on the correct floor, the rest of rounds went by smoothly but not without constant reminder from my adviser of his slip.
I think I've hit a significant emotional state where I'm simultaneously terrified and fascinated with the field of medicine. I've always heard and known that interns, residents, and even fellows get constantly yelled at and belittled by those in positions above them; it's a regular part of the medical training process. But no amount of warning could prepare me for what I only got a taste of, through observing the resident this morning. The look in the attendings' condescending eyes alone can probably drive me insane. In a field where what you do may affect the well-being of someone's life, there is no room to be unnerved and commit a mistake even under the most judgmental eyes of your superiors. Yet, being human and inexperienced, things will go wrong. Patients may be harmed during a routine procedure just because it's your first time in action. You live every day knowing that if you do something right, it will go completely unnoticed but if you happen to make even a silly mistake as walking into the wrong room for rounds, you will be berated for your utter stupidity. But at the end of the day, no matter how you've failed, endured the scorn of those around you, or even been completely ignored, you have to remain persistent in your training and tackle the next day with the same energy and spirit as if the man you almost killed the other day didn't freak you out at all.

One day in the near future, I'm going to strap on that kind of bravery. I'm just relieved that today was not that day.

travels down under

Gosh, I've ignored this thing for forever. I knew I couldn't actually keep a blog...I'm such a commitment-phobe.

I got back from my travels Down Under about two weeks ago. Besides it being a "family vaca", it was truly a delightful experience being away from bustling cities and annoying people and the ever-present stress of exams for a month. For many people who've been to New Zealand, the untouched, gorgeous landscape is usually the main highlight. For me, it was the attitude and the cultural mindset of the people that stood out above the rest. The first impression that I had of these people was that they were all so laid-back and just chilllll. We stayed in many holiday parks, which are basically high-tech campsites with shared shower/kitchen facilities. One particular park in Westport, there were many Kiwis (what New Zealanders call themselves) from other parts of New Zealand who worked in Westport and lived in that holiday park five days a week. As we cooked dinner next to a bunch of them, we easily struck up conversations with them. By the end of the night, we had befriended half the camp and sang and laughed along with them. It was such a heart-warming moment. Moreover, I found the people of New Zealand to be just honest and good people in general. At every tourist location, not a single shopkeeper or tour agency came up to us to try to sell their product. They let us browse undisturbed and when we did want to purchase something or ask a question, they not only provided us with a comprehensive answer, they also introduced us to better money-saving deals that we weren't aware of. Maybe it's just me, but I haven't been to many places in the world with salesmen not obviously eager to make a good sale. I must say, the refreshing hospitality of the country was the icing on the cake of an incredible trip.

But now I'm back in the land of cities and pissed-off LA drivers and the impending doom that is the MCAT. Gosh, it's so depressing here.

poetic solitary dinner

Today I ate by myself at a restaurant for the first time ever.

Snuggled up in a dim corner of Little Asia, I ordered just about the most unoriginal meal of sesame chicken, spring rolls, and hot and sour soup. For lack of anything to do and not wanting to be at risk for staring loser-ishly off into space, I pretentiously took out some history reading while I waited for my food. To my amusement, I discovered that our reading for this week included a collection of World War I inspired poems. I sat there pretending to be deeply engrossed in my material all the while wishing I had ordered take-out so that I could be eating at home in front of my computer instead. Unable to bear the onslaught of more loser-ish thoughts, I actually began reading the poems...really reading them.

By the time my food arrived, I had finished about half of my reading. I felt slightly annoyed; one, for the food that interrupted my fascinating read, and two, for the eventual analysis I would have to write for these poems.

What's worse than writing poetry analysis papers? The mind-numbing task of having to read your own pretentious work afterward.

Poetry is poetry because of the emotions the elicit from the human heart. Describing what I feel or how someone is supposed to feel render the poem worthless in my eyes. Add onto that judgment, arrogance, and some bs about the quality of imagery and tone...it just makes me want to barf. Oh, the agony!

Just read the damn poem.

early morning discovery

I never had a thing for CocoPuffs but my roommate loves them so we have a box sitting atop our fridge. This morning I decided to try my luck. I'd say they were a 7 out of 10 on my cereal scale. But you know what's the coolest part about CocoPuffs? After you're done eating the puffs, you're left with CHOCOLATE MILK!
Perhaps it's a simple and predictable enough concept for you, but I was pleasantly surprised when I saw that this morning at 7 AM.

orgo ruins lives

When I was walking to class this morning in the blizzard I couldn't help but think that I was actually in a solution being dried by magnesium sulfate.

Bah, crazy morning thoughts.

greater things have yet to come

It's hard to breathe sometimes, hard to put down the million and one what ifs swimming through my mind. It takes real effort just to not give up sometimes, no matter how many failures pass my way. It's difficult, this vague and uncertain future.

Ever since the first day I started school here at Pitt, people have always asked me, "Why Pitt?" I'd like to say that I have a good reason for coming to this random place 3000 miles and 40 degrees below the norm of California. I usually don on my mature tone of voice and explain intelligently all the pros of attending school at Pitt rather than some name brand university, emphasizing my acceptance to Pitt's conditional track into Pitt med school. But as of now, I'm not sure why I'm here, or what I'm doing here. I would love to say that I've got this grand plan of attending a prestigious medical school, graduating with honors, getting accepted into an excellent residency program hopefully in Boston MGH (Massachusetts General Hospital, or better known as "Man's Greatest Hospital"), and all the while finding the love of my life and starting a family. And maybe that's how it'll turn out. But recently, things surely don't feel that way. I keep fighting losing battles and the brightness of the future I had envisioned seems to be waning. I often find myself saying to God, "Okay, you brought me here...why aren't things going according to plan?" When I don't hear a clear vocal reply back, I am left scared, confused, and frustrated.

But then I remembered the words of a wise friend.

"You have no idea what God has in store for you. The plan you have is your plan, not God's. Who knows? He might have called you to Pittsburgh to do something beyond your imagination. He might have called you to be there for one person. He might have called you there to stretch your limits and help you grow. So don't worry too much about sticking perfectly to the plan because God probably has a bigger and better one for you."

It's true, I've been so worried and caught up with my own plan that I've forgotten that my life isn't mine to begin with. I've kept asking God why my plan wasn't going so well without considering and trusting in His. I've been anxiously doing everything in my time rather than living in His time.

"It's always the simple things that change our lives. And these things never happen when you are looking for them to happen. Life will reveal answers at the pace life wishes to do so. You feel like running, but life is on a stroll. This is how God does things." - Blue Like Jazz

God, please help me to see things through Your eyes. Give me the patience and faith to realize Your plan for me.

a different valentine

Every year, when February 14th rolls around, I find all those around me aligning themselves with one of two groups: the pro-valentine traditionalists and the anti-valentine revolutionaries. The traditionalists prep themselves by going all out, creating the perfect Hallmark valentine's day experience while burning a serious hole in their wallet, while the revolutionaries scope out the hottest parties to get trashed and laid. (Those who don't go out secretly wish they could.) I, however, do not identify myself with either group and find them both rather appalling. Supporters of Valentine's Day in this day and age feed the incessant and increasing commercialism of our society, and the rowdy members of the S.A.D. club take they're whining a little too far. Thus, Valentine's Day has been reduced to a day of high expectations and bitter disappointments...all in hopes of finding a little bit of lovin' in this world.

For the past six years that Valentine's Day has meant something to me, I've perceived and celebrated this ridiculous holiday a little bit differently. No matter if I'm single, taken, or somewhere in between, no matter who showers me with glamorous gifts and flowers, I've chosen to make Valentine's Day a day about others, more specifically, those other than my significant other. I believe that it doesn't take a nationally marked holiday for a couple to give to each other. Valentine's Day shouldn't be the reason for buying flowers or cooking a significant other breakfast in the morning. And Valentine's Day shouldn't be a day to have higher expectations of grand gestures for someone whom you care so much about. Giving should be a daily routine. My Valentine's Day celebration is a celebration of my love for friends, for family, for random people that I've come to appreciate but forgotten about over time. It's a day for baking cookies for people who least expect it; for sharing a laugh with those who aren't on the top of your list of priorities most of the time; for thanking those you take for granted; for loving those who are hardest to love. Rather than an excuse to buy extravagant gifts, party, or have sex in new positions, Valentine's Day is my excuse to bring smiles and a little more happiness to those who need it most.

I think that's how Christ sees not only Valentine's Day, but each and every day.

Happy Valentine's Day. <3>