I’m lined up outside a huge tent waiting to rush in for good seats to embarrass Tsz in as she walks on stage, and a thousand and one thoughts are hitting me. A year and ten days ago this was us as undergrads—we got up before the crack of dawn to get dressed and greet family and then lined up, sort of in disbelief that this moment had arrived. And when we’d gotten through the haze of our commencement speaker’s speech, cheered for our classmates, walked through the Sallyport, taken pictures, eaten reception food, and toasted our fellow grads, the excitement of it all finally mellowed, and it was time to face our goodbyes bravely. Well, here we are, a year and ten days later, all in different places, and I am so proud and happy to be sitting in this plastic chair, under this tent canopy, swatting away little leafhoppers, waiting for my little Rice roommate turned Harvard Ed.M. grad to walk past me in her strangely undecorated Harvard gown (we got way more embellishment as Rice undergrads..). Life has been unexpected for some, as planned for others, and pretty routine for most, but regardless of which, it still goes on. God works in mysterious ways, and while I can only imagine myself and those I love around me in the rainbow of possible futures, only He knows what lies ahead for us, and I’m sure He’s blessed it beyond any beautiful thing we could’ve ever thought up on our own.
I never went to prom and didn’t have any of those awkward middle school dances, so I’ve never gotten to experience this innocent, sweet, romantic slow dance that seems to be so ubiquitous in the common person’s adolescence. And perhaps I’ll never have a cutesy awkward moment quite like it, but no complaints here—I am so, so grateful for and look back very fondly on what I have had and am content in the peace and mundanity of my everyday. God has been good to me, is still good to me, and—I trust—will continue to be good to me for the rest of my days here on Earth. He’s my homeboi, and He’s got my back (and my everything else, for that matter)!
It seems as though slow dancing is fading away as slow love songs are becoming less popular. We hope that despite the radios and DJs not playing them, that people will still find a way to have this special moment together, because there are few things like the innocent romantic emotions that come from slowly swaying with a person you really care about, to a good, sweet song. As we grow up, slow dancing is one of those things that don’t happen much anymore. So don’t take it for granted… slow dance whenever and wherever, because there are fewer and fewer opportunities to (if at all) as time goes on.
-Wong Fu Productions.
Today is the 19th (craziness) birthday of my dearest baby brother, and the first that I haven’t been able to spend with him. And while I wish I could be right next to him, celebrating the last of his teen years with him, a short phone call is all I can offer (sorry for crying like that on you, Bud—we miss you at home). I know I don’t (ever) show how much I love and appreciate you, but Kevin, your tough love, bossy, know-it-all, lame-o sister misses you like a pudgeball and loves you so much my heart hurts. And it may be weird to hear this, but your lame-o sister also admires you more than anyone and everyone that she’s ever met. You’re way more brilliant and way more resilient than you give yourself credit for, Kev-O!
This past year has been pretty exceptional for us—we went to Japan and Vietnam together, just the two of us, and only wanted to strangle one another once; you actually said something when Mommy was on speakerphone with me in the car; you actually wanted to come to my graduation (lie to me if you only came for the barbecue; I’d rather not know); you ignored my phone calls less; you actually wanted to hug me (really lie to me about this one if you didn’t actually want to hug me); you agreed to walk the 10 miles from our house to Co’s house with me (and complained the whole time). I think I can say pretty confidently that we might just be adults now. And it may have taken the toughest time of my life and a pretty scary and exciting time in yours to get us to where we are now, but I’m so glad we have the whacky relationship that we do.
I can still remember pretty clearly the days when we were young, when I used to trick you into thinking Cheetohs and 7-Up had peanuts in them and when you were awful at hide and seek (and when you couldn’t play Pokemon without me cuz you couldn’t read and when I was better than you at video games ha). Those days may be past us, but you will forever be my little baby brother. And don’t worry—I will always find a new way to bully you. Happy Birthday, Bro!! Love you tons!! Make good decisions tonight.
We are at the restaurant of a German University. A red haired student, and undeniably German takes her tray and sits down at her table.
She then realizes she has forgotten her cutlery and gets up again to pick it up.
Coming back, she sees with astonishment that a black man, possibly sub-Saharian…
ZOMG my child is wearing this. Even if I have to cut and sew and blood-and-sweat it with my bare hands.
(Source: southkoreans, via yisterbunny)
I really like this kid’s art.
Blessed to live in such a beautiful city. This kid is incredible. He’s put my everyday onto canvas.
The hardest part about being home for me has been losing my sense of adulthood. My parents nag at me everyday about everything—I don’t stack my socks correctly; my face is too freckly; I wasted my time going to Europe for volleyball; I’m wasting my education and Econ degree by becoming a teacher; I’ll never get a boyfriend if I keep dressing like a boy and not wearing make-up—and in the face of all this criticism, I got offended. I began to resent being at home and not on my own. But this video showed me one thing that I’d been missing the entire time I’ve been throwing my I’m-a-grown-up self-pity party, and that’s that behind every harsh word my parents throw out is over two decades of love and worry. My parents are worried that going to Europe has set me back—my life right now is so unstable, unpredictable, so different from those of my closest Rice friends. They’re worried that I’ll struggle in my stressful, low-salary life as a teacher. They’re worried that I won’t have someone to love me and take care of me and grow old with me. They love me so much that they’re constantly stricken with worry about me.
And they have their own struggles as well. My parents bust their butts for me and Kevin. They work around the clock, always on the phone doing business, even while cooking, cleaning, exercising, watching tv. And that wears on people. Home should be a place of solace and rest, and one of my duties as a filial daughter is to provide that for my parents. And my first act in working towards this end is to appreciate my parents, nagging and all.
I was hit with a whammy of all sorts of semi-unidentifiable emotions sitting on that plane from Oakland to Houston. I’d taken that same Southwest flight so many times before, but back then, I was always back for business. Coming back for vacation, just to visit, therefore, just plain feels weird.
As the plane was making its final descent, I looked frantically out the windows of both sides of the plane. I wanted so badly to catch a glimpse of Rice, to see the place that I’d called home for the four most pivotal years of my life. I didn’t get to see Rice (read: couldn’t find it), but I was immensely excited by Houston’s familiar flatness, the awkwardly isolated texture of downtown jutting out to welcome me back.
Thoughts that popped in my head as I walked down the jetway were a little muddled by nostalgia. I hadn’t realized just how far from everyone I’d been. I always felt like my teammates and I were near one another in spirit—physical distance didn’t even register in my mind. But now that I’m here, having flown halfway across the country, I realize just how far apart we really were. Now I get to sit next to, stand in front of, and reach out to hug my dearly beloved teammates.
And my friends—it’ll be like no time has passed. I think I will be surprised by the little things that are different, but being here in Houston is making me warmly nostalgic for a time when I felt more Texan than Californian, when I called Rice home more than SF, and when I was absolutely in love with the feeling. I think I might just cry, for old time’s sake.
Lord, You are my portion
and my cup of blessing;
You hold my future.
The boundary lines have fallen for me
in pleasant places;
indeed, I have a beautiful inheritance.
—Psalm 16:5-6
Another of my favorite verses. I am always astounded by how absolutely beautiful my inheritance is despite how despicable and needy and annoying I am. God is so good to me.
