On converting and terrorists.
Now that I’m living with my dad, church is not optional. Of course, I expect that when I go I will be asked how Africa (yes, the whole continent) was. The first visit back at church, I’m sitting downstairs across the table from an “uncle” and he asks me where I just got back from. I say Tanzania, which is in East Africa. He asks what I’m doing after graduate school and where I’ll be. Peace Corps I say; either Mongolia or Thailand. He says, oh there are many Buddhists in Thailand; that’s great, you can convert many of them. Second encounter: just this past weekend, I ran into another “uncle” who asks me, How was Africa? Lots of terrorists?
And I’m not translating from Mandarin to English either – both uncles spoke to me in English and used the terms “convert” and “terrorists”. I hope to God that this is a very poor reflection of how most of the congregation views other countries/continents.
Here’s another instance. I went to the doctor recently, for a routine physical and also to fill out some Peace Corps medical forms. Upon reading the PAP smear section, he says, In my opinion you are too young, and besides, you are a virgin and you are not married so you don’t need to worry about that. I couldn’t help but think, this is a terrible way to encourage your patient to open up to you. For a second generation Chinese Christian American, the pressure to wait for sex until marriage is very heavy. And in this instance, despite doctor-patient confidentiality, culture is very important as well. My doctor, who is also a pastor at a Chinese church, a guest deliverer of sermons at my parents’ church, and good friends with my parents, is not someone who I would want to be open with lest my parents or the whole church finds out. What I believe a Christian community (a church congregation, for example) to be, is open, challenging me to hold tight to truth, yet welcoming my imperfections and mistakes with unconditional love and grace.
On rare father-daughter heart to hearts.
On our routine Sunday evening drive home to the woods from the small city of Flushing, my dad and I got onto the topic of suicides, particularly the relationship between the person committing suicide and his/her parent(s). Somehow this developed into stories of my dad, his dad, and my grandpa's dad. Every time I come home from studying abroad, I go through this (selfish?) phase where I feel as though nobody understands me and the people at home are not worth getting to know all over again. Wrong, Eunice. I forgot how long it's been that I've given my dad a chance to just talk, and I am terribly ashamed of that. I believe my dad and I have a long way to go still .. there are still some kinks in our friendship to work out but, though slow, it's happening.
There is invisible writing on the back of the diploma you will receive, and in case you didn't bring lemon juice to decode it, I can tell you what it says: You are Brilliant, and the Earth is Hiring. The earth couldn't afford to send recruiters or limos to your school. It sent you rain, sunsets, ripe cherries, night blooming jasmine [...] Take the hint. And here's the deal: Forget that this task of planet-saving is not possible in the time required. Don't be put off by people who know what is not possible. Do what needs to be done, and check to see if it was impossible only after you are done.
Humanity is coalescing. It is reconstituting the world, and the action is taking place in schoolrooms, farms, jungles, villages, campuses, companies, refugee camps, deserts, fisheries and slums.
The most unrealistic person in the world is the cynic, not the dreamer. Hope only makes sense when it doesn't make sense to be hopeful. This is your century. Take it and run as if your life depends on it.
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