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I got an email from an old friend today--way back from Oregon. She reminded me of all the fun times we used to have, our walks through the woods, snow-fights, old friends we had and our favorite past-times.
It's silly but after reading it I felt really sad and really joyful at the same time. I felt joyful because I love hearing from her and remembering all of those good times, but sad because I know that I will not be able to return to Oregon for several years to come.
Oregon has always been the place I've called "home." But when I return to America, I won't be going home. I'll just be going somewhere else. Perhaps some day the South will become my home, but the old Oregon has changed by now and is not longer my home. In a way, I'm homeless.
Being in that constant state of transition has made it difficult for me to place value in people and moments, has caused me in a spirit of discontent I have no right to have.
God has given me the friends I have, the family I would die for, the experience that not many other people have had. I'm glad for the times I've had and the times I'm going to have--each moment of my life should be something precious that I cherish.
As for home, my friend Beth understands that. Home is not where you live or where you have lived or where you're going to live--home is where the heart is, and my heart should be with Christ. And I've better get used to being in transition because I don't think I'll be going "home" for a while.

Comments

Hey Guys,
I finally figured out what was wrong with the commenting box! haha! Now you can comment all you like with no difficulties.

Sorry about that. Love hearing from you all!

Bliss A. Avra

What Makes a Book Christian?

            I guess this is more of a writer question than a reader question. In general readers don't really care if a book's Christian or not as long as it's good. I've never met anybody dead set on reading only Christian books.

            But there are plenty of Christian writers who are dead set on writing them. After all, if you're Christian you want to be a witness to God and glorify him, and how can you glorify him by writing an apparently unchristian book? That would put us in the box of "secular" and how can that be glorifying to God?

            I've been wondering about this for a while now. Since I started writing at fourteen my Mom would always ask me if my book had a "redeeming quality" about it. For a long time I thought she just meant all the characters should be Christian, or at least become Christian in the end, or at least I should spell out the gospel at some point.

            Then I thought, why? If a book is Christian, who will read it? Probably only people who already know the gospel. So what good will that do them if I tell them the gospel? I've never heard of anybody being converted by reading a book besides the Bible.

            I will admit I don't have much expertise on Christian books. If you rule out Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter and The Chronicles of Narnia then I have only read five. Two of them were from the Mandy Series. The other two were from some wild-west genre similar to The Love Comes softly series. The last one I just finished was The Last Sin Eater which was in fact the only Christian book I have enjoyed.

            None of these books edified me. None of them drew me closer to Christ in any way. All of them had a moment of someone converting, and most of them were simply every-day lives with characters facing situations with "God's on my side," or "God'll take care of us." Things like that sound unhelpful enough in real life, but they're downright cheesy in a book. And because books say things like that, they're considered Christian.

            I write books. My first book, I'll admit, was in the Christian-convert category. My second book was in the Cheesy-Christian category which is why I never had it published. And now, starting my third book which has absolutely no direct reference to God at all, I have chosen to keep it that way.

            As Christians we should make everything we do glorifying to God, but the thing is: are books that are geared to help unbelievers come to faith helpful when unbelievers never read them? Are books that simply shove God into them because the author feels he needs to helpful? What makes a book glorifying to God? I think J.K. Rowling understood that in the Harry Potter series when she kept the reference to salvation to the end, hooking an unbelieving audience so that they would hear what she had to say. And hey, what unbeliever hasn't read Harry Potter?

            Take Lord of the Rings. There is no God, technically. Actually there are several "gods" who made the world and who were all made by one God. Technically it is not an allegory. So why is the series considered Christian? Because the book exemplifies a Christian response to difficult problems. Books like that help you think about life, help you apply Christianity to problems the world faces.

            I feel more edified reading non-Christian books than Christian books. I guess it's because Christians oftentimes don't think about important issues; they assume that "Jesus died" conquers everything. And it's true. But how? What is everything that Jesus conquers? How should we face those issues with a Christian perspective?

            Another book is Notes From Underground. The Russian author (and I'm not going to bother trying to spell his name)  was definitely a Christian, but the book never mentions God. In fact, the book is the opposite of mentioning God. It's about a sniveling little nihilist who's trying to avoid fate. Because the book brought up these important issues and made me think about them, I felt it was much more edifying than any "Christian" book I have ever read.

            Esther in the Bible never mentions God. The whole book never says anything about him at all. But is that book Christian? Well, it's in the Bible! And it points to God's salvation and protection of his people. Jesus's stories don't always talk about God either, but they show what God's world is like.

            I've decided that I can glorify God in my books without even having to mention him. The book itself is Christian because I am Christian; the book is Christian because it is written from a Christian's perspective of God's world. I want my Christian audience to think about the issues of racism, euthanasia and tyranny; I don't want my non-Christian audience to shut down from facing these issues simply because my Characters keep saying "God" when they don't need to.

            What my Mom meant by redeeming quality was not that the whole story is totally negligent of the real world and only attached to Christianity by a small thread of "God"s mentioned here and there. The book itself will be redemptive if it points to characteristics of God or of mankind that will encourage us as Christians and make us think about important issues. That's what really makes a book Christian.

            

Some Books I'd Recommend

My new year's resolution is to read a hundred books this year. And it's already hard. I have to read two books a week and so far I've managed to stay on top of things, but I'm going to get tired of this pretty fast!

Anyways, here are some of the best ones so far that I would recommend.

That Hideous Strength, by C.S. Lewis: The last book of the space trilogy and the weirdest, but undeniably interesting. It takes a while to warm up to you but once it does it's worth it.

Notes From Underground, by Fyador Dostoyevsky (Try saying that ten times fast!): A great book on the psychology of mankind and what we would all be like if we were completely separated from God.

Maze Runner, by James Dashner (a slightly ironic name): I just enjoy sci-fi, really. It's very hard to put this book down.

Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire: By far my favorite Harry Potter book, a little more interesting than the books before it but not as depressing as the books after it.

All Quiet on the Western Front: My Dad and I are having a running debate on whether it should say "The best war novel of all time" on the cover. I say, it really is the best one I've read. It's almost converted me to pacifism, and that's something.

Moments in South Asia #5

You've just met someone on the bus. You start talking with them, then she asks about your family. You say you have a teenage daughter. She asks you if you'd like to arrange a marriage between her son and your daughter. And she's serious.

Moments in South Asia #4

Someone asks you why you don't have another wife. In front of your wife.

Trees Sneezing

This is totally the sort of parent I'm going to be.

Moments in South Asia # 3

1 You've been talking in a different language about slavery in America for fifteen minutes, when you suddenly realize that bunder doesn't mean slave. It means monkey.

Traveling

I think you know what this feels like.

This is my home. I've set my heart to let this little nook be mine.

I'm done with traveling and wandering to pass my idle time.

My curtain up, and thrilling in the wind that flows from door to door—

Such a sweet wind—and now my carpets sleeping on my dusty floor

From Italy and India, from Russia and from many more,

Simply to rest forever more on this infernal dusty floor.

Well, never mind. The wood will do. It groans beneath my heavy gait,

But it is wood, like all those wild forests. It will compensate,

And that oak bookshelf filled with all my ancient paperbacks I've kept

Against my better judgment, for the shrieks I've howled and tears I've wept

Still echo in those pages, even as they rustle in the gentle breeze

That flows from door to door and tries to set my wild heart at ease

On lonely days when I'd feel better if I had a wicked friend

Or when I have a restless mood and feel this pit-stop has no end.

That wind that flows from door to door, from desert east to ocean west,

Reminds me of those distant lands where food is good and water blest—

Confound it all! This dirty floor! These books all staring down at me!

This crazy breeze! These lazy rugs! Oh would the world just let me be!

Moments in South Asia #2

    You haven't seen someone for a long time, and they say cheerfully, "I think you're fatter now!" (or, "You're looking very weak!")

Shadow of a Champion, Chapter 1 Part 2

I sat up in bed screaming. My lungs felt like they would explode, I was breathing so hard. I looked around me in bewilderment.

            The crowds had disappeared. I was safely inside my house, the heat escaping my body into the cold air. Around me, familiar belongings met my eyes and comforted me: my green tapr in a pile on the floor, my collection of dragon scales lining the wall, my boots seeming to grin at me by the door. I was home. Father was alive. And I could not determine if that was a good thing.

            I leaned back on the wall and sighed, trying to catch my breath. It had been so real. It had been so many star spins ago, but it had been so fresh in my memory. The horror, the event that had ruined my life, had returned. And today of all days!

            I had pondered that day too many times to let it ruin today. I needed to focus, not to relive my past. Still I was nervous. I threw the covers off of my legs and endured the cold as I crept across the floor and quietly opened the door to my room. I pushed my head through the crack.

            He was still there. He was sleeping.

            Good, I thought to myself. He can't ask me any questions I can't answer. I crossed the room again and looked out the window to find out what time it was: the two stars were shining to the right of the mountain. I had to get moving. Nothing, especially not a silly nightmare, could stop me from today.

            I shoved my tapr over my long white shielder and pulled my black boots over my bare feet. Then I moved to the adjoining room where a pool of blue water glittered in the dim light. To me looks were just to distinguish one man from another and not something to fuss about, but today I had to at least look presentable. I groaned at the holes at my knee-length green tapr and peered at my reflection in the water, hoping my face looked a little better.

            White as snow, like my mother. Blue-black hair with streaks of green, like my father: perfect for hiding in the woods. Dark blue eyes and sharp eyebrows like both of my parents. Tall and sinewy, unlike either of my parents, because I worked as hard as they had and ate less. Not that I complained. I liked to be strong.

            I splashed the blue water over my face and scrubbed hard at it for a few seconds before wiping the water off with my sleeve. I had no more time to linger if Celtis wanted me to work today.

            I jumped to my feet. A few seconds later I was out of the house and running up the road to the mountain. The road seemed exceptionally long today, as if the town ahead of me was moving away as I moved towards it. To keep my mind under control, I kept reminding myself of little hints Celtis had given me for the tasks. His deep firm voice rang in my head.

            Tell me how to get to Newol.

            Cross the mountain range first, that's 20 fathoms—

            How?

            Ride the wind over Picky Pass. Watch out for acid rains. Several mountains after that and towns, then 300 fathoms of snow. Watch out for wolves.

            If you meet a wolf, what do you do?

            Kill it. I grinned at my own joke.

            Mano…

            Alright, I was just kidding. Fire is what they're afraid of, but signal for your dragon and he'll send them packing. Cover wounds with cloth and with ice, and with pepper herbs.

            I picked a fruit from a tree branch and sucked on it thoughtfully. To my right and left, fields of Bob nuts stretched over the mountain's rocky surface.

            When you're sword fighting, don't keep charging at your opponent like you're hacking briars down. Get the sword out of their hand. You're not killing anybody, Mano, or I will personally see to it that the Shadowers kill you.

            Some friend you are, Celtis.

            You frighten me sometimes, your lust for danger.

            I grinned and weighed the pit of the fruit in my hand. To my left, a couple of Russis were bargaining with a farmer. The farmer leaned on his shovel heavily and took in every word those lying fiends were giving him, and whether from hatred or for humor, I chucked my pit as hard as I could and watched it glance off one of the Russi's head. He spun around to find out what had hit him, but before he saw me I had dashed forward behind some trees, running as fast as I could.

            Running. Yeah, don't think you need any pointers there. Just don't hit anybody out of the way.

            Wouldn't do such a thing and you know it.

            Never know with you, Mano.

            Another memory of our training flickered into my mind. If your father was…well, if he knew, he would be proud of you. I'm betting on you and you know it.

            Of course he was. Half the town was betting on me. Everyone knew I was the tallest, the smartest, and the fastest kid in the competition. They also knew I had Celtis on my side, though they didn't know just how wicked I was with the sword. As long as I tried as hard as I could, I would make it.

            Finally I had reached the town. The sunlight glanced off the metal roofs and sparkled in the snow. Few shops were open this early, but the shop-keepers that were up all smiled at me and waved. A few said, "Good luck Mano Ami. Your father would be proud," and I grinned back, glad to have some rare popularity.

            Once I had made it through the town, I pulled off the main road onto the footpath that led to the dragon stables. I followed the path as it wrapped around the mountain, decorated by large dark-blue trees and green grass with white flowers. Finally I met the entrance. Two pillars and a rock roof sheltered the entrance to the tunnel, and I dashed inside.

A Pleasing Aroma

Our language teacher’s cousin had a baby yesterday, and today we learned our househelper’s daughter is going to have a baby! Lots of life coming around.

            It’s odd to think of Sarah’s daughter pregnant. She got married about three months ago, and she’s my age if not younger. She’s moved away from her family, and most people in her situation would feel saddened—but Katrina’s still one of the happiest people I know.

            It kind of makes me feel silly when I’m discontent. I have everything I want—well not everything I want, but everything necessary to have a healthy attitude. But I don’t have one oftentimes. I tend to complain about little things like my computer freezing up and my cat’s wounded foot.

            I’ve never heard Katrina complain about anything. She always has this bright beautiful smile on her face; she’s always friendly and loving. She could have found a lot of things to complain about but she didn’t. She’s not even a believer.

            Kind of puts me to shame when an unbeliever is more Christlike than I am. My life is supposed to be an aroma to God, but I don’t choose to live up to God’s ideals. Lord, make me more like Katrina so that I can draw people to you!

“As a pleasing aroma I will accept you, when I bring you out from the peoples and gather you out of the countries where you have been scattered. And I will manifest my holiness among you in the sight of the nations.”

Ezekiel 20:41

Moments in South Asia #1

I'm going to start a bit of a series of things that a foreigner might experience in South Asia. They could be awkward, funny, embarrassing, heartening, or sad--but all of them have happened before. Here's number one.

1 A complete stranger (man) walks up to you (man), and says, "excuse me, I felt I needed to tell you that you are very beautiful."

Happy Valentines Day

Happy Valentines Day!
I love doing this to my friends.

All is Vanity

Sometimes it’s easy to get caught up in the unimportant things of life. It’s easy to spend an hour or less with God, then go through your life and forget about him. But without Christ, we’re not getting anywhere.

            “Back to the rat race,” is what I think to myself every time I wake up on Monday morning. That’s what it feels like: running around in circles and getting nowhere. That’s why Ecclesiastes 1 is one of my favorite poems; it reminds me that unless Christ is my foundation, I’m just the blowing wind.

Vanity of vanities, says the Preacher

Vanity of vanities! All is vanity.

What does man gain by all the toil at which he toils under the sun?

A generation goes, and a generation comes,

But the earth remains forever.

The sun rises, and the sun goes down,

And hastens to the place where it rises.

The wind blows to the south and goes around to the north;

Around and around goes the wind, and on its circuits the wind returns.

All streams run to the sea, but the sea is not full;

To the place where the streams flow, there they flow again.

 All things are full of weariness; a man cannot utter it;

The eye is not satisfied with seeing, nor the ear filled with hearing.

What has been is what will be, and what has been done is what will be done,

And there is nothing new under the sun.

Is there a thing of which it is said, "See, this is new"?

It has been already in the ages before us.

There is no remembrance of former things,

Nor will there be any remembrance of later things yet to be among those who come after.

My (not) crazy family

The essence of our family. We're not crazy. We just have too much of the creative and honest genes.

By the way, that mall is really cool. Every floor represents a different country.

Shadow of a Champion Chapter 1 Part 1

My friend recently published some of her writing on her blog (really good by the way, if you're reading this) and so I decided to follow suit. This is a book I'm writing, the start of the first chapters. Helpful comments are--well, helpful! Please tell me what you think!

I was a child again. Before me, stretched out between the silver stands and the rocky mountain peak, was a large brown field. Rows and rows of men, women and children stood in the stands and cheered. Ear-piercing roars and rumbles emanated from the steel door in the mountain side and tongues of blue flame fluttered through the cracks.

            What was I doing here? For a matter of fact, what were any of these people doing here? Nobody had been to a dragon-training for years and I knew it only too well: I was a dragon trainer. Something seemed familiar about this scene.

            Before I could remember the steel doors rumbled open and my father ran out. His tapr flapped wildly in the icy wind, slightly singed with fire. The wild crowd let out a loud cheer and he beamed up at them with pride, the way he used to look at me when I was younger. That was so long ago I had almost forgotten that look. Wrapped around his arm was a coil of silver rope, and with the pride and fearlessness he swirled around to face the doors.

            Two huge green eyes, each the size of a man, glittered at us from out of the darkness. The crowd hushed, whether from fear or from excitement I could not tell. I myself was gripping at the rail until my knuckles had turned white and my head began to feel dizzy. Suddenly—so suddenly it left me breathless—I remembered what was happening.

            I wanted to scream out at my father, to tell him to run, to get away, but my mouth was clamped shut by an invisible force and I could do nothing but watch in terror as the eyes immerged out of the darkness, along with a huge, beautiful, powerful—dragon.

            His scales were bright green like the sky in the winter. Fifty foot long with a whiskered face and fir along his underside, he was an impressive and fearful sight. His fangs alone were twice as long as my father, but that didn't seem to daunt him.

            Infuriated at his captivity and infuriated further by the roaring crowd, the dragon attacked the only thing he could: my father. The long blue flames flashed out of his mouth and burnt the ground where my father had been standing, but Father, his reflexes faster than lightning, had rushed forward under the beast's forepaws. He threw the rope over the dragon's back and grabbed the other end. By now the dragon had felt the rope tighten around his middle and began to scratch at his underside, his long white claws barely missing his target. My father held on to the ends of the ropes and pulled himself flat against the beast's belly where he could not be reached, then began to work his way upwards, climbing smoothly over the sides, sliding past the wings, until he sat upright on the dragon. Nearly blinded with rage, the creature did the only thing he had left to do—he flew.

            Gusts of wind hit the crowds full in the face, knocking them back. I fell into my chair and opened my eyes to see the dragon soaring in the sky, circling around like a giant falcon ready to attack. Finally I had found my voice. Screaming with all of the volume I could muster, I tried to warn my father above me. It was no good. It was too late. Already I could see him losing his grip. The crowd let out a gasp as the dragon dipped forward, my father slid off of his neck, down towards the ground, closer, closer—I kept screaming, I didn't even know what I was saying anymore. I closed my eyes tightly.

I sat up in bad, screaming. My lungs felt like they would explode, I was breathing so hard. I looked around me in bewilderment.

            The crowds had disappeared. I was safely inside my house, the heat escaping my body into the cold air. Around me, familiar belongings met my eyes and comforted me: my green tapr in a pile on the floor, my collection of dragon scales lining the wall, my boots seeming to grin at me by the door. I was home. Father was alive. And I could not determine if that was a good thing.

Friday. Who really cares?

Laura's sister Grace summed up what I feel perfectly.
"Tomorrow's Friday," her mom said.
"Is there school on Friday?"
"Well...yeah."
"So why does it matter that it's Friday?"

Best Jack Sparrow Quotes

I'm a big fan. Here are some of his best quotes, some inspirational and some hopefully not so.

"I have no sympathy for any of you feculent maggots and no more patience to pretend otherwise. Gentlemen, I wash my hand of this weirdness. "

"If you choose to lock your heart away you'll lose it for certain."

"Not all treasure is silver and gold."

"Ladies, will you please shut it! Listen to me. Yes, I lied to you.  No, I don't love you. Of course it makes you look fat. I've never been to Brussels. It is pronounced egregious. By the way, no. I've never actually met Pizarro, but I love his pies. And all of this pales to utter insignificance in light of the fact that my ship is once again gone. Savvy?"

"If I may lend a machete to your intellectual thicket."

"Shoot. Save me the bother of the fall."

"Seeing as you're still alive, I say it was very successful."

"William, tell me somethin'. Have you come because you need my help to save a certain distressin' damsel? Or... damsel in distress? Either one."

"Why fight when you can negotiate?"

Elizabeth: "There will come a time when you have a chance to do the right thing."

Jack: "I love those moments. I like to wave at them as they pass by."

"You mistrust me? Listen, you can mistrust him, trust me. "

"Guard the boat, mind the tide... don't touch my dirt."

Gibbs: "Let's put some distance between us and this island and head out to open sea!"

Jack: "Yes to the first, yes to the second, but only insofar as we keep to the shallows as much as possible."

Gibbs: "That seems a bit contradictory, Captain."

Jack: "I have every faith in your reconciliatory navigational skills, Mr. Gibbs, now where is that monkey, I want to shoot something!"

"This is the day you will always remember as the day you almost caught Captain Jack Sparrow!"

"She's safe, just like I promised. She's all set to marry Norrington, just like she promised. And you get to die for it just like you promised. So we are all men of our word really. Except for, of course, Elizabeth, who is, in fact, a woman."

"No. You want you to find this, because the finding of this finds you incapacitorially finding and or locating in your discovering the detecting of a way to save your dolly belle, ol' what's-her-face. Savvy? "

"No survivors? Then where do the stories come from, I wonder?"

"The only rules that really matter are these: what a man can do and what a man can't do."

Norintgon: "You are without doubt the worst pirate I've ever heard of."

Jack: "But you have heard of me."

"Of the two of us, I am the only one who hasn't committed mutiny, therefore my word is the one we'll be trusting."

"Me? I'm dishonest, and a dishonest man you can always trust to be dishonest. Honestly. It's the honest ones you want to watch out for, because you can never predict when they're going to do something incredibly stupid."

"Bring me that horizon."

Will Turner: "This is either madness... or brilliance." 

Jack Sparrow: "It's remarkable how often those two traits coincide."

Pintel: "You? You're supposed to be dead."

Jack Sparrow: "Am I not?" 

Fame

Shining always, bright before me

Like a star among the dark heavens.

It is so far away,

I could never get to it in a lifetime.

I could never reach it in a moment.

I could never master it in a heartbeat.

Though now in the night it seems so close

Hanging there in the heavens like a diamond.

If I took my hand and seized it,

It would be mine forever.

I would wear it on my neck

And it would shine bright,

A light in a dark place,

A light in a dark world,

Wholly mine.

But it is not as it seems,

That shining star in the night--

So small, so pale and safe--

If I were to reach it,

Breeching the gap

Of unending emptiness between us

And loneliness between us,

If I were to reach it

After years wandering alone,

I could not seize it.

It would not be mine.

It would be larger than my eyes could see

An infernal field of red and black

That I could throw myself into and die.

It would consume my heart,

It would destroy my eyes.

I would fall into it despite my resistance,

I would fall into that field of fire,

And all those years I had desired to reach it

Would burn with me into nothingness.

You are beautiful, star of the night,

You are so far away, and small,

You fill my heart with wonder and desire.

You are good, you are beautiful;

Stay there in the sky,

Be what you are not for my sake,

Look down on me always, little star,

And I will stay here waiting.

Turtles

Living in our large houses that shield us from the elements, it’s easy to forget how fragile life is and what a precious gift God has given us.

                When we went to the beach last weekend we found a nest of baby turtles hatching early in the morning. Dogs and crows found the nest before us and had eaten several of these small, struggling babies during their trip from their hole to the water. The rest of them were still underground when we arrived, and we watched with excitement as little head after little head popped out of the sand. We put them in a bucket to protect them and carried them home so they could be released at night, but we did put two of them into the ocean to watch them swim—what an adorable sight! They’d shoot forward under the water, then stick their tiny black heads above the waves to get a gulp of air before setting off again. We held a few, and I was amazed at how strong and durable they seemed already. I guess they have to be that way in order to survive.

                Can you imagine if humans survived the way turtles did? If we buried our kids in the sand, then made them crawl out before they suffocate, and crawl a quarter a mile to the ocean, then swim for miles and miles till they found us? And most of them would get eaten on the way.

                It makes me thankful for my warm house and a cup of tea. I’m glad God made people the way he did.

This turtle believes he can fly.

A Matter of Perspective

Once there was a hill between two towns--

Two ugly towns, two bickering towns.

Their priests were devils, mayors clowns,

And wandered they about with frowns

In switched-round suits and ragged gowns.

Oh hey ho! They never know,

Where the sun tomorrow goes!

They are pretty, they are slow,

These citizens between that little down!

And each town thought their own side was the best—

In wisdom best, in beauty best,

And each by God above was blest,

But not the other, east or west.

And neither saw the other, lest--

Oh what shame! If either name

Was thought the better or the same

In a townsman's eyes, insane,

Who stood upon that little mountain's crest!

So, ventured I one day up there alone—

Perhaps not in my heart alone—

Through meadows green and teeth of stone,

To see the side I'd never known,

And o'er the crest the sunset shone.

Oh pretty sun! On either side

You shine the same when day has died,

Had all those grim-faced people lied?

And so I said and muttered then a groan.

Then up atop that pretty crest I stood

In thought I stood, with chills I stood,

Though sky was stained with heaven's blood

Though rain began to fall and mud

Spilled at my feet in murky floods.

Oh, let it fall! I thought with peace,

I would not have it ever cease

For in my heart came gentle ease,

And calm my previous disheartened mood.

They were the same, in both their size and shape,

In field and mountain, all the shapes

Were just the same in valley's nape

Each house, each face, each window drape

All were the same and lay in sleep.

Oh silly man! Why rot in fear,

Why waste your eyes on pointless tears

Of enmity uncalled for here

When friendship you, with smiles glad, could take?

--Me

Mirrors and Cameras

The mirror is the biggest liar I’ve ever met. It tells me every morning, “You’re charming, your hair is perfect,” and I only half believe it. The camera, now, that’s a different story: it’s honest, blunt, and I’d rather not know its opinion of me.

The mirror says that my bangs parted to the side makes me look certain of myself. The camera says it makes me look like I’m balding.

The mirror says my lop-sided smile makes me look ironic and witty. The camera makes it look like a spasm.

The mirror says my face is a nice color. Maybe it’s the lighting in the bathroom, because the camera likes to poke fun at my freckles.

I’ve decided to not consult the camera about my looks again. I prefer the lighting in the bathroom.

P.S. You ever want to get me a birthday present, find me Lady Shallot's mirror. Now that. Is cool. Or find me the mirror of Erised at Hogwarts, that'd work too.

Going to college?

One of my teachers, Mr. Baker, said these encouraging words to us.


'You're going to go to college next year, and you'll want to find a homechurch near your campus. So, you'll go to a theology class and sit next to someone and say, "Hi, I'm a Christian."
'"Really? I'm a Christian too!"
'And you'll both go, "YAAY!"
'Then you'll explain to him you're looking for a church and he'll say "You need to come to my church. It's amazing. And our pastor, she's absolutely amazing! You'll love her! And wait till you meet her wife...when can I pick you up?"'

Two Husbands

A sign you lived overseas too long.

Thomas: "I'm going to marry you when I grow up Mom."
Mom: "No, I already have a husband."
Thomas: "So you can have two husbands!"
Mom: "No..."
Thomas: "Yeah, only men can have two wives."

South Asian Party

 (Mary holding baby Zoe in the car, all dressed up for the party and rather smushed in the back J)

Hannah's cousin had a "filling of the lap" ceremony and Mom, Aunt J. and I were invited along. I've never been to an American baby shower before so I couldn't really compare the two, but basically the idea behind a "filling of the lap" ceremony is this: the married girl gets to return to her family for the birth of her first child, and the her family comes and takes her home. People dance and give the new mother presents. It's really not that different than a wedding, except that the only guests are women. Usually weddings can be pretty depressing since the bride cries constantly and is probably not going to see her family again. But the "filling of the lap" party seems to idealize motherhood and womanhood something unique in South Asian Culture.

 Baby Zoe and her mother. Her face is so serene, kind of how I picture the Virgin Mary to look. I think Zoe's reaching out for her cousin.

 Hannah's hands, all dolled up for the party with henna and jewelry. I did her nails that afternoon, so we had matching fingernail polish. No, I didn't wear matching rings.

 Some girls were staring at me so I took advantage of their attention to get some pictures of them. I made them pose for me and got this really cute shot.

The essense of a party. There's so much in this picture that it's hard to put it all in words! The girl on the bed is the soon-to-be mother, and a grandmother is holding money over her head as a sign of blessing. The girl on the far right is a troup dancer and some of the ladies sitting on the floor are troop musicians.

And that obnoxious bright light in the corner is a cameraman. Everyone feels really awkward with him around.