| so...it's strange that i used to be really eager to share my testimony.
of how Jesus transformed my life. 180.
a couple weeks back i felt like God was pressing me to actually sit down, organize my thoughts, emotions and experiences and write out my testimony...and possibly, quite possibly share it...with a lot of people.
i thought about it for a day, thought about sitting down and actually searching my soul for some honesty, thought about writing it, and even imagined the scenario of sharing it...and decided to ignore the thought.
but here i am again. feeling pressed.
feeling pressed that i shouldn't just write it out to share it...but that i need to write it out for myself.
so i'll begin with the day i was born.
my mom was visiting her parents in the states, i came early, my uncle took her to the hospital, and then i was born in harbor city, california, making me a U.S. citizen-i believe that I was the first in my family
growing up, i don't remember much of my dad. in first grade when I was asked to draw a picture of my family, i drew my mom and my grandparents (mom's side). to me, my family was normal. it never occurred to me that my family was different until my all-time favorite teacher mrs. kirdella told me that I needed to draw in my father to complete the family. i can still remember thinking to myself...i don't know how to draw him because I don't know what he looks like...she saw my confusion and tried to explain...i don't remember what she tried to explain because there were a million different thoughts running through my mind in that moment.
as a child, i never questioned why this "father" was absent in my life. i just stored all those thoughts somewhere deep inside a soon-to-be thick, high-walled, cement box locked in my soul. if you knew me in 1st grade, you would know that i was one of the brightest children around, always smiling, energetic, fun-loving, curious, obedient, extremely social...even as a child, i prided myself in being the perfect kid. i loved the attention i received from my family, my teachers and my peers. i loved being affirmed and having the world revolve around me. i mean, i was a kid. the not-having-a-father thing didn't phase me at all. i was perfectly content with my life and had everything i could ever ask for.
then some time into my 2nd year in Taper Ave elementary school...things came to a screeching halt. my world literally turned upside-down. literally. what? where are we going?
all i remember are countless nights falling asleep in tears as my perfect world suddenly crashed and burned into what i imagined at that time as my worst nightmare. a nightmare i couldn't wake up from no matter how hard i tried every night.
i started school. it was all a blur. the sounds, the words, the faces, even myself, i felt like a blob of blur just getting by. i remember receiving a test, the teacher giving me...words i did not understand...i saw the paper in front of me...and just cried until all i could see was the puddle formed above the paper...i don't remember what happend after...
the kids weren't any help. they made fun of the fact that i could barely speak and understand korean even though I looked korean. "if you're from america, why don't you have blue eyes and blond hair?" they didn't have much appreciation for people from america as they do nowadays.
i never fit in. i tried. really hard to. it was a constant battle that i continued to lose. every time i felt closer to receiving some sort of affirmation or acceptance for being more korean, i was immediately reminded by my peers that I just didn't cut it.
if i had known that i would eventually come back to the states, i probably wouldn't have tried that hard.
it wasn't any easier at home. i could barely communicate with this man who was supposedly my father. he was extremely timid, quiet, didn't say much...but when he did, he was awkward...i just talked to my mom...i could tell that she didn't like him too much...i decided to adopt her attitude.
one day, he hit me. simply for not getting up quick enough to help out with my mom. it came out of no where and didn't help my already negative attitude toward him. even my mom didn't understand.
there were moments. he would buy tickets to watch a movie, go see a sports game...i would never go. i never really felt comfortable talking to him. even as i became more fluent in korean, i never developed any emotional attachment. he was just my dad...who was just kindof there...
then he started asking my mom to have another child with him. he wanted a boy.
he brought home medicine that would increase her chances of getting pregnant. he was having problems at work. as a professor he was required to publish a paper but he didn't want to...he then quit his job. my mom was upset. soon after they started talking about moving back to america for my education.
we left before my elementary school graduation. me and my mom that is. my dad decided that he was going to follow us after 2 years, after taking care of everything in korea...or that's what i was told...by my mom...
he never came.
then came her letter. she couldn't bare to verbalize it face-to-face with me. i never loved your dad. i didn't want to marry him but i got swept away by my family and i wanted to leave him but i had you so i was stuck.
great
im going to get a divorce.
great
he was never around anyways. won't be much different from how it has always been... were my thoughts at the time. really, the possibility of never seeing my dad didn't bother me much. at the time. so i thought.
then came high school. (oh, i should mention, that this whole time i had been going to church with my mom since age 3. and also that i was very active. choir, leadership, etc.)
i had had questions about God for a while. like questionsa about pre-destination and i saw God as a chess player moving us pawns around on his chess board. i was frusturated. because my grandparents weren't christian. which meant that they would go to hell. and according to pre-destination, God chose my grandparents out of heaven. God wanted to keep my grandparents outside. were my thoughts.
no one could answer my questions.
then i began to see the corruption in my church. people coming to hook up with the opposite sex, scoping for the cute girl/guy. people drinking, smoking...coming to church and then going to the back alley to smoke...
i didn't understand how people who professed to be christians could act this way.
in time, i came to a conclusion: christianity was crap.
along with the conclusion came a slew of other beliefs, such as...
i think jesus was just some man who was really good and people decided to follow him but he really didn't want to be followed. the people were the ones who decided to start churches and that's why churches are messed up and pointless.
i think all religions are good. they all have good intentions. so i think what God wanted was for us to search for our own faith and just believe that. you can come up with your own faith and as long as you live a good life, you can go to heaven.
but then...these beliefs didn't just stop there...
i don't know about God anymore. is he really there? like is he real? does he still care about people?
heck, if i only have one like to live, why not live it to the fullest? do everything i ever wanted. no holding back.
these were glimpses of the thoughts that i had when i actually let myself think. those moments were few.
i really don't remember which came first. the weed or the alcohol.
everything from those years just seem all mushed together into one giant...blob of uncertain memories.
i drank half a bottle of something (it was in a brown paper bag) one night. i didn't throw up. i just walked around by myself. i remember one of the guys following me and asking me if i was okay. i think i just sat on the curb by some parking lot...don't really remember much after that.
i smoked weed for the first time at my church. with a group of kids i really trusted. i was so high that day. running around the park next to my church. it was fun. i won't lie, i was really fun. i felt elated and lifted. from the darkness that had slowly started to creep into my heart.
i hated being at home. i hated my family. each one of them disgusted me. i hated everything about them. i just wanted to get away.
i can barely recall 2 am trips to people's houses and getting drunk...coming back home at 6am...
smoking became a regular activity whenever i went to church. i smoked after my exams as a stress reliever. i never wanted to be labeled as a pothead. so i watched it. i mean, my tolerance was so low i would get high off one hit anyways.
i was angry. i was always angry when i was at home. i felt like i was always suffocating. and my mind didn't help me much. i was always thinking so much. i hated thinking so much.
smoking relieved some of that tension inside of me. helped me forget for that time being. helped me relax and just enjoy that moment in life. helped me stop thinking so much and ruminating over every single thing. i guess...pot was my way of self-medicating myself from the inner turmoil that i was trying so hard to ignore. this is really difficult. i don't know why it's so difficult to try to think about the past, and re-live the emotions so that i can accurately portray what was going on for me.
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