reallyhuang's Xanga

Praying

Mon, 28 Jul 2008 03:51:16 GMT

Going to aunt's church is always like going home. People speaking the language i'm familiar with, and people share the love and food i enjoy so much. The pastor is awesome, too. He went to Westminster, so though he preaches mainly in Taiwanese, sometimes he says some terms in English; his English is perfect with an old-fashioned Japanese scholar accent, which i like very much.

Recently i've prayed a lot. I pray when i leave and get home; I pray when i'm walking and running; I pray when I'm driving or riding a bus; I pray when I'm walking in the dark neighborhood or subway staion. Once I just jotted down what I said to the Lord whenever I prayed, and then I found I prayed about every thirty mins. I know God is walking with me, but sometimes I still feel He's playing hide and seek with me. No wonder people say we have to seek the Lord, seek the Lord...

We shall not question God, but I just can't help asking God "Why?~ Why?~" when i miss the bus three times a day, when i had to wait in Frankford Transportation Center for an hour and got home at 2:30 AM, when i was stalked on my way back to auntie's place, and when all the odds seem to be against me. But I still pray. I still thank God for everything He grants me. By praying I remember the good part of my life, and understand how truly blessed I am.

There are moments I feel I've had it up to here with all the difficulties. Strangely I haven't cried when confronting some challenges. Yet I did cry at two interesting moments. One was when uncle offered to help me move my stuff to the basement. I shed a few tears when he handed me a note saying he'd like to help. The other moment was when I played the piano the other afternoon. Somehow I just cried so hardly after my practice. I guess it's b/c a lot of childhood memory just flushed back while I wass playing. Oh, and after that sentimental meoment I left home to see what the neighborhood's like at night and came home at two thirty in the morning. What a wonderful life I have here!

Despite all these challenges: relationship, housing, job, visa status, money..., I still thank God for being with me and I know He will help me go through. Even though I don't know when or whether my prayer will be answered, I know God is helping me become a tougher person.

in limbo

Sat, 12 Jul 2008 10:29:57 GMT

I never like to whine, for compared to many other people I can't be luckier. Yet recently I've found that I'm living in limbo. I'm in a religious limbo, as I've never been baptized. I'm in a geographical limbo, as I'm now staying in LA, just like between the heaven (Taiwan) and hell (Philly). And I'm in a relationship limbo, going nowhere from the status quo. It's so easy to hate him who's gone out with her so many times after we're apart. Then I was not surprised when he finally said let's break up. But it's so hard to hate him who still always says he loves/misses me. I know staying in LA for such a long time is my passive way of escaping it all from Philly where I have a lot of memory, and I also know it's not a good way to do so. What else can I do?

I should just remember something delightful, like my days in LA. On Wed. auntie took me to the Getty Museum, and before that we stopped by her friend's place in Malibu. The view from the house's living room deck was awesome. The deep, vast, and blue sea reflecting the sun light. The Getty Museum was an interesting place. While I indulged myself in those ancient Roman collections, I suddenly realized that I've never been to any art/antique museum or exhibition with him during our days in Philadelphia. That's funny. That's not like me. I was the kind of person who would schedule an afternoon to visit a museum/exhibition at least once a moth during my high school and college years. Oh yeah but we finally went to two Smithsonian museums in DC, the Mütter museum, and the Body World exhibition in LA. Though we've been to many other interesting and amazing places, it's a pity that he was not interested in museum. Oops I should just track down happy things. Then after the Getty Museum, we visited auntie's 87 (or 90?)-year-old friend, Bernie. She's an amazing old lady who has a fabulous big garden with hundreds of flowers, plants, and orchards in it. She lives alone coz her husband died early, and she has a studio at home that has dozens kinds of materials for her artcraft works. Her house was small but full of artistic and interesting stuff. I really admire her attitude of facing life difficulties positively. Her independence and optimism inspired me that it's not that dreadful to live alone or not getting married.

Tonight's visit to the Getty Center was incredible, too. It's so touching to encounter with Cézanne, Monet, Renoir, Gauguin, Degas, and Van Gogh. I don't know why but whenever I look at the real and original paintings of impressionism, especially oil paintings, I always feel like crying when looking closely at the lively and strong strokes the painters left on the canvas. I can feel the painter's breath when they touched the canvas with the brush full of unbelievable colors. I can feel the tremor of the canvas delivered through the painter's wooden brush in their clutching fingers. Two hundred years has passed but how lucky I am I seem to be communicating with them through the touches of paints. That's why I also love antiques. I never ride a time machine, but the moment I look at a sculpture from, say, the Mesopotamian era, I've traveled back to the very second when it's made. My life is short, but the thinking and imagination in my head is limitless. Two hundred years ago Van Gogh never knew his painting would be gazed at by a girl from Taiwan. Two thousand years ago the goldsmith by the Nile River never knew the earings he made would be sent to Penn Museum and liked by a Taiwanese girl who had originally not planned to go to a reception held in that museum.

What a beautiful encounter, isn't it?

Under the Californian Sun

Sat, 28 Jun 2008 07:50:17 GMT

Life is always full of surprises, like I never expected to come to LA this summer, and never thought my stay here could be so pleasant. At first i was very reluctant to fly here with Antony because i was fed up with being interrupted by her phone calls during our trip. Every time when I began to feel more secure about the relationship, his phone would ring and his delighted voice talking with her would perfectly shatter the castle I had just built up. So when he wanted me to go to LA with him and travel for a few days before he went home, I was really pissed off. I couldn't stand any more trip haunted by her. But somehow i still gave in, feeling i'm a chess in his hand. Anyway then we traveled to many incredible places, visited friends, and had a lot of great food. The trip with him was generally great, only if I pretened to be deaf when he's talking with her. I'm not sure if i was happy with him, but i was sure I've seen and experienced a great deal of new stuff.

After he went home, I feel a little lost on the one hand, but on the other hand I've experienced some sort of freedom I haven't had for years. I can decide where to go today when I get up in the morning. I can choose where/when/what to eat when I'm hungry. I can decide what to wear depending on my mood today. When I step out of my aunt's house, Californian sunshine/sunset greets me with pleasant breeze. When I step in the house, their cute puppy, Fugu, run toward me and aunt/uncle is preparing food for me. I feel very grateful to them, and thank God for giving me such a wonderful time without much worries in LA. I still remember last winter when I stayed here before Christmas, I was in an emotional turmoil, but my aunt's love and great food were the best medicine. Although I didn't know something worse was unfolding before me, at least I've gained some energy from them. It's been half a year from then, and many more things have changed. The only thing that remains the same is the sense of security I have when I stay in this house. Last winter was the coldest ever to me, and I cried almost every night. However, now when I stay in the same room again, I feel so peaceful and carefreel. To some extent the same problem still exists, but I've regained my ability to heal through the love of God.

Another amazing thing is when I read the Reader's Digest on the shelf in this room, i found that i've read them before when I visited, in 1994. That was fourteen years ago! At first I just felt why the jokes in many issues are so familiar to me. I doubt if I've eread them somewhere else. Then when I read a story that I still remember I've read in RD, I was stunned. Years have passed but I still remember the plot, or even certain sentences from that story. And I still remember how I felt about the US when I was reading those stories as a kid. Exotic. English. Far far away. As a kid I never knew I would pick up the same book and feel so amazed fourteen years later. As a little girl I never thought one day I would drive on that American highway "I-95" mentioned in a story. Then as I revisited those story after so many years, I am so awed by how fast time passes, yet how our memory can be either condensed or connected through the flow of time.

Chess

Fri, 27 Jun 2008 06:20:20 GMT

Recently I've bee n listening to an old song very often, Faye Wong's "Chess." The song is about being controlled by the other in a relationship, just like the chess who can't make the move by itself. Ha! It's totally my song. So if it's gonna be him, I need to put up with many things and terrible s*x for the rest of my life. But he cried like a baby when he had to leave me. And he begged me not to leave when I was deeply hurt by him. If I just follow my heart, I couldn't stay any longer. If I act out of my ration, I have to stay to make him happy. Yet I'm like a lifeless chess that's not able to move by itself. Now I suddenly understand why he's so good at Chinese chess. This explains all.

Farewell, my room...

Thu, 12 Jun 2008 06:54:08 GMT

still can't belive i'm moving out of the room i've stayed for two years... so i'm kinda sleepless tonight... trying to be awake for longer time in this room, enjoying the nice view of campus and Philly Int'l airport, though also wanting to sleep in my cozy bed for more time...

Perhaps sometimes i'm just too sentimental, but this room is full of memory, all kinds of memory. Memories that are happy, sad, sweet, bitter... and my room's like a witness of moments of laughing or crying... Birthday surprise, crying to sleep for months, studying hard or painfully, having my first phone interview...no matter what happened, my room's always here with me.

Thank you & bye, room 1311.

cozy bed/lights & colorful fabric on the wall

coats, keys on the door, andy warhol's painting, photos, my stuff...

sunset, GSE, Wharton, gym, Hilton, airport

my favorite lamp, pillows, bed sheet, pillow case, photo of family, and books (Bible, the Power of a Praying Woman, He's not that into you) that were with me during the toughest time...

Is honesty really the best policy?

Thu, 01 May 2008 05:39:12 GMT

So how honest should one be in a relationship?

I'm glad he's very honest to me, and so am I. But is it really a good thing?

He's so honest that he tells me everything. He tells me things like what he's done to her, how he feels, and what he thinks. It's good, I know. But it really hurt when we had the following conversation yesterday:

Me: Ok. Promise me not to do it or talk to her anymore.
Him: Hm... i'm not sure...Let's not talk about this. I don't want you to mention it for the rest of our life.
Me: Then you shouldn't have done that!
Him: I shouldn't have told you.
Me: Excuse me? Did you say you shouldn't have told me, NOT you shouldn't have done that?
Him: Yes. I regret telling you the truth.
Me: Not regretting doing that?
Him: No I don't regretting doing it. I only regret telling you everything.

I felt I was slapped by his words, but I don't know how to show him my anger. It's a taboo, and he doesn't wanna hear anything about it. I hate getting stuck in this kind of relationship. I love him and he loves me, but in a kinda weird way, or in a terrible trio. It really hurts. Sometimes I hate myself so much, and I hate myself of not being able to hate him but myself. Such negative thought on myself sometimes really throws me into the darkest abyss. The only thing I can do is to pray, as I don't know how to trust men anymore.

So this is life

Fri, 25 Apr 2008 06:50:15 GMT

Hillary won Pennsylvania, yay! I'm not interested in politics, and it doesn't matter to me who's America's next president. I'm happy for Hillary not because she's better than Obama (they're equally excellent), but because I can identify myself with her. I don't have her brain, and I don't have her ambition. But at least I'm like her, being with a smart and fun man who happens to be quite popular among girls.

Sometimes I feel I've forgiven him, and he's come back to me. Then I found it's not true at all. Sometimes we talk about "affairs" jokingly as if I don't care, but in fact I'm deeply hurt. Sometimes I feel like a queen; despite other ~~concubines~~ mistresses exist, nobody can take away my title and power, as long as the king still loves me and gives me a secure and well-off life. People say "Are you out of your mind?" Perhaps I am. They said it's my choice, so you have to bear the agony yourself. Yes I do. I thought I'm strong enough to take it, then I found I'm getting strong by crying myself to sleep. So this is life.

Nice day

Mon, 14 Apr 2008 03:51:41 GMT

Yahui invited me to her aunt's concert today. It was a trio of piano, cello, and clarinet. The artists' performance was great; but the place was kinda hm.... Anyway the best part was the BBQ after the concert! The lady who held all these series of concerts is a good friend of Yahui's aunt, so after the concert she invited the musicians and us over to her house. It was a beautiful stone hundred-year-old house sitting in a great neighborhood. Wonderful garden & house, yummy BBQ, adorable kids (especially 2-year-old Lena), charming & humorous cellist, heavenly beautiful flowers... you all made my day! Thanks!

After we came back to the dorm, Yahui showed me her wedding gown -- another gorgerous thing today. I'm very happy for her, and am excited about her wedding in May. I kinda envy her, but what I envy most is how sure she is of getting married and the person she's gonna marry. Wish her happiness forever!

The other day i was arguing with my high school teacher, who's now a buddhist nun and my good friend, about which situation's more miserable: loving someone who doesn't love you in return or cheats on you, or loving someone who also loves you but you two can't be together. I vote for the former one, while she thinks the latter one. She said if there's only love on one side, at least only one party has to worry about the situation, or, to suffer. She's probably right, but I said I feel like an idiot in that situation. But I know why she feels the second situaiton's worse. That's another story.

A thorn in the flesh

Sat, 12 Apr 2008 03:57:59 GMT

In a healthy relationship, it's good to admire and appreciate what your better half's doing. Sometimes I even envy or get jealous of his talents or strong points, but in a positive way. However, there's one thing I don't know if i should be jealous of - his popularity with girls. I mean, he's liked by many nice (yeah, honestly they are) and lovely girls, while I've always met pervs. He got a huge box of presents from her today, a box full of sweet and thoughtful gifts like cards, dolls, shirts, CD, razors, etc., anything a girl can think of to please the boy she likes. And it wasn't the first box. He was very touched, of course, but I don't know what I should react. I tried to be happy with him, as he has such a nice(?) friend who cares about him very much, but deep in my heart I felt a thorn in the flesh. I kinda kicked the box jokingly to show my anger, and he was outrageous. I asked him to give me the cute little sheep doll given by her, but he refused, which meant he cared about those things very much. I wonder if there are any rules of dealing with gifts from your bf's admirers. Perhaps I shouldn't be angry. Perhaps I should thank her and act like I'm a generous person. No matter what the rules are, all I need is a tweezer to get the thorn out of my flesh.

At least there's something exciting today. Yay!

1. Great lunch in Chinatown.

2. I chaired another teaching circle and attended a great workshop about job searching for NNEST.

3. The talk given by Joanna Labov was great, and I took a photo with her & her dad- William Labov! I even talked with them & I was thrilled!!

A legendary jeans

Fri, 11 Apr 2008 03:22:28 GMT

Being a newbie in Xanga, I didn't know it's an "honest" blogsite: you can't change the date of the entry. Unlike other blog sites I use where I can change the date of my blog entries, Xanga forces me to write down what really happens today. I don't know if it's good or bad. It's good b/c I won't procrastinate, but it's bad b/c I can't write something that happened a few days ago. I like to write down things on the exact date they happen, like keeping a diary. But anyway i'm writing this entry in memory of my jeans that saved me last week.

The jeans that saved my knee...

All right maybe i'm being too sentimental, but somehow I really thank my jeans for keeping my knee well. I tripped on my way to school last Tuesday, and I fell so hard that my knees hurt badly. People, or at least I, usually feel more embarassed than physically hurt when falling in the public, but this time it hurt so much that I didn't care if there were anyone around. Then when I stood up, I found my jeans was ripped and turned into jeans perfect for a hard rock concert (though i hate it). The best thing was that instead of getting injured, I only had a bruise on the knee. If it hadn't been the jeans that reduced the impact, my knee would have been wounded and left a scar later. After examining my ripped jeans and perfect knee, I couldn't help saying "Thank you" to my jeans. It's like the legend of jade in Chinese tradition, as people say jade protects the person who wears it. So I often hear stories like an old lady falls over without getting injured, but her jade bracelet just cracks because it tries to "save" its "master." Isn't it beautiful? My jeans are the Western version of the legend of jade. cool.

This pair of jeans is the only one I've had for the past one year. I bought it in Orlando last May when Antony's grandparents visited. Looking at it brings a lot of memory, with different people at different moments. Later that day I started to have a serious stomachache and was hospitalized the next day. It wasn't my day, and nor my jeans'. Yet it will be a jeans to be remembered.