The hardest part about letting go of the hurt, I felt, is to let the hurt subdue in so deep, that you have to admit, there's no way out. Many of whom that I know of who went through that stage either by applying some sort of anesthesia (smoking, drugs, beer, sex, etc) or actually identify the hurt as part of the person. In this category there are people who chose the darker path - acknowledging and epitomizing the hurt as an identity to be feared; or in other mean actually found something higher than themselves to associate the pain, and thus 'forgiving the hurt'.
In many sense, it is difficult - to be honest - to live through the pain, let alone acknowledging it. Many people felt the need to get away, precisely because every moment of visitation will inject certain amount of embarrassing and awkward expression - and in worse cases actually instill regrets and deep sadness. Some of those who through life in rather smooth sailing journey may not be able to appreciate the deep hurt the victim felt. Sometimes, their presence can be of a nuisance to the victim rather than being an uplifting embodiment.
-----------------[Memoir 1: Tribute to the 'him']-----------------
Whenever I hear radio broadcast on advertising competition in writing tributes to mother and father on Mother's or Father's Day, there's always a sense of happy tribute inculcated within the theme of the ad. I hear of recommendation that 'my Papa sticks with me, even when I was dumped by the lousy boyfriend', and 'my Mama cooked my favorite Beef Lasagna whenever she could tell that I have a bad day at school'. These are pretty much nice tributes - but I often thought about the depth of those tributes.
Nonetheless, I won't incur that I will have better, deeper point of view should I ever write one. Nevertheless, should I be given the opportunity to write, I would rather write something realistic and pragmatic. Something that actually connects with several thousands of orphans, several hundred thousands of children, several million parents who find parenting a task so difficult to do.
Honestly, my parents have not been good examples to us since young. Although my mom attempted to control our curfews and making sure we do the right thing in the public school, themes of manipulation, lying and being individualistic have always been the value that is inculcated. "The world is a rough place. Don't ever think about surviving outside with them. Never trust your friends, and always appear you are lazy in front of them, while study like mad at home. Make sure you don't hang around with them."
As a result, for the best part of my teenage years, I grew resentment towards my parents who I thought to be conniving and extremely manipulative. One important moment that made me recall the instigation of my hatred was when I was wrongly accused for surfing porn when my dad was actually the one finding it. My dad proudly condemned me in front of the family at the age of 11, and since then I always practiced apathy whenever there are pleadings from parents to want me to change. I always thought: "Well, if you really want me to change, why not you change? Stop liking porn and start respecting the woman. Stop wanting to be manipulative, and start being more forgiving towards people."
I had my chance of escaping the 'tyranny' when I studied hard enough to be allowed an entrance to one of the top universities in Asia region. My parents, being taking pride in good education, encouraged me to go (with a lot of reservation on my attitude, my money handling and several other means behind me). It was in this period of time, that I suddenly see a lot of things in the world in a different way. In addition, my dad's being diagnosed with manic depression caused the family to, for the first time in our lives, reflect upon the fragility of our human lives on earth.
-----------------[Memoir 2: The Struggle Within]-----------------
I remembered waking in the middle of the night, one of those days when I was staying alone in my hostel, the terrible moment of loneliness. I see my life as mere jokes, being a laughing stock with people around, especially reminiscence of my high school classmates. Back in those days, manipulation was the theme in order to get on top. Though I was from a rural background, the community motivation for common good was never prevalent. So, whenever I had those moments especially during the night, where I suddenly remembered the dark times while in high school, I couldn't sleep well. I would always pored myself over the net, surfing bad websites to put antiseptic effect upon the hurt.
I never wanted to acknowledge the hurt I felt. I always felt very retracted by the pain, because every time when I visit those moments, it was filled with hurt and pain. I sometimes find it inexpressible to describe the pain in the heart but I always found myself wanting to end the life. I remembered myself staying at the 8th floor of my hostel, with the corner most facing the balcony. It was exceptionally nice view and I always found myself wanting to feel how it was like jumping down and being a pulp in the middle of the road.
I am still a coward nonetheless, because I have a certain fear for height. I never recall why, but I remembered looking down and feeling quite scared. I loved the scenery across me, but not the view downward. And so, I could only just stand behind the balcony, thinking about what I should be thinking. And nothing came to me.
At that period, my cell group leader in my hostel actually recommended me to go through counselling session. To be honest, during that time I never considered myself to be a a candidate for healing. But my cell group leader insists upon healing and wanted the best for me.
During that period, I saw the demon in me a lot. I had to face head on with the hurt I felt with my parents without actually trying to run away from it. My counselor actually asked several difficult questions in order to address difficult issues that has evaded me for the most part of my teenage-hood. And perhaps the struggles still remain today, though I have changed to another counselor and on a less frequent basis. The pain is still there, the hurt is still there, and the life is still there.
-----------------[Memoir 3: One Faithful Night]-----------------
I remembered one night, very vividly, where I actually see myself being melancholy in life. I have good life, good parents, good child, good wife. I live until 60s and due to illness I passed away. Perhaps because of the smoking habit, I had a shorter life compared to my ancestors. In that vision, I saw someone talking to me.
Someone that is not common. An American, maybe. Or a European. I don't know. But he's a Caucasian.
He asked: "What have you been doing in your life?"
I couldn't answer. Strange, I thought. I have been contributing to my parents, my family, my kid, and my church. Why can't I say anything now?
Then he asked another question: "What have you been doing with the gift that He gave you?"
I remembered breaking down. Very strangely that thought really provoked utter regret in life. I didn't die a terrible death, and I didn't recall being condemned from entering into Heaven, but the thought of not doing anything for Him really provoked a sense of regret.
I remembered several years later, looking back at this single night - and found out how much I have changed after that night. My mindset has changed, my life has changed, my attitude towards people has changed. But one thing remained the same: I am still asking the same question, "What am I doing with the gift given to me?"
On that night when this vision was revealed to me, a song came in my head. It was not a song I heard before, neither was it a song written before. It was a new song, and while it was fresh in my mind, I wrote the song out, melody first - lyrics came weeks later. But theme about desolation was there, and I eventually subscribed to the idea that I realized now how miserable I have become. Epiphany of Misery came to me as an evocative title, and since then I have always played the tune to remind myself what's important in life.
On that faithful night too, I found out the gift in me in playing music. I never imagined I could play 'music' in ways I always thought can only be achieved by a rare few good musicians, but I found out that night that God actually granted a gift in musicianship in me, long before I prayed to God, "Give me the strength to play music for You."
-----------------[Memoir 4: Perspective Change]-----------------
Years after that faithful night, several thoughts have passed by. Some ideologies have been revised, and replaced by more graceful ones. I, in part, also realized something significant about human relationship and fragility of life.
I was being exposed to a lot more different stories of human vulnerability and their struggles to survive. Secular stories in 'Rachel Getting Married', 'Beyond Borders', 'Yakuza Moon', 'Once Was Lost' (First 2 being movies, second 2 being books) exposed to me the human within and their struggle to live the notion 'Be thyself' despite their addiction towards whichever ease their pain. Every moment in the stories draw me close to tears. I don't think it is just the empathy. I believe there's also a connection to the story protagonist (or antagonist, depending on how you look at it). And strangely, those worldview started to take shape in how I see life.
The breaking point to which I found myself admitting my failure in living was when I read Henri Nouwen's book, "The Inner Voice of Love". For once, I realized the significance of living for Christ in the midst of the pain, and I found the beauty of embracing the hurt. In the past, I have never associated the pain with the burden on the cross of Christ. Step by step, reading much Christian readings provoked me to think that Christ was with me, when I was being manipulated, verbally abused, wrongly accused, and bullied by people who may or may not intentionally want to hurt me. The feeling that God was there was initially voyeuristic and uncomfortable, until "The Return of the Prodigal Son" profoundly challenged my thought to see Christ, with his nail-pierced palms, touched me. The significance of the wound was to remind me that He, too was hurt.
That significance changed my life. And in simple meditation in life, I started to learn to hear and listen to His point of view about the things in life. Reflecting upon the path to Gethsemane, so many of the human's hurt was on His burden, and He could have asked His angels to bear them instead. Imagine the hurt of billions of people with so different predicaments and tragedies, in addition to human sinfulness in itself - being the burden of Christ. And at that point of time, just like John Wesley's arrival at Aldersgate, my heart was strangely warmed and comforted.
For the first time in my life: I see God. Not His face, not His presence - but I see God in everyone of us. We bear the image of Christ.
-----------------[Memoir 5: Through Music The Redemption Begins]-----------------
When I was on my first year in my university life, I was greatly appalled by my failure in adapting to the way things are in Singapore. The way they study, how fast paced they are, and how they play their lives like there's no tomorrow. I was greatly behind, and I felt stupid living in Singapore by myself. I never thought about going back in my hometown in Malaysia at that time though, and the only alternative that I thought of was to escape and die. That period was the entrance towards my depression which lasted for some years.
Towards the end of my first year university though, I met a bunch of people who played music and found out that I could play a little guitar. They exposed me to playing different kind of music, and letting me listen to metal songs as an exposure to wide genre of music. I remembered initially feeling adversely negated by those tunes, but the lyrics hooked me in. Soon, songs like "Master of Puppets", "One", and "Fade to Black" became my favorite songs.
At that time, I started practicing music, and playing so actively that I never stopped to evaluate how far I have been in my music path. But one single anime stopped me and inspired me to think about playing music as a medium of recovery.
"BECK: The Mongolian Chop Squad" - the anime that captivated several young kids in Japan during 2004 because of the theme of 'loser boy being the hero' captivated my heart. For the first time, I was so inspired by playing music madly that I would spend 7~8 hours playing music, even with blisters and occasionally bruises on the fingers in order to master a few classic songs. And since then I have to admit, the love of music has been strong. People would normally associate me with music after that event.
Perhaps it was at this moment when an unexpected mode of healing began in me.
Listening to songs in the era when my father was born allowed me strike in a very randomly weird conversation with my dad. Apparently, my dad knows Rolling Stone, Led Zeppelin, Queen and Motor Head. However, because of the his country feel inclination, he never listened far beyond those notorious hit songs. We, however, loved Johnny Cash, and in his repertoire I finally was able to talk to my dad on a normal, more friendly level. It was also at this time that my dad is recovering from his depression, and I was learning to accommodate to some of his struggles, especially when coming to Singapore. He has difficulties whenever in a huge crowd, and he would faint sometimes because of the people.
Music has taught me the matters of the heart, and I saw so much of the matters of the heart from music when I talked to many people. So it was never surprising that I would like to expand out the idea to writing songs and be an inspiration. Unfortunately, as of now, this has yet to take off, but I do believe one day. Even if that day may never come on earth.
-----------------[Memoir 6: The Tribute, Revisited]-----------------
On a recent Chinese New Year gathering, my parents, me and my sister went to my parents hometown, to meet up with relatives who we can only commit once a year. Even so, I do believe my parents actually dislike meeting with my father's relatives. It is quite true that most of my father's relatives are pretty superficial and unsympathetic. They are very much well to do and keep boasting about overseas trips, while my family still stick themselves in Malaysia without leaving home.
However, despite their well being, none wants to claim ownership in dealing with one properties that was left behind by their grandparents - a piece of land in Malacca. They kept ignoring and tell my dad to handle it. This has gone on for several years, and every time when there's such a meeting, my uncles (one being a Protestant, one being an atheist) and my aunt (she being a Catholic) were very condemning to my dad - saying that "ugly things like this should not be talked about. Just leave it alone. The state will somehow address the land".
My dad, however, decides that enough is enough. He started to complain, and started to condemn them for being apathetic and narcissistic about the land. He addressed how potentially good that land was, and actually raised the parable of the 'stewardship in talent' to the rest. Actually he interpreted wrongly the parable, but none seemed to care. One of the children of my aunt actually asked my dad why the sudden burst of emotion.
In very weird followings, my dad revealed to the entire family, with my uncles and my aunt left embarrassed, his upbringing as a kid till his teenage-hood, and how much he was being neglected and tended to his own. In a burst of emotions, he mentioned the lack of gratitude in the siblings, and how much they manipulated him since young, even till now.
My cousin was very embarrassed when she heard that, but she did suggest how sad our lives are. And in very awkward followings, my relatives became to realize how much me and my sister understood what happened in life, and how much ignorant they are towards us. The gathering left some of my relatives in a difficult situation. But well, there's a next year, and things will be the same again every year, I suppose.
But this single event gave me immense encouragement and started, for the first time in my life, my love for my dad. It wasn't in his so-called heroic acts of fatherhood when I was a boy that actually drew me to admire him. It wasn't his authoritarian characteristics that drew me to want to emulate him. But it was his strength in admitting and acknowledging his troubled childhood that caused me to respect him. Stories like this are not easy to hear, let alone to tell. And for the first time in my life, in my heart I cried for comfort, knowing that my dad has finally acknowledged his weakness. It is in weakness that we found strength in living through Christ, and that moment caused me to fall on my knees (in my mind) how mercy can flow through.
I am embarrassed to know that my uncle and my aunt didn't embody the living of Christlike-ness. My uncle who shared the same faith as mine, had a mistress and right now we are unsure how is his moral standing in church. My aunt always had a habit of putting up a nice front to everyone, including us, making sure her Catholic faith is pure. Sadly, when event like how my dad burst out his emotion that day came, she tried to hide it and say that my dad is sprouting nonsense. Perhaps she is more of a Pharisee.
But I am also ashamed that I too am hypocrite, and still struggling to live Christlike-ness. As of today, I still have urges to smoke, to fornicate, to drink till drunk, to curse and to be a jerk. And there are times which I knew that I see life as unbearable, and I still tried to live as God reign. But now, whenever I remembered that event when my dad burst out his emotion, I realized that he is shouting out loud for God's help, whether he knew it or not. And that comforts my heart, realizing that God listened, even though I sprouted 'nonsense'.
So, Dad... it has been hard taking care of me. I don't know if you ever will see this blog, but if there comes a time when you do, Dad, I want to let you know... I am sorry for being a bad boy. I hurt you and Mom. But I thank you for forgiving me, and still being my parents despite me being a jerk. And Dad... I have admired you ever since that day, and though I still find it difficult to talk to you on many occasions, you are still my Dad.
-----------------[Epilogue: Writing Down My Concern]-----------------
I liked to write random thoughts in short chapters, because I found that the way I think are not necessary synchronized and organized. Of course, it takes a lot of spiritual discipline to be able to pen down reflection without getting distracted. But there are occasions where you can sit down and write random thoughts, just to remind ourselves that we sometimes need to see things (whether they are clear or not). It is in such moments, that we found comfort in knowing that there's still something in life that we hold on to. For me, to live is in Christ, and I still try to learn that each day, with little footsteps.
I have been thinking about going to another church, because of the difficulties for the cell group to gel together, and the difficulties I have mingling around with the young adults in my church. I actually would prefer being with the much older adults there, but I have bad moments with them, and I found it difficult to reconcile (I skipped a few choral training, and I found it embarrassing to meet up with them every time). But with all due honesty, I loved my church, because they have brought me up to where I am today. I love music and sound engineering thanks to them, and I think I will not transit immediately to another church. I will give myself a year or two to have better transition.
While I still think about the transition, I also do think about my vocation. I remembered that night when 'Epiphany of Misery' came out, the image of famine struck my heart. And when I read some articles about countries facing famine, Sudan came into my head. Since then I always had occasion prayer, very short though, that God will provide a way to the people suffering there.
I will not talk much about what I know about Sudan, but I do know that the condition there was not supposed to be that bad. Human corruption, religious fanaticism, and various underdevelopment of medical aids there caused terrible plight in Sudan. Nonetheless, I pray that in little steps God will provide. To be honest, I am scared to go there. Very scared. But I pray that one day, I may have the strength to be called there, and take up the challenge. Pray that the day will not be too late.
No comments:
Post a Comment