They are waiting for you where you most want to be

For those of you who have ever felt very alone in a decision that you've made. For those of you who sometimes think that you must be the only person in the world who acts or thinks a certain way. For those of you who have ever found yourself insecure, doubtful about a choice you've made. This is for you.

Humans were not made to live life alone. Community and relationships are desired by everyone. Some may be able to survive with less of both, but nevertheless, they, too, will suffer through times of longing for companionship and understanding.

For those who find that they are more often progressing down a path off the beaten track than they seem to be moving with the masses, it can be a tired journey. They may wander off the main path, braving the unknown with nothing more than a flashlight in one hand and a secret dream in the other, hoping-- praying-- that they'll like what they find or that they'll find what they like. Right before veering away from the familiar, these individuals pause at the edge of the trail, turning around to wave one last goodbye to their family and friends, smiling to reassure their peers as well as themselves that they're going to be fine on their own. "I'll survive. Don't worry about me," they say, "I chose this. This way is better for me." And with one final, determined turn of their heads, they're gone.

Alone, they battle true horrors. Doubts creep in. They begin to feel cheated. "I left the main path because someone promised me that if I came this way, I would find a treasure infinitely more valuable than the one everyone else I left behind will come across." They think to themselves, "I was told my courage would be rewarded. But is this truly better? Maybe I should head back." But by the time they realize these fears, it's too late to change their minds; the trail and the people are too far behind. That's just a distant memory now.

For many years now, I have been waiting to jump off the main path. That life just never appealed to me. I didn't crave a traditional career, success, or wealth. But please believe me when I say that I don't think that I'm better than tradition. Far from being above all of that, I grew up in middle-class suburban neighborhoods, took piano and violin lessons, played soccer and basketball, got a dog, went to church, graduated from the University of Michigan with honors, and then immediately began working full-time. I played along for all that time. But, after a year of working a corporate desk job, I was bored. I had the most terrible itch to ditch the 9-to-5 and to try something new. And so I decided to quit my job, and to travel and adventure for a year instead. At the time, I was enthusiastic and proud of my decision. I thought everyone around me would feel the same way, too. And they did.. but only partially.

Me: "I quit my job, and I'm going to travel and see beautiful things this year."

Friend: "Oh, that's so amazing! I'm so excited for you. You're going to have such an amazing time. I'm totally jealous of you. You're so lucky!"

Me: "Well, hey, you don't have to be jealous of me. You can do it too! You should come travel with me."

Friend: "Oh... I really wish that I could, but I have to work."

Me: "But, I thought--"

Friend:"I also don't have any money to travel. Oh, you are just so lucky!"

Me: "I don't have any more money than you do to travel... I just decided that it was worth it for me to spend my money trying something new at this time, you know."

Friend: "Oh yeah.. that's great! That's really great for you."

And there it is. For you, but not for me. So with abundant applause and good wishes, they sent me away. With bags packed and tickets purchased, I set off for Thailand. I had a 23-hour flight to ask myself lots of questions. "Since all of my friends and family are busy working, no one wanted to travel with me. Am I crazy for wanting to do this? If this was really as great as everyone claims to think it is, why am I on this plane by myself? Am I being irresponsible? Do I really want this, or am I just running away from something? Am I the only person who has decided that this temporary "sacrifice" of a career and paycheck is worthwhile? Is there anyone else who thinks this too? Where are all of the other adventurers?"

The answer: ADVENTURING.

One of the very best things about traveling to Thailand is that I got to spend time with so many like-minded individuals. I found courage and assurance in them. While I was there, no one ever asked me to explain myself, like so many back home did. No one asked me how I was paying for the trip, exactly how long I was going to travel for, or what I was going to do afterwards. No one asked me to justify my decisions to them. Among the travelers, the only question that seemed to pass was, what's your story? Together, we enjoyed and celebrated life and adventure. Surrounded by complete strangers, I felt strangely at home. Like I was among friends. We shared about how we arrived in Thailand, how many miles our backpacks have endured, which restaurants we enjoyed, and whether or not it was better to travel around Thailand in a clockwise or counterclockwise direction. We shared our own fears and doubts about relationships and unemployment, sure, but there was no condemnation. We understood. The relief I enjoyed in Thailand was refreshing. I no longer worried that I was the only idiot who took a break from work to play. I was looking for other travelers, and I found them traveling.

I don't believe that any one is truly alone in their decisions. You don't have to feel insecure about your choices. You are not the only person in the world who acts or feels this way-- whichever way it is; there are people who understand. And they are waiting for you where you most want to be.

Go join them!

- bcl.

Far more shameful a thing than being wrong

"Pride probably isn't the best reason behind making a decision."

I didn't tell her at the time, but my friend had just tapped a nerve. Her slight tap sent an uncomfortable twinge shooting up from the very bottom tip of my heart up into the tangles of my brain, causing a deafening echo of "PRIDE... Pride... pri ...pr..." to reverberate throughout my body. The word traveled down to my stomach, leaving acid along its path. I hurt on the inside. 

I finished the rest of our conversation with as much grace as I normally manage, silently applauding myself for an acting job well done. After hanging up, I was left very much alone with my aching, twisting insides. I had the house to myself, and I focused only on the silence around me. The only noise that could be heard was the hum escaping the air vents as heat poured into the house. I became very aware of how loud the heat was; the hum moved quickly into a low growl, and then into a raging roar-- aggressive, almost. And then, suddenly, when I feared that the heat coming out of the vents would burst into a red-hot fire, it all stopped. And then it really became silent. 

I rose to refill my mug, hoping that a hot beverage would help to ease the chill that I suddenly felt against me. I returned to my chair, hot tea in hand. I was sitting alone with my pride. 

I don't normally refer to myself as a particularly prideful individual. I guess I just thought that the word pride seems too direct. Too easy. I am prideful, but I prefer to call it a fear of failure, or a need to please people. Somehow I thought it sounded better that way. 

My fear of failure is true, even sincere. But I am only afraid that the failure will be seen by someone else. I have no problem handling failures when they are committed in secret. It's almost like they don't really count. Maybe they didn't even happen. And the need to please people is true, too. I am prepared to bend in almost every which way in order to live up to the expectations of those around me because in truth, that seems much easier to do than to face any of the alternatives-- disappointment. Embarrassment. Pity. 

I never like to disclose my goals or dreams. Lying dormant and hidden within my own head is where they are safe. I have very little chance at success when my ideas remain available only for my own occasional viewing pleasure, but there is also no risk of people finding out about the parts of me that have lost a fight. I don't like to share my plans until I know they are solid because I'm weary of inviting an audience to my clumsy performance of changing my mind over and over and over and over. When doubts and anxiety arise about my publicized decisions, I fight them with every ounce of will that I have at my disposal. I become stubborn and defensive and frail. I don't want anyone else to witness my journey, I say, I only need you to see the start and the finish line. Never you mind how, or what it really took for me to get there. 

But the problem with all of this arises on the day when you realize that you've signed yourself up for a performance that will last forever and the ending is ugly. You don’t get a break, and there’s no way you can win. In fact, you’ve already lost. You realize that this moment of catching yourself bowing on your knees before your pride is far more shameful a thing than not winning a race you trained for, or for admitting that you are young and insecure, or for being flexible to changing circumstances.

So I’m owning up to it. Friends, I am really afraid of disappointing you. I’m sorry that I’ve given you power over me that you certainly never asked for or want. I’m sorry that I’ve turned you into my own greatest enemy. On most occasions, I wish so badly that I knew the answer to your questions that I pretend that I do. I’m old and I’m young, insecure about most things, and unsure about my plans. I know that you can relate and I know that you have grace enough to show me, and I am asking for it. I’m going to keep changing my mind about most things. In my attempt at staying humble, I often stumble, crashing for a moment into pride on the left, and then self-deprecation on the right. Forgive me for my pride, and I’m sorry about the lies. If you want, I’ll let you help me through my decisions and my changes. I’ll tell you about when I’m embarrassed, and the times that I get broken. I’ll share with you when I’m happy, too.

"Pride probably isn't the best reason behind making a decision."

You are right. 

Thankful that you finally said it straight at me, 

bcl.

Beep, #%!&

Dear Blogosphere,

Today, as I was driving home on the freeway, I crossed into some traffic congestion. A few short miles away from my exit, I tried to switch lanes, but found it a difficult task since the next lane was taken up by a continuous flow of cars. With my turn signal blinking rapidly, I looked desperately for a break in the stream of moving steel and rubber. After some time, I thought I saw a small gap; the car next to me appeared to be slowing down, or at least maintaining his speed, perhaps trying to let me pass in front of him. Unsure, I hesitated to cut him off. The driver then gave me a light honk, which allowed me to confidently switch into his lane. I waved thank you, and continued the drive home, pondering his kind gesture.

Or rather, pondering about the wonder that is car horns.

You see, the thing is, car horns are like really actually just one noise. But for some reason, they can still sound different depending on what each honk is trying to signal.

A mean, "HEY YOU SUCK" honk and a friendly "go ahead" beep are both produced from the very same flat, circular steel diaphragm from within the vehicle horn. But its range of emotion and its versatility are impressive, to say the least.

When I'm raging at the road, the stupid horn seems insufficient. But when I'm just stopped at a pedestrian crossing and there's a little old lady struggling to decide whether or not she should walk and I want to encourage her with a cute little gentle beep, it is far too loud and aggressive.

Therefore, I propose that automobile makers should create different horns for different moods. Think of the possibilities!

- #%!& you! honk
- friendly, Go ahead honk
- crude, Holler at that hottie honk (this one will be a hit for sure. It will make everything so much easier for the cat callers and whistlers who normally have to like, go through all the extra and unnecessary effort of actually rolling down their window and sticking their faces out of the window to scream)
- kind, but stern Move out of the way honk, available in various animal languages
- omg, HEY! honk for when you see your friends and want to get their attention so you can wave very enthusiastically at them until the light finally changes so that you can drive away and then text them about how hilarious and crazy it was that you'd run into them at that intersection, of all places!

You're welcome, Motor City. This is your ticket back to the top. Think on it.

Beeeeep,
-bcl.

Merry Christmas!

11:00 Wake up

11:15 Began Christmas playlist

11:30 Tea + Panettone breakfast with the Leungs, brother, and Joses

12:30 Open presents

13:00 Finish watching "Prisoners" (2013)

13:55 Spend some time with my Moleskine

13:57 Marvel at the goodness that is Josh Groban's "Noel" album

14:45 Reading "A Voice in the Wind"

16:15 Christmas nap

17:00 Sent Felix text message that read: "Where are you, bongbong?"

17:04 Felix: "Peeling shrimps at 4s place"

17:30 Put spinach squares into oven

17:40 Opened more presents

18:00 Errbody at Auntie Amy & Uncle Stephen's!

18:01 Everything is classic

19:00 Santa hat photos

19:30 Dinnerrrrrr

20:30 "Let's go to the basement!"

20:35 Play team charades

20:50 Aaron Li guesses "Corn. Cornchickencorn!"

20:55 Nathan accidentally closes game on phone

20:55.2 Rosalind yells out, "Nay Nay!"

21:15 Chris falls to ground

21:16 Vicky couldn't guess "deadwood" from that

21:30 Ryan returns to basement with a new plate of dinner

22:00 Christmas log & Pomegranate cake

22:15 Auntie Kat tells Gene + Nay Nay to pose for a picture; Ryan yells out, "KISS!"

22:30 Watch 2001 "hot-wired, white-knuckle thriller" Joy Ride, starring Paul Walker, Stephen Zahn, + bra-less girl, LeeLee

23:30 Steve Zahn makes excellent scared face

23:35 Steve Zahn hits on all girls in movie

23:36 Chris says "Aaron Li, you are exactly like this guy in every way!"

00:45 Late night chat with brother + Auntie Amy

Merry Christmas, world. Happy Birthday, Jesus <3

- bcl.

That expression just took on a whole new meaning

Good morning, Blogosphere!

For those of you who have been following (high five to you!), you know that I am currently living and working on a farm in Suan Phung. The past few days on the farm have been both interesting and challenging. I have enjoyed getting to know the people around this area and it has been fun to work so closely with so many animals. During my time here, I have also learned several important lessons. In accordance with the widely-accepted standard Rule of Threes, I shall share three of them with you. 

Lesson 1: Pigs are pigs. 

Growing up, I've often heard the expressions you eat like a pig, you sleep like a pig, and you're such a pig. Before this week, I would have chuckled casually at those insults and placed them in the same category of digs as the very elementary you're a dumb butt and your face is stupid. BUT NOW. I can see the true level of offense that is meant with those expressions. Not a joke. When you see and hear a pig eat or sleep, those expressions all take on a whole new meaning. It is truly, truly disgusting. I will never again use the aforementioned insults lightly.. I will only use them heavily and deliberately on the occasions that I really want to hurt you.

(Lulu being disgusting)

At the farm, we currently have one pig. Her name is Lulu and she is a hard-core vegetarian. She is also a supreme escape artist. In the four days that I have been here, she has escaped from her pig pen twice. Do the math-- that's one escape for every two days. Impressive for a stupid smart pig, eh? And also, for those of you who are thinking to yourselves, well, if this pig keeps escaping from her pen, why don't you guys fix the fence?, I say this to you: we do keep fixing it, but every time we wire up one break in the fence, she manages to Houdini her way out of a new one. Today's escape was her most impressive stunt yet, since she somehow managed to wriggle her fat ass out of a small gap in the fencing above her water bowl that was so small it was barely a gap at all. Whenever Lulu escapes from her pen, Arnon's (he owns the animals on the farm and he is amazing and he likes to sing) greatest concern is that she might get hit by a car while trying to cross the street. For the rest of us on the farm, our worst worry is what will happen to us when it's time to catch her to return her to her pen. If you have never participated in the art of catching a pig before, you cannot ever even know. It is a horrific endeavor involving nets, biceps, writhing dirty pink flesh, and the most horrendous screeches and wails you will ever hear. When we had to catch Lulu yesterday, I felt the way that all of the wizards and witches standing in the Gryffindor common room did when Harry Potter first opened the golden egg on dry land during the Tri-Wizard Tournament. Once Arnon had Lulu tangled in a net, she erupted in the loudest most gut-wrenching squeals, screaming bloody slaughterhouse and twisting her body around in an exorcism-style twirl. It took three people and many half hours to catch her.

Lesson 2: The mosquitoes always win. 

It doesn't even matter what you do. As humans, we so often foolishly tell ourselves that we stand a chance in this war against mosquitoes. That's why so many of us continue to spend money on bug spray, mosquito repellent, mosquito bracelets, mosquito nets, mosquito coils, mosquito incense, and mosquito candles. Once the sun begins to set each day, we hurry to change into long sleeved shirts and long pants and socks and close-toed shoes. But I can assure you that all of these battle preparations are in vain. The reasons for this are three-fold. Firstly, people always think that sundown marks the beginning of the war against the mosquitoes, but the truth is that while you were running around in the blazing sun in your tank top and shorts during the day, the enemy has already launched their first attacks and you're already losing by the time you reach for your long trousers. Secondly, in the game of numbers, the odds are truly never in your favour; you're you, and mosquitoes are trillions at all times. Thirdly, their battle strategy is infinitely better than yours. I mean, I don’t actually know what their strategy is, but yours is to slap yourself repeatedly all over your body, so..

Lesson 3: The Biblical imagery of sheep and their shepherd really does illustrate something important.

Having grown up attending church, I am familiar with the many passages in the Bible that talk about sheep and their shepherd. I was never confused by the comparison that was made between sheep and their shepherd, and people and Jesus. But while working on this farm, I have witnessed for the first time something pretty incredible about sheep. On my very first morning here, I, along with the other volunteers climbed the fence into the sheep pen to brush and wash them. The three of us had been brushing the animals for about twenty minutes when Arnon joined us. As Arnon neared the pen, he yelled out a greeting to us, and the sheep immediately rushed towards him in an excited frenzy of bleats and jumps. My immediate thought in that moment was Wow, sheep really do know their shepherd's voice. John 10:2-5 says 

The one who enters by the gate is the shepherd of the sheep. The gatekeeper opens the gate for him, and the sheep listen to his voice. He calls his own sheep by name and leads them out. When he has brought out all his own, he goes on ahead of them, and his sheep follow him because they know his voice. But they will never follow a stranger; in fact, they will run away from him because they do not recognize a stranger's voice.

Arnon let the sheep out of their pen for a few hours that morning to let them graze in the nearby fields. Early in the afternoon, he asked the volunteers to herd the sheep back into their pen. We struggled with the task immensely. The flock traveled closely together, and whenever we tried to get near one of them, they would all dart away together. After several minutes of non-progression, Arnon picked up a staff, walked towards us and quickly led them home. He laughed as he closed the gate of the pen behind the last sheep and said, "I don't know why it always seems like only I can do this." I thought to myself, it's because you're the shepherd. 

I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep. (John 10:11 NIV)

The Lord is my shepherd, I lack nothing. He makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside quiet waters, he refreshes my soul. He guides me along the right paths for his name's sake. Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me. (Psalm 23:1-4 NIV)  

After a few days here, I can now also attest to the truth of the rest of these verses. Arnon really does know every sheep by name. He really would lay down his life for his sheep. He really does guide them with his staff. He sleeps with them when one is sick. And he really does make sure that every last sheep is brought home.

(The sheep out for the day)

Seeing a good shepherd in action is truly refreshing to my soul. So often I struggle with understanding God's love for me. I sometimes feel that his love is a distant, generic one, and that while he cares about me, he couldn't really, really care about me since he has so many others to worry about as well. But now, the significance of Jesus calling himself my shepherd and calling me his sheep is becoming clearer. To witness the intimacy between a shepherd and his flock reassures me that Jesus keeps so near to me. Close enough to be able to tell when I'm not feeling well, and close enough to fend off any attackers before they destroy me. And he speaks to me constantly so that I can better learn and recognize his voice. With his voice he leads me and comforts me. I am one of many sheep, but I am not just one. The distance that Jesus would go to bring me home still amazes me and I am thankful for this particular lesson as it serves as a reminder of my Abba Father's great love for his people.

Love,
-bcl.

Animal farm

Dear Blogosphere,

The third leg of my trip to Thailand has arrived. I am currently sitting on a small picnic table underneath a straw hut in Chat-Pa-Wai, a small town in the subdistrict of Suan Phung in the province of Ratchaburi. I am on A FARM. For those of you who have been demanding greater details about my happenings here thus far, I figured that this is as good a place to begin as any.

My first week in Thailand was spent in Bangkok in the Siam neighborhood. The second week was spent in Chiang Mai with friends for the Loi Krathong and Yi Peng festivals. If you ask nicely, I will tell you more about what happened during that time. If you ask really nicely, I may even show you pictures.

This past Monday, one of my new friends and I took a bus from Chiang Mai to Bangkok. It was an overnight bus, and we were scheduled to arrive in Bangkok at 7 am on Tuesday. But because the driver drove like a maniac, in the pitch black of 4:55 am, we found ourselves standing in the middle of Khao San Road surrounded by other sleepy passengers from our bus and loads of luggage heaped around the curb. A few other travelers and I stumbled into a 24 hour McDonalds and unfolded some maps. We spent a few hours trying to figure out where we were, how to get to where we needed to get, and sharing travel stories and tips while we waited for the sun to rise over the streets of Bangkok.

Once the rest of the city caught up with the day, we parted ways. I took a taxi back to Siam Journey guesthouse to grab lunch with Gio. I took a few hours to just rest in their air-conditioned common area, draw a cartoon (see previous post), and chat with some other guests. In the evening I left to catch a mini bus from Victory Monument to Chat Pa Wai. The ride itself lasted around two and a half hours, and the only notable occurrence was that we stopped at a "gas station," I think.. to fill up.. on something, I think. We pulled up in front of some sort of pump, and this lady popped the hood (the hood!) of our van to do the fill-up. My dad called me during this car ride as well, and we had a hilarious conversation about zip lining and small towns with no internet. I miss my family.

Once I arrived in Chat Pa Wai at the bus stop-- and by bus stop I mean designated crack in the sidewalk--- I called Arnon, the owner of the farm, who then sent a tiny pick-up truck to retrieve me. I met Piriam (Arnon's friend) and the other two volunteers on the farm, Erica and Phoebe. On the way to the farm, we also passed some friendly neighbors, who peeked their heads excitedly into the car window and exchanged enthused Thai greetings with Piriam. Once I arrived at the farm, the first thing that I noticed was how stunningly dark it was. Oh man, I really am on a farm was my first thought. I immediately felt nervous about this volunteer commitment. I felt nervous because I suddenly realized how far away I was from everything and everyone else, I couldn't understand what the few people on the farm were saying, and at that moment I became strangely aware of how dirty eating and showering on a farm really could be. But most of all, I was nervous because I noticed that on our car ride from the "bus stop" to the farm, we did not pass a single 7-eleven. That is the ultimate indication of non-civilization.

Upon my arrival, the volunteers and Arnon helped me unload my bags from the truck and showed me to the volunteer quarters, a small building connected to the back of what appears to be an old bar and concert venue. Dust lined the old wooden counters and the small handful of foggy wine glasses that still sat silently along the shelves. The rest of the furniture in the space had been shoved to the edges of the room; old benches, tables and couches holding each other in a strange hug of sorts.

We walked back into our bedroom, and I was pleased to see a large, clean room with several beds and a nice shiny floor. The room smelled like bug spray, and I could hear a leaky faucet splashing against the floor from behind another door which I presumed to be the bathrooms. But overall, it was a pleasant place.

Once I put my bags down, we were brought back outside for dinner. As I neared the large kitchen hut, I noticed a few people huddled together closely studying an object that laid on the ground between them. I got closer, closer, closer. And then this happened.

Python!

I immediately sent the photo to my family along with the caption: "I have arrived at the farm!"

I enjoyed a beautifully simple, yet delicious dinner that Piriam had prepared for us with the other volunteers. Then they showed me where to do dishes and how to navigate around the many huts, teepees, buildings, fences, and trees scattered around the farm. I also got to meet a few of the farm's dogs. Exhausted from the preceding 24 hours of traveling with my heavy bags, I opted to shower after dinner and go to sleep. It was 9 pm.

I took a shower using a shower head that sprayed the most narrow stream of water ever, flooded the bathroom a little bit, and crawled into bed. I did a little bit of writing and went to bed listening to the sounds of Arnon and the few other volunteers talking, laughing and playing guitar on the roof of a gorgeous orange cabana of sorts that stood just a few short steps away.

This farm is friendly. The people are pretty amazing. It already feels familiar. I am learning things. I am already eaten by mosquitoes.

- bcl.

This is all the time

Hello Blogosphere!

There are a certain few things that people always tell me I must do when I am visiting Southeast Asia. They are as follows:

1. Eat good, cheap food
2. Buy awesome, cheap things
3. Get good, cheap massage

Based on some of my reflecting this past week, I must say that I am unoriginal and I am stupid.

Want to know how I know? Because of this. It has happened five times already..

(I have been in Thailand for nearly two weeks now, and I have paid money for two Thai massages.)

BUT! In my defense, for my last massage, I thought that if I tried something different, I may enjoy myself more. I asked for a 60-minute head-shoulder-back massage from a massage parlor in Chiang Mai (instead of a full-body massage). The end results were as follows:

B: I would like a head-shoulder-back massage, please.
M: Yes, okay.
B: Will you please be gentle?
M: Yes, okay.
B: Why are you massaging my foot? I asked for a head-shoulder-back massage.
M: Yes, okay.
B: But you're still massaging my leg. And you're pressing too hard! Please, softly! And remember, not my foot. I asked for--
M: Yes, okay.
B: You are massaging my butt.
M: Yes, okay.
B: Oww! Can you massage more softly?
M: Yes, okay.
B: Arggghhhhh.
M: Hahahahahhahaha.
B: I actually would just like to relax. Could you just rub my back gently or something?
M: Yes, okay.
B: Ahhhhhooowwww!
M: Hehehehehehehe.
B: Um, excuse me. I think it's been like, 45 minutes. Do you think you can move onto my back, shoulder, and head now?
M: Sorry, no.

Love,
bcl.