The heart to heart of freedom's chain,
The liberty and choices made,
The options which we must attain,
We deem as ours, demand our pay.
Yet pay's demand leads all astray,
While work must wait another day.
Impatience shows its subtle scorn,
From which Pandora's jar is born.
The truth of pain relies on this:
That we are all too used to bliss,
Too spoiled by our fathers fore,
Thinking we deserve much more.
But once again the real cares not.
The time rolls on, and we're forgot.
Pandora's jar had Satan's keys,
But perhaps most harrowing of these,
Is unlocked, unleashed reality.
The truth can be the worst of all.
I said, no! I don't need professional help!
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Thursday, February 26, 2009
A Musing
Comedy via Tragedy.
The growing pains of growing up
Are showing signs of showing up,
Revealing somber seasoned trials,
Tripping in the narrow aisles.
Growing up is simply painful.
Still I feel a bit disdainful
Of those who hide their pains so well
While I claim my banes are hell.
I cannot seem to work it out,
To deem my life as worth it now,
To ween my flaws and change myself,
From my former me estrange myself.
Far stranger than my inner own
More foreign than what I think known
Is how, despite my earnestness,
My growing pains have grown?
And earnest as I claim I am,
My actions lose the loving lamb.
A failing shepherd cannot guide.
The flock of sheep already died.
But growing up and learning so
Experience will often show
That I go back to herding sheep,
And herd the beasts I'm supposed to keep.
Responsible for this and more,
I look ahead and must implore
My mind to change unfailingly,
Or fate will keep curtailing me.
Restricted by poetic shit,
I can't lament my fate a bit.
My choices shape my destiny.
I feel I've lost the best of me.
And now my pains are sleeping,
Replaced by laughs and leaping.
I'll still the woes I'm keeping.
My laughing is my weeping.
And my weeping is my laughing.
The growing pains of growing up
Are showing signs of showing up,
Revealing somber seasoned trials,
Tripping in the narrow aisles.
Growing up is simply painful.
Still I feel a bit disdainful
Of those who hide their pains so well
While I claim my banes are hell.
I cannot seem to work it out,
To deem my life as worth it now,
To ween my flaws and change myself,
From my former me estrange myself.
Far stranger than my inner own
More foreign than what I think known
Is how, despite my earnestness,
My growing pains have grown?
And earnest as I claim I am,
My actions lose the loving lamb.
A failing shepherd cannot guide.
The flock of sheep already died.
But growing up and learning so
Experience will often show
That I go back to herding sheep,
And herd the beasts I'm supposed to keep.
Responsible for this and more,
I look ahead and must implore
My mind to change unfailingly,
Or fate will keep curtailing me.
Restricted by poetic shit,
I can't lament my fate a bit.
My choices shape my destiny.
I feel I've lost the best of me.
And now my pains are sleeping,
Replaced by laughs and leaping.
I'll still the woes I'm keeping.
My laughing is my weeping.
And my weeping is my laughing.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
HAPPY BIRTHDAY LONG! (Yes, it is a story...)
It had to be a dream, he thought.
This couldn't be real. The sun was too perfectly warm, the beach too nice. The waves were just the right temperature. This was too close to heavenly.
So he closed his eyes tightly, expecting to be greeted by his ceiling and the comforts of his room when he opened them again. Yet, he was still at the beach, within the setting of a perfect evening.
Shrugging, he started walking along the lines of the tides, meditatively and contemplatively. He just walked quietly, the sounds of the waves his comforting companion.
Then, as he turned around, he realized he was being followed. He stopped and saw all his friends. They were following him but all stopped as he stopped. They were standing separately, too, silently. He tried to walk back to reach them, but it felt like he was running in place, never to hug or embrace his friends. He was sad, because he thought he was alone, even when his friends were there.
So he kept on walking, and they kept on following him.
After a few miles of walking, he came across a boat that was tied to the beach. An old man was sitting by a booth and greeted him.
"Hello there, friend!" the old man said. "You're supposed to take this boat!"
He was confused. Where was he? he asked the old man, and where did the boat go?
"Well," the old man started to reply. "This boat leads to heaven, and you're supposed to go." The old man smiled convincingly.
This was perfect! He's going to heaven! He felt a surge of relief when he realized his life's work had led him here. Before he got aboard, however, he saw his friends. Were they coming too?
"I'm sorry," the old man said. "You have to leave your friends here. They really aren't invited."
This didn't make sense. His friends definitely belonged in heaven too! He couldn't imagine going anywhere without knowing his friends were within contact.
Then he stopped and discerned. He had to decide. Stay back with his friends or not go to heaven?
The old man didn't seem to care too much when informed of his decision.
"Well, don't say I didn't warn you," the old man said as the boat left.
He was sad, but at least he was in the company of his friends, at least he knew he had friends. No matter how silent they were, he knew they were his friends.
So he kept on walking, his friends following behind him in a strangely loyal way.
Before he knew it, he came across an old hut where another old man lived.
"Hey, there," the old man greeted. "Welcome to heaven."
He was confused again. Didn't the boat just leave for heaven?
"Oh no," the new old man laughed. "That was Satan trying to tempt you into hell."
Why didn't someone stop him? It's not fair to innocent people walking by to be tricked.
"Well," the old man replied. "We don't mind too much. We want to see who would choose their friends over themselves. That way, we can weed out the selfish people. People who make it here are the ones who really belong in heaven."
And with that, all his friends ran up to him, hugging him and laughing and celebrating.
And Long knew, like he always did, that heaven wasn't where someone else told you to be, heaven was where you choose to be with God. And where better can you find God than in your friends?
"Where two or three have come together in my name, I am there among them." - Matthew 18:20
Happy birthday, Long! God's there with you always =)
This couldn't be real. The sun was too perfectly warm, the beach too nice. The waves were just the right temperature. This was too close to heavenly.
So he closed his eyes tightly, expecting to be greeted by his ceiling and the comforts of his room when he opened them again. Yet, he was still at the beach, within the setting of a perfect evening.
Shrugging, he started walking along the lines of the tides, meditatively and contemplatively. He just walked quietly, the sounds of the waves his comforting companion.
Then, as he turned around, he realized he was being followed. He stopped and saw all his friends. They were following him but all stopped as he stopped. They were standing separately, too, silently. He tried to walk back to reach them, but it felt like he was running in place, never to hug or embrace his friends. He was sad, because he thought he was alone, even when his friends were there.
So he kept on walking, and they kept on following him.
After a few miles of walking, he came across a boat that was tied to the beach. An old man was sitting by a booth and greeted him.
"Hello there, friend!" the old man said. "You're supposed to take this boat!"
He was confused. Where was he? he asked the old man, and where did the boat go?
"Well," the old man started to reply. "This boat leads to heaven, and you're supposed to go." The old man smiled convincingly.
This was perfect! He's going to heaven! He felt a surge of relief when he realized his life's work had led him here. Before he got aboard, however, he saw his friends. Were they coming too?
"I'm sorry," the old man said. "You have to leave your friends here. They really aren't invited."
This didn't make sense. His friends definitely belonged in heaven too! He couldn't imagine going anywhere without knowing his friends were within contact.
Then he stopped and discerned. He had to decide. Stay back with his friends or not go to heaven?
The old man didn't seem to care too much when informed of his decision.
"Well, don't say I didn't warn you," the old man said as the boat left.
He was sad, but at least he was in the company of his friends, at least he knew he had friends. No matter how silent they were, he knew they were his friends.
So he kept on walking, his friends following behind him in a strangely loyal way.
Before he knew it, he came across an old hut where another old man lived.
"Hey, there," the old man greeted. "Welcome to heaven."
He was confused again. Didn't the boat just leave for heaven?
"Oh no," the new old man laughed. "That was Satan trying to tempt you into hell."
Why didn't someone stop him? It's not fair to innocent people walking by to be tricked.
"Well," the old man replied. "We don't mind too much. We want to see who would choose their friends over themselves. That way, we can weed out the selfish people. People who make it here are the ones who really belong in heaven."
And with that, all his friends ran up to him, hugging him and laughing and celebrating.
And Long knew, like he always did, that heaven wasn't where someone else told you to be, heaven was where you choose to be with God. And where better can you find God than in your friends?
"Where two or three have come together in my name, I am there among them." - Matthew 18:20
Happy birthday, Long! God's there with you always =)
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Swerve
"How can someone possibly love someone else this much?" my mom asked me as we were driving back to Stockton.
"It doesn't make sense, a mother's love for her child. But I do. I love you so much it's beyond reason."
I smiled, keeping my eye on the road.
"It's probably an evolutionary development to make sure mothers get their kids to survive," I replied cynically.
Before she could respond, the car in the fast lane next to me changed lanes abruptly, definitely on course to hit me. Reacting as accordingly as I could, I swerved over to the next lane of the four-lane highway.
"Andrew, what are you do-!" my mom began to shout.
But she was cut off by the ensuing reaction swerve I needed to get back on course, to compensate for the overly sharp turn I had made. The next few moments thrust me into the palate of death.
I swerved uncontrollably, to the left, then to the right, unable to get a steady handle on the steering.
"ANDREW! WHAT ARE YOU DOING! OH MY GOD!" my mom was yelling, one hand holding the handle above the passenger seat's window, the other gripping my arm in a vain attempt to control the movement of the car.
I didn't have time to respond. I just had to keep going straight, keep trying to get the car back in a lane as the car kept going out of control. Left and right I turned, each swerve making up for the sharpness of the last one.
After multiple swerves, I found myself dangerously close to driving off the highway into the bank while swerving even more dangerously close to the divider. I could smell the burning rubber of our new tires. There were moments where the car was facing sideways but was still moving forward on the highway, seconds where the car was moving to the left without the rolling of the wheels. The screeching of our tires were almost harmonic to my mother's pleas.
"ANDREW! OH MY GOD! STOP!" she cried.
And then we tail-spinned fully around, the smoke from the burning rubber still lazily escalating in our headlights as we came to a stop. A split second I took to make sure we had stopped completely. We were facing the headlights of on-coming traffic. The cars behind us had slowed in the wake of our insanity. They were like white eyes seeing clearly in the dark of the night, judging cautiously and rationalizing the danger.
I turned on the emergency lights and slowly drove to the right bank. Cars inched forward carefully and sped off. One stopped behind us, presumably to check if we were okay. It left shortly after.
I was still breathing, still recovering. My mom was crying, clearly shaken.
"We should be dead," she sobbed. "But we're here. We should be dead. We didn't get hit. We didn't die. We should have been dead. We survived," she intoned, weeping still.
No, we didn't die. As we have been doing our entire lives, we survived.
Yet, I could never shake off the feeling that there were multiple moments were I should have died, where I should have ceased to exist. It takes a near-death experience to realize the fragility of our lives, the very real possibility of death.
Ironically enough, it takes death to realize life.
And to all my friends out there, I want to tell you that I care deeply for all of you, even if I may not have shown it adequately. I care immensely for your safety and your friendship.
Because no matter what kind of evolutionary trait we have developed as a species, ultimately one thing has not changed. Our deaths are as final and permanent as they will always be.
But likewise, our lives can be infinitely more. So thank you, friends, for making my lives more. =)
"It doesn't make sense, a mother's love for her child. But I do. I love you so much it's beyond reason."
I smiled, keeping my eye on the road.
"It's probably an evolutionary development to make sure mothers get their kids to survive," I replied cynically.
Before she could respond, the car in the fast lane next to me changed lanes abruptly, definitely on course to hit me. Reacting as accordingly as I could, I swerved over to the next lane of the four-lane highway.
"Andrew, what are you do-!" my mom began to shout.
But she was cut off by the ensuing reaction swerve I needed to get back on course, to compensate for the overly sharp turn I had made. The next few moments thrust me into the palate of death.
I swerved uncontrollably, to the left, then to the right, unable to get a steady handle on the steering.
"ANDREW! WHAT ARE YOU DOING! OH MY GOD!" my mom was yelling, one hand holding the handle above the passenger seat's window, the other gripping my arm in a vain attempt to control the movement of the car.
I didn't have time to respond. I just had to keep going straight, keep trying to get the car back in a lane as the car kept going out of control. Left and right I turned, each swerve making up for the sharpness of the last one.
After multiple swerves, I found myself dangerously close to driving off the highway into the bank while swerving even more dangerously close to the divider. I could smell the burning rubber of our new tires. There were moments where the car was facing sideways but was still moving forward on the highway, seconds where the car was moving to the left without the rolling of the wheels. The screeching of our tires were almost harmonic to my mother's pleas.
"ANDREW! OH MY GOD! STOP!" she cried.
And then we tail-spinned fully around, the smoke from the burning rubber still lazily escalating in our headlights as we came to a stop. A split second I took to make sure we had stopped completely. We were facing the headlights of on-coming traffic. The cars behind us had slowed in the wake of our insanity. They were like white eyes seeing clearly in the dark of the night, judging cautiously and rationalizing the danger.
I turned on the emergency lights and slowly drove to the right bank. Cars inched forward carefully and sped off. One stopped behind us, presumably to check if we were okay. It left shortly after.
I was still breathing, still recovering. My mom was crying, clearly shaken.
"We should be dead," she sobbed. "But we're here. We should be dead. We didn't get hit. We didn't die. We should have been dead. We survived," she intoned, weeping still.
No, we didn't die. As we have been doing our entire lives, we survived.
Yet, I could never shake off the feeling that there were multiple moments were I should have died, where I should have ceased to exist. It takes a near-death experience to realize the fragility of our lives, the very real possibility of death.
Ironically enough, it takes death to realize life.
And to all my friends out there, I want to tell you that I care deeply for all of you, even if I may not have shown it adequately. I care immensely for your safety and your friendship.
Because no matter what kind of evolutionary trait we have developed as a species, ultimately one thing has not changed. Our deaths are as final and permanent as they will always be.
But likewise, our lives can be infinitely more. So thank you, friends, for making my lives more. =)
Sunday, February 15, 2009
"Do I Need To Worry About You, Bob?"
As is the case with many people as the second semester comes in full swing, I have been quite caught up with various aspects of my life.
That's just a vague and generalized way of saying I'm busy.
In fact, I'm so busy, that if any of you paid attention to my last post, you would notice the flaw in the date. I don't mean date like Valentine's Day date because...well refer to either Long's blog or below for an explanation.
I'm referring to the date and time the last entry of my blog was posted. The entry talked about Valentine's Day because I published it yesterday (February 14th). However, since I started the post on Tuesday, February 10th, the date corresponded to the start date.
Thus is the extent of my procrastination/busy-ness.
Actually, to be honest, I've been keeping pretty busy with school and stuff. In fact, since I came home for the weekend (Friday ca. 6PM) until now, I have not left the confines of my household. So far, that's about 43-44 hours without stepping outside the doors. My parents would make good prison wardens.
Bob: Can you keep a secret? I'm trying to organize a prison break. I'm looking for, like, an accomplice. We have to first get out of this bar, then the hotel, then the city, and then the country. Are you in or you out?
Charlotte: I'm in. I'll go pack my stuff.
Bob: I hope that you've had enough to drink. It's going to take courage.
My only hope of freedom, ironically, comes around the time we leave for church (ca. 8PM), by which time I will have eclipsed the 48 hour mark...
Well, it could be worse. At least the country's not in an economic recess- oh wait.
That's just a vague and generalized way of saying I'm busy.
In fact, I'm so busy, that if any of you paid attention to my last post, you would notice the flaw in the date. I don't mean date like Valentine's Day date because...well refer to either Long's blog or below for an explanation.
I'm referring to the date and time the last entry of my blog was posted. The entry talked about Valentine's Day because I published it yesterday (February 14th). However, since I started the post on Tuesday, February 10th, the date corresponded to the start date.
Thus is the extent of my procrastination/busy-ness.
Actually, to be honest, I've been keeping pretty busy with school and stuff. In fact, since I came home for the weekend (Friday ca. 6PM) until now, I have not left the confines of my household. So far, that's about 43-44 hours without stepping outside the doors. My parents would make good prison wardens.
Bob: Can you keep a secret? I'm trying to organize a prison break. I'm looking for, like, an accomplice. We have to first get out of this bar, then the hotel, then the city, and then the country. Are you in or you out?
Charlotte: I'm in. I'll go pack my stuff.
Bob: I hope that you've had enough to drink. It's going to take courage.
My only hope of freedom, ironically, comes around the time we leave for church (ca. 8PM), by which time I will have eclipsed the 48 hour mark...
Well, it could be worse. At least the country's not in an economic recess- oh wait.
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