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the teacher did not rise again because he stayed late at work again. Tomorrow is the third day of school, and I am exhausted and genuinely fear that I will not wake at the usual 5:45am to go to the gym. I’ve done it for a good 2 weeks going on 3, so I hope I can just keep it up. I’ve lost at least 4 pounds as well, so I’ve got to keep it up.

I keep trying to convince myself that I love this job.

I do, but I’m being worn down these days. Too many responsibilities. Too many needs. Too many poor kids with absent parents causing problems in my classroom. Too many emotions. Too many new teachers. Too many students. Too many chairs in the classroom.

Too few serious students. Too few parents involved in their kids’ education. Too few copiers. Too few working printers. Too few books. I can’t even tell if this is grammatically correct right now because I am exhausted.

A student’s warmth can glow in you for a while. Just being around the kids one cannot help but warm yourself by their energy and hope. Many of them feign cynical, but they all carry secret desires and goals. They’re too young to not have any fantasies.

While the youth are ignorant of the trials to come, the “mature” and “seasoned” adults grow dim and cynical. It’s not their fault. Adults experience failure, disappointment, and loss in their careers and their relationships and their families.  Their youthful dreams remain in the ether, and their realities remain stubbornly grounded.

I read Mark Lilla’s op-ed piece on how the democrats can revamp their party by relinquishing identity politics and refocusing on a message that appeals to a wider swath of Americans. He acknowledges diversity’s role in making America, well, more diverse than their European or Asian counterparts. On the other hand, he also warns against celebrating too much “difference” as that dangerously undermines the unity of American identity and culture, which will break the solidarity of common people. He quips that while celebrating difference may sound like good “moral pedagogy”, ultimately will spell disaster for politics in an “ideological age”.

Why? Because if you focus on LGBT, Latinos, Asians, African Americans, then you will inevitably leave out the biggest contender in the room: whites. By choosing to focus on diversity, inclusion, intersectionality, Other groups, one must necessarily neglect still other groups and the systems of government.

Lilla offers an interesting observation of the last election: “Mr. Trump won in large part because he managed to transform economic disadvantage into racial rage — the “whitelash” thesis. This is convenient because it sanctions a conviction of moral superiority and allows liberals to ignore what those voters said were their overriding concerns”
Source: The End of Identity Liberalism

Identity politics is primarily about outrage. Outrage at systemic injustice. Outrage at whatever ceiling. Outrage at the white dude.

In other words, outrage transforms into dehumanization of the other Other, or the so called oppressor. Trump won because he tricked fellow poor whites into believing that immigrants are the problem, therefore, we can still snub our noses at poor whites because they’re morally unsound.

Well, Charlottesville definitely seemed to justify such snubbery. However, as my roommate reminded me once, such feel-good snubbery will not do much in the way of healing our nation. I think Paolo Freire said as much when he said that the oppressed usually take on the tactics and attitudes of their oppressors, which further produces more dehumanization and violence.

Okay, enough for the day.

quite a few months since my friend stripped my lodge logic dutch oven. Today I’m finally reseasoning it with flaxseed oil per this link.

It’s quite frightening because it requires you to heat the oven up to 500 degrees for long periods of time. 1 hour each time you apply the oil. 2 hours for rest in the oven.

1:00pm – first coat on, baked for an hour, then rested.

3:15pm – second coat on, now in baking

4:15pm – taken out to cool

— edit 3/26, sunday —

3:15pm – 3rd coat and put in oven again, 3 more coats to go.

6:15pm – 3rd coat finished, cooled.

–edit 3/27 —

9pm – finished 4th coat


Posting a lot today on fb. Which probably means I’m procrasting.
I’m attempting to read Niehbur’s Moral Man and Immoral Society, and while it being highly theoretical, it has illuminated for me how sinful we really are as a society. This article briefly takes us through the major themes and conclusion of this book, of which I will leave you with one excerpt:
While individuals in their personal dealings often transcend self“interest (hence “moral man”), nations dealing with other nations, or social classes with other social classes, have little or no capacity for self“transcendence (“immoral society”). Nations and classes have limited understanding of the people they harm by their unjust self“assertion; they lack appreciation for the often complicated laws and institutions through which such injustice is perpetuated; and they are more inclined to embrace rationalizations of self“interest than prophetic denunciations.
I have witnessed friends and family members perform remarkable acts of selflessness (hence, “moral man”), and yet these very same kind people may add to a collective oppression of others. I think about how even an innocuous event like gift-exchanges at christmas or humorous white-elephant gift exchanges can serve up both a moral and immoral effects. We can solidify our bonds and communicate love to others with these gifts. But these very same gifts gather dust and add on to the already large pile of shit in our closets and basements and attics and car trunks. They are a hazard to our environment, and perhaps unjustly wrought by children’s hands or by underpaid workers who work on Christmas day. That money used to solicit a little laugh from others or to impress your girlfriend could have been used to purchase a life-saving cow for a family in a third world country.
And, if Wolterstoff is right, our privilege to enjoy security and the luxuries that come with it (e.g., useless gifts during holidays…which I enjoy), actually translates as theft from the poor. (“You who have two tunics, the extra one belongs to the one who has none”, or something like that).
If I am serious about becoming a disciple of Christ, should I not, in all my tiny power (economic, social, political, etc.), continue to strive to live justly a la Micah 6:8? And how does one do this from a point of a justified state? That is, how do I live a just life with the purpose of discipleship rather than earning salvation? How do I urge myself and others to understand the importance of living justly as part of our Christian calling with a gentle tone rather than a self-righteous and self-justifying one?
I’m tired. I can’t continue this train of thought.
etc. etc. etc.

Foundations of Christian life:

  1. You are created in the image of God.
  2. You/Satan/fate/God corrupted your image via temptation -> sin.
  3. Sin reigns through your body. Result: death
  4. (Insert something about law here.)
  5. Christ became man in flesh (in likeness of sin and in sin – Ro 8). Aka, sin reigns in his body.
  6. JC experienced the wages of sin (i.e. death)
  7. He rose from the dead…conquering it? So he paid the wages (death), but then now he rises so he can save others from the wages of sin? What’s the purpose of resurrecting? So he can show what we have to look forward to? So we can live resurrected lives? As a sign of future glory? etc. etc.
  8. You died, like Christ, in baptism, with Christ in 33 AD.
  9. Christ rises in you. (Does this mean sanctification is about letting go of your identity? Or at least the parts less savory to God?)
  10. You have been predestined to be conformed to the image of his Son. This means returning to the pre-corrupted, or uncorrupted state of man in Gen 1. (Ro 5)
  11. Therefore, your uncorrupted self is justified/state of grace/state of righteousness/free of sin.

I am someone who bathes in grief and remorse. I soak it in and enjoy the sickness because I can feel something. Better pain than numb. Don’t want to be numb because then I can’t remember. Or I won’t remember. When I returned from Tstan I remember dwelling on how much I missed and loved my host family and students. I dwelled and dwelled and still dwell. I prefer this captivity to sickness because I think without the infection I shall wander about in homeostasis unaware of the people who loved me and whom I love. I hope this longing never leaves, even if it debilitates a little, because to me then it measures how much I loved.

Jesus wept when he learned Lazarus died. The onlookers remarked that it was a sign of how much he loved him. Others wondered whether Jesus could have prevented his death. There is much speculation as to the motive of God’s sobbing – after all, he knows that he will raise him in a matter of moments. He knows that this melancholic moment, like water to wine, will be transformed into triumph and glory for himself and life for Lazarus. Why does he weep?

This question could be asked of any Christian as well, I suppose. With faith we know that our mourning will turn into celebration, our tears to smiles, and our lethargy into dancing. And yet in this inaugurated-but-not-yet interim period between his coming and his coming, I still struggle to have faith that we will be reunited again. The tomb’s rock is rolled over, still and unmoved by human tears or earthly hope. And realizing that the rock that guards the body or the soul or both of a loved one will not move any time soon, I now must pray and hope that it does one day. And what is there to do otherwise? You cannot walk away from the tomb. Even if you did it will roll with you.

This last month has been a whirlwind. Taking care of mom 24/7 entailed learning about medicines, bed positioning, terminal symptoms, and emotions management. There was so much to do, but at the same time I felt I wasn’t doing much of anything. There was a lot of down time, to be sure. I sat around reading, surfing the web, watching boring and uninspiring television. But while doing those things I was still “on call”, and there’s just an unsettling feeling lingering in the back of your mind while doing the most mundane things. An edginess that prompts you to spring into action whenever she calls.

And truth be told, I still wish she did.

The initial feeling is that you feel relieved.

But then the next feeling is, well

I don’t know. loss? disorientation? confusion? It’s like floating in space with no sun or stars or planets or reference point. Just black.


…had me search up Brock Turner’s father’s letter to the judge. In case for the unacquainted, Brock Turner is a 20 something freshman who attends (or attended) Stanford on a swimming scholarship, and was recently convicted of rape. Social media is brimming with vitriol as a result of a light sentencing given by another white-male judge, Persky. Friends are digitally circulating a petition to remove him.

I wanted to see what the other side looked like since I have been encouraged in my MA studies to learn to read “charitably” or openly. I had read A Theology of Reading by Alan Jacobs – another white male – who advocates for an openness to reading all sorts of texts from all sorts of people, friend or foe, and I thought I’d try to practice that by reading Turner’s father’s letter. Facebook friends are posting and reposting a short phrase from his father’s letter, which states that his son’s imprisonment is far too harsh for “20 minutes of action”. The angry bloggers and facebook friends post articles that characterize the father as a father who reinforces rape culture and general white male privilege douchebaggery. I was hoping that by reading the father’s letter I could correct my own social mediated perception and try to relate to the father because demonization is another path toward another type of hell. What I mean by this is that forgiveness and redemption forge a better character than one of perpetual righteous wrath and moral outrage. Well, that’s my opinion anyways. I’m not a rape victim, so admittedly my perspective is limited.

Reading Turner’s father’s letter, however, failed to elicit any sort of sympathy from me. My friends’ FB posts claiming that his father’s letter oozed of white privilege did not seem, after reading the letter, seem so far off the mark. His father did not even seem to apologize for his son’s actions, instead opting to reflect on his son’s character attributes and accolades. In one part of the letter, the father reminisces about how he and his son visited Stanford and exclaimed that it would be swell for his son to attend a college with a history of Olympic swimmers. Look, jury, he has worked hard his whole life to achieve the academic and athletic achievements that have brought him thus far – we should not dole out too harsh a sentence for his “20 minutes of action”! He still has a bright future!

I am devastated by his father’s moral myopia. Where is his remorse? Where is the deep sadness of seeing your own child go astray from goodness and responsibility? He pleads for mercy by appealing to his son’s laurels and immaturity, whereas he should plead for forgiveness for his son. The father was so proud that his son could spell, swim, and maintain congeniality with others, but why did he not teach his son to avoid debauchery and to respect women?

Anyways, I could go on. I looked to the letter as an opportunity to soften my heart, but instead I find it steeling itself more than ever.


Coming back to LA was hard this week. I live by myself in a small apartment, and, while it’s convenient to leave clothes out and not have to worry about things looking spiffy all the time, the place can feel like a prison cell when you settle into a self-pitying rut where all you do is cook, clean, work, and watch old Office episodes on Netflix at home. It is a shitty life.

This weekend I decided to visit my friend J’s place in SGV. We went out and ate Asian comfort food, got some desserts at an Asian plaza, and hung around his house until it was time for me to leave.

But I didn’t.

I told J that I didn’t want to go home. Because home wasn’t good for me. Staying home and letting my mind drift into the cognitive penumbra is not good for me. Returning to my own space was not good for me, at least at this moment in my life.

So J lent me a square pillow and two small blankets, and I slept on the living room carpet. I had a nightmare – but I woke up to J microwaving last night’s leftovers in the morning.

The rest of the day was filled with errands and small conversations here and there. It felt so good to let these conversations and little errands buoy my thoughts above the waters’ surface. I felt like I was breathing again.

And I feel like, for me, this is what I need and want in life. I idolize the hermit, the philosopher, and the wise sage, but the truth is that I need to have moments where I can just hear a person press the buttons of a microwave. The need for human activity scurrying around me, and for the occasional and innocent “how are you” to keep my attention and focus on the outside rather than within.

J does not know how important it was for me to crash at his place. To joke around. To eat asian food. To do random, mundane errands at Walmart. To watch an inconsequential baseball game on ESPN. To sit in silence surfing the web on our iphones.

I keep returning to Bonhoeffer in these times.

“Dear Eberhard,

It’s your birthday in a week’s time. Once again I’ve taken up the readings and meditated on them. The key to everything is the ‘in him’. All that we may rightly expect from God, and ask him for, is to be found in Jesus Christ. The God of Jesus Christ has nothing to do with what God, as we imagine him, could do and ought to do. If we are to learn what God promises, and what he fulfills, we must persevere in quiet meditation on the life, sayings, deeds, sufferings, and death of Jesus. It is certain that we may always live close to God and in the light of his presence, and that such living is an entirely new life for us; that nothing is then impossible for us, because all things are possible with God; that no earthly power can touch us without his will, and that that danger and distress can only drive us closer to him. It is certain that we can claim nothing for ourselves, and may yet pray for everything; it is certain that our joy is hidden in suffering, and our life in death; it is certain that in all this we are in a fellowship that sustains us. In Jesus God has said Yes and Amen to it all, and that Yes and Amen is the firm ground on which we stand.

In these turbulent times we repeatedly lose sight of what really makes life worth living. We think that, because this or that person is living, it make sense for us to live too. But the truth is that if this earth was good enough for the man Jesus Christ, if such a man as Jesus lived, then our life would be meaningless, in spite of all the other people whom we know and honour and love. Perhaps we now sometimes forget the meaning and purpose of our profession. But isn’t this the simplest way of putting it? The unbliblical idea of ‘meaning’ is indeed only a translation of what the Bible calls ‘promise’.

I feel how inadequate these words are to express my wish, namely to give you steadfastness and joy and certainty in your loneliness. This lonely birthday need not be a lost day, if it helps to determine more clearly the convictions on which you will base your life in time to come. I’ve often found it a great help to think in the evening of all those who I know are praying for me, children as well as grown-ups. I think I owe it to the prayers of others, both known and unknown, that i have often been kept in safety.

Another point: we are often told in the New Testament to ‘be strong’ (I Cor. 16:13; Eph. 6:10; II Tim. 2:1; I John 2:14). Isn’t people’s weakness (stupidity, lack of independence, forgetfulness, cowardice, vanity, corruptibility, temptability, etc.) a greater danger than evil? Christ not only makes people ‘good’; he makes them strong, too. The sins of weakness are the really human sins, whereas the willful sins are diabolical (and no doubt ‘strong’, too!). I must think about this again. Good-bye; keep well, and don’t lose confidence. I hope we shall celebrate Renate’s birthday together again. Thank you for everything. I keep thinking faithfully of you. ”

Letters from Prison, page 391-92.

Quick Reflections:

What does Bonhoeffer mean when he says that the “truth is that if this earth was good enough for the man Jesus Christ, if such a man as Jesus lived, then our life would be meaningless”? I don’t understand that bit. There are billions of people who live on without knowledge of J.C., and they seem to get on well enough. At least from the outside. How and why is life meaningless? Perhaps the finality of death renders all things vain?

Bonhoeffer encourages us to meditate on Jesus – his life, teachings, and especially his death. I notice that he somehow forgets to mention his resurrection. Why did you fail to mention the most important part of that story? Is Jesus a man – even the best – to follow as an example? Or is he the son of God? The fulfiller of God’s promise?

What is that promise, by the way? I love Bonhoeffer’s way of putting it – what we really mean by our unbiblical search for meaning really translates into search and fulfillment of God’s promise. Promise of life. Of Spirit. Of love. Of salvation from enemies, sickness, physical and spiritual death. Jesus is the ultimate for-the-other. But isn’t this all abstract?

And the truth is, at the end of the day, we are weak and long for someone to hold your hand. I don’t want a for-other god. I want joy complete.

Have you ever gone backward into time and sifted through old emails? They are a journal unto themselves. One day an anthropologist will sift through the world’s emails in the future, and will discover something great.

I emailed this to Core before we started our senior year in college. It was my attempt at rallying the team to be transparent and loving toward one another. Well, 2 years later I heard the fellowship underwent major changes and there had been some sort of “falling out”. But that’s college, and hopefully we’ve all grown up a little since then.

Below is a quote from Henri Nouwen. I’ve never read any of his works but heard my pastor end his sermon with this quote once, and since then its message has forever been seared into my mind. Transparency. Community. Loving correction. Forgiveness. All these will help temper the pangs of guilt that comes with the inevitable hypocrisy involved in leading people.


This morning at the Eucharist we spoke about hypocrisy, an
attitude that Jesus criticizes. I realize that institutional
life leads to hypocrisy, because we who offer spiritual
leadership often find ourselves not living what we are
preaching and teaching. It is not easy to avoid hypocrisy
completely because, wanting to speak in the name of God, the
church, or the larger community, We find ourselves saying
things larger than ourselves. I often call people to a life
that I am not fully able to live myself.

I am learning that the best cure for hypocrisy is community.
When as a spiritual leader I live close to those I care for,
and when I can be criticized in a loving way by my own
people and be forgiven for my own shortcomings, then I won’t
be considered a hypocrite.

Hypocrisy is not so much the result of not living what I
preach but much more of not confessing my inability to fully
live up to my own words. I need to become a priest who asks
forgiveness of my people for my mistakes.”

– Henri J.M. Nouwen, Sabbatical Journal – the Diary of His
Final Year, Crossroad, 1998, pp. 219-220