Timothy - Dog Year

Wounded Duck

I had a disturbing dream last night, the kind that I know will stay with me for a long time.  I dreamed that I was going to work in a big city, walking through crowded streets in the early morning.  The sky was overcast, and everyone around me looked liked me, expressionless and stressed.  Suddenly, I came across a small crowd gathered around something.  I stuck my head in between two people.  Inside the circle of people, on the hard sidewalk concrete, lay a struggling male Mallard duck ( I could tell by its beautiful, iridescent green neck feathers).  It was plain to see a long gash on his side, like someone had taken a butcher knife and cut him across a half-inch deep.  One of its wings also appeared damaged, and it could not fly.  The crowd, mostly women, kept changing faces as newly-arrived curious passersby continually replaced people who lost interest in the scene.  People asked each other what happened.  Some offered guesses.  Some made sympathetic sighs for the duck.  What everyone (including me) had in common was - nobody did anything.  After a few minutes I too left and headed to my office, where I could hear coworkers still casually talking about the duck.

Although I'm no Freudian enthusiast when it comes to dream interpretations, I've not been able to stop thinking about the dream.  What did it mean?  Why did I dream it?  What significance might it hold? 

Without any answer to these questions, I suddenly remembered a real-life incident back in the mid-90s, during my first real IT job after graduation.  Similarities to last night's dream abound, the overcast sky, my going to work.  In this case, I was driving, not walking.  The crowds were formed by cars on a 2-lane local road, not pedestrians.  About 10 minutes from work, I saw two birds playfully doing an aerial ballet.  Perhaps they were mates, relatives, or buddies - who knew.  Then something tragic happened - one of the two birds flew too low and got hit by a car.  The traffic continued moving at its usual pace both ways, but the drama was really not over.  On the ground, the dying bird was still struggling to get back up, one of its wings moving violently.  Directly above, its partner helplessly dipped up and down, wanting to be next to its wounded companion but having to avoid the endless procession of cars.  Again, where was the help?

A good friend at church, whom I should perhaps start calling Daniel instead of his actual name for his wisdom in dream interpretation, offered the following in the way of an explanation for my dream:  I'm the duck, and the crowds represent all the people I know because I don't sense anyone helping me with my personal struggles and pains.  Hmm.  Could be.  Then again, it could be just a modified version of what I saw on the way to work a decade ago.  Maybe both.  Maybe neither.

One final possibility: it was an "anti-Christmas story."  Had Christ not come to earth on the first Christmas eve, we would all be like the wounded duck, left to fend for ourselves against a hard, cold world.  But because of Christ, believers know that we indeed are not alone.  God is real.  God is living.  Most of all, through the sending of Himself in lowly human form, we know God cares.  So to all of you who may be suffering even greater loneliness and rejection than I do this Christmas, I wish you joy and the growing awareness that we are not abandoned.  Repeat: no matter the circumstance or failure, we are not abandoned.

I-Land

December - they're replaying all those ageless Christmas classic specials on TV again.  Tonight, it was 1964's "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer," the longest-running, highest-rated holiday special in TV history.  It included one of the most poignant scenes among the shows I watched as a kid - the visit to the Island of Misfit Toys.  Here lived Charlie-in-the-Box, a bird that swam rather than flew (and wasn't a penguin), a train with square wheels, a cowboy on an ostrich, and other unwanted, defective toys.  The whole segment always made me inexplicably sad whenever I saw it.  Inexplicable, because the story ended on a happy note, with Rudolph guiding Santa's sled to this island to pick up all the toys and dropping them off to children.  (Interestingly, this ending wasn't in the original version, but was added in response to a write-in campaign from shocked audience members).

Yet perhaps not so inexplicable.  While this show didn't change over the decades, I certainly have, and while I quickly outgrew watching such shows, I also gradually came to see that the island is all too real.  No, not some place in the Arctic with toys.  I've visited this island in the schoolyard, in the postures and faces of classmates who didn't fit into any clique.  I've seen it in the eyes of healthy, caged dogs whenever I've gone to the local animal shelter.  I really experienced the full tour when I played with energetic, physically-impaired children in a home-based orphanage in China two years ago.

What is it about people, myself most of all, that they so consistently want to discriminate, exclude, quarantine, ignore, and judge others?  Excuses like the need for order and self-protection are simply groundless when applied to individuals whose only crime is that they're different from us.  So, during the holidays, a time when the lonely and rejected feel the lowest and most suicidal, I ask again, what is it, and what will you or I do about it?  I believe the answer lies closer to the Island of Misfit Toys than I-Land, where most of us live and hate to leave.

"A toy is never truly happy until it is loved by a child." - King Moonracer

Rain

Unusual, this rain we've been getting here in Ohio this late in the year.  Before long, the frost and snow will descend upon us.  But while this rain lasts, I continue to have flashbacks to an early summer evening in my high school years, when I was shooting baskets outside - alone, in heavy rain.

Most of the details from that day now elude me.  Something earlier in the day, perhaps as fresh as an hour before, had made me feel very frustrated and isolated.  I can't remember what exactly that was...Was it the day I learned that my college scholarship wasn't nearly as big as I had expected?  Did I have a bitter argument with my dad over something?  Was it when I discovered that the girl I liked for 2 years had begun going out with one of my better friends?  I simply can't recall.

Whatever the reason, its impact was strong enough to have made me drive out in the rain to the neighborhood basketball court where in those years I frequently played pick-up games.  With the rain, nobody was foolish enough to be playing - except me.  I must've shot around for at least an hour, maybe two.  Puddles began forming, making dribbling a messy matter.  The dirt from the wet ball and court began rubbing off on my arms, shirt, neck, legs, socks, everywhere.  I didn't care.  I was venting anger at myself and the world.  Nobody was there to watch me make those rainbow shots, and I thought it was just as well, because it meant nobody was there to laugh at my misses or falls either (and I did fall at least once on that wet, slippery concrete, scraping a knee and leg).  The rain began stinging the bleeding areas, and I began crying, not because of the pain, but because I began thinking of whatever it was that made me want to be alone.  I was indeed alone, and lonely, but safe inside the cover of rain.

Maybe such a day is just a standard part of life for any youth in his rebellious years.  Maybe.  Yet though I've forgotten why I went through this self-torment, I never seemed to have fully recovered from it.  Whenever rejection, depression, loneliness, and self-doubts gnaw at me, my mind continues to think back to that day.  That rain never did end - it still pours steadily inside the deep recesses of my heart, whenever I seek solace in openly exposing myself to a world that would rather hide indoors than to get even a few drops on them.

Above the Crowd

A significant milestone - the US population reaches 300 million.  It's all theoretical, of course, as this mark is determined by estimated growth rates from the US Census Bureau.  And the US continues to trail both China and India by a large margin in the count.  Which is just as well, considering how illegal immigration and environmental concerns have already made this event something most would rather not celebrate.  When I heard this news item, however, I couldn't help thinking of an unforgettable sight from a few years ago.

I was out in Los Angeles with a good friend who even today still lives there.  It was probably the second or third time I've been to this West coast metropolis, famed for its Hollywood glam, hip-hop music, Rodeo drive shopping, Disneyland, beaches, the Getty museum, college cheerleaders in tight sweaters, sprawling suburbs (including some predominantly Chinese ones), congested freeways, smog, and of course, my favorite NBA team, the Lakers.  It's hard to not find something fun to do in LA.

One afternoon, before an evening Lakers game at Staples Center, my friend drove me around downtown.  Impressive highrises, museums, restaurants, and sport arenas all around.  Suddenly, he pulls into a gray, shabby street.  I felt like I was suddenly transported into another world.  Or rather, it was as if a voice suddenly shouted, "Welcome to the real world."  Here, in broad daylight, homeless people lined both sides of street, living in cardboard boxes and makeshift tents.  Debris and garbage mingling with shopping carts and sacks filled the intervening spaces.  Was I still in LA?  Yes, in the area called Skid Row, where around 10,000 homeless people live in less than one square-mile.  LA's total homeless number at 90,000.

Every year, roughly one in 100 people in the US experiences homelessness.  Without making any assumptions on the exact percentage, it's safe to say that many did not end up in their current situation through sheer laziness or drug abuse.  Certainly numerous churches, non-profit charity organizations, and social programs have been established to bring hope and relief to these people.  Yet the numbers are still staggering, and this is just the US picture.  Looking at international numbers, we see more than 8.4 million refugees and 6.6 million internally displaced people (IDPs).

It's easy to dismiss all these statistics even as a Christian.  Didn't Jesus say "the poor you will always have with you"? (Matthew 26:11)  Yes, but He also had asked the rich young man to "sell your possessions and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven" (Matthew 19:21).  All we have are God's blessings, and we are called to be wise stewards.  Nothing I have makes me a better person than anyone in Skid Row.  What right or motivation do I have to hoard anything?

I'm not pushing for any political or social agenda here.  I'm merely speaking for myself and the person I hope to be.  Giving and sharing of money, time, and energy have to be intentional and disciplined.  They have to develop into a pattern of life, so that the left hand does not know what the right hand is doing (Matthew 6:3).  That to me seems the best way to rise above a crowd of three hundred million, not to look down on the people around me, but to gain a clearer view of the place ahead where the eternal population of God's people dwell without fear of homelessness.

Remembering 9/11

As almost every TV news show this past week has reminded us, today is the fifth anniversary of 9/11.  The following is just one of countless stories from that day.  It is not tragic, because it doesn't involve any of those terrorist acts in Pennsylvania, NYC, or DC.  Yet it does illustrate how this event had an immediate impact on the rest of the country.

It was a typical workday in my downtown Columbus office.  About an hour after I began work, I checked Yahoo for any new emails, and among the list of headlines was something about a plane having hit one of the World Trade Center buildings.  Wow, pretty wild, I thought, but I didn't think much of it, as I thought it was probably just a small two-seater that had an accident.  Then I began to hear discussions outside my office.  Some people were gathering at our purchasing manager's office to watch his mini-TV.  The rest came fast (and familiar to the world by now): the second tower's hit, the collapse of both towers, the Pentagon hit, and Flight 93.  Nobody quite knew how to react or what to say, it was so shocking.  I recall one person commenting, "Can you imagine how much planning went into something like this?"

My work building, though only 10 stories, is located next door to Columbus's Federal Building and across the street from a major high-rise - the Nationwide Insurance HQ.  Around noon, the governor declared mandatory evacuation of all "non-essential" employees in this part of downtown.  At the time, I was still taking the bus, but it was obvious that with everyone going home simultaneously, roads would be congested and buses run very late.  And indeed they were.  It wasn't exactly pandemonium, but it certainly wasn't normal either.  There were numerous national guardsmen in uniform patrolling different parts of the streets.  Police directed the slow-moving traffic.  There was a sense that the anticipated Y2K chaos occurred a year and a half late.  Thankfully, my supervisor offered to give me a ride to my car near where I live.  I still remember her shaking her head as she drove, muttering "I just don't understand why anyone would do something like this..."

The first thing I did when I got home was call my parents to let them know about my getting off work early, and that I was OK.  My dad on the other end of the phone seemed apathetic and distracted, as he was glued to the repeating footages of NYC on CNN.  It never occurred to him that Columbus would be affected also.

I'm one of those who got off the events of 9/11 relatively unscathed on a personal level.  I didn't have any friends who lived in NYC.  I did have a sister of a friend who worked near the Pentagon, but she was fine.  In a sense, though, I'm proof of just how extensive 9/11's reach has been, because even for someone so detached like me, my view of this world was permanently altered that day.  I didn't necessarily take on a more mature, just a more pessimistic view, of human nature in the midst of all the technological innovations and conveniences.  It was eyes wide open time for me and every person on the planet.

Shirleen

In 1992, I interned with IBM in Charlotte for six months, from March to September.  I recall almost nothing of what I learned from the big banking system project going on there - the system tests, the JCL (Job Control Language, an old mainframe scripting language), even the people.  What I do remember clearly, with both fondness and sadness, is a little German Shepherd puppy named Shirleen.

Shirleen came into my life as the result of an ad-hoc decision by my apartment roommate, Clint (not his real name), to see what it'd be like to own a dog, as he never had that experience.  One day after work, he stopped by the local animal shelter and picked up a simply adorable puppy.  Clint gave her the name Shirleen, which even now I think is weird.  At first, Clint was enthralled with her - buying all kinds of chew toys and premium puppy food and taking her on daily walks around the block.  As weeks passed, however, he began losing interest, and gradually I took on these roles for Shirleen.  Clint resumed his old addictions of buying dance/techno CDs and listening to them at full blast every night on his beloved thousand dollar stereo system.  Not that I minded taking care of Shirleen - she was so very cute and playful, and as is normal for her breed, she grew quickly.  She became like my baby, and I relished even those moments when she was asleep - that was when I could make sketches of her.

Then came that night that changed everything.  I got back to the apartment after a dinner with a co-worker, into a very quiet room.  Clint was in the corner reading some work manuals (he too was interning with IBM).  Shirleen was in the corner of her box, unusually quiet and still.  Her eyes were open, but  when I petted her, she could barely stand up.  When she did, she walked with a bad limp.  That's when I realized something very wrong had happened.  I asked Clint, and he nonchalantly gave some lame explanations on how Shirleen had chewed on his expensive stereo wires, and that he had "taught her a lesson."  My attempts to admonish Clint in the following days proved useless.  From that point on, a wall of ice grew between Clint and me.  He no longer allowed me to feed or walk Shirleen, but I did anyway when he was out.

At some point in July or August, Clint suddenly had enough of Shirleen, and with me in another room, simply grabbed Shirleen and stuffed her into the same travel cage he had originally used to transport Shirleen to the apartment.  I could hear her give a sudden yelp, but I didn't want to look.  It was simply too painful to even imagine what was going on in that room.  I knew he was taking Shirleen back to the animal shelter.  I could only pray that God quickly get me through the few remaining weeks with IBM, so I could leave behind this nightmare and psychotic roommate.

What happened to Shirleen?  I don't want to speculate on the worst, nor be delusional toward reality.  But if she's no longer in this world, I do believe God has a special place for her, one of His creations.  People ask me why I love animals, especially dogs, and yet sometimes get so cynical about human nature.  Surely it's because I'm still a kid at heart?  Or, from firsthand experience, I've seen just how cruel humans can get, and the completely unjustifiable abuses they inflict on innocents like Shirleen.  I've accepted this lesson, but I will not forget.

炫 or 遜? A Look Back at the 80s

The two Chinese words in the title are very popular among Chinese speakers today.  These two words are antonyms.  One, 炫 (xuan4 in pinyin), means awesome, cool, cutting-edge, superior, distinctive, dazzling.  The other, 遜 (xun4), means old, obsolete, inferior, embarrassing, hillbilly, uncool.  The two words are often used to describe technologies, fashions, and individuals.

What are examples of 炫?  If you were to ask me, I would say the following - back in the 80s:

"That's easy.  It's my Members Only ski jacket and white LA Gear hi-tops.  On warmer days, I look great in my black jeans, brown loafers which I wear without socks (eat your heart out, Don Johnson), and mullet hairstyle.   Oh, my girlfriend, she's got it all, the big, beautiful curly hair, and those sexy faded-blue jean shirts and skirts.  Always the top name brands for her - Jordache, Guess, Esprit.  She also looks hot when she does aerobics, wearing the loose sweatshirt and neon-colored leg warmers (hey, Swatch yourself!).  When we go out, I like to drive her in my V-8 engine Iroc-Z28 (no plain Camaros for my girl) and go check out any movie starring the Brat Pack.  Occasionally we might even go to a concert, to see the best entertainer ever, Michael Jackson (I can almost moonwalk and breakdance as well as he), or if we're in the mood for some loudness and headbanging, the Monsters of Rock (yeah, Van Halen rocks).  I've got a nice big collection of hard rock albums on metal-quality cassettes; they sound amazing coming through the speakers on my huge ghetto blaster.  If we don't go out, there are always the cool TV shows - Knight Rider, Family Ties (which takes place right here in Columbus, Ohio!), Star Search, etc.  Ok, I admit I still watch some cartoons, but what could be cooler than He-Man or the Smurfs?  My girlfriend likes the Cabbage Patch Kids and the Care Bears, but those are just too cute for me.  In my free time I like to challenge myself with my Rubik's Cube or add to my collection of BASIC programs on my awesome 64K Commodore 64 home computer.  Someday I'd like to upgrade to that state-of-the-art 128K black-and-white Mac with the 20 Mb hard drive (no, I don't mean Gb - what's that?).   Then I'll have it made, fer-sher!  I'm so poor - psych!"

Alas, all these things and people above that once seemed so 炫 are now purely 遜.  Nobody's asking "Where's the beef?" anymore with the mad cow disease breakout.  We've a new generation of 炫 - metalllic belts for women, Louis Vuitton, reality TV, American Idol, Brad Pitt, Fantasy Leagues, Playstations, X-Boxes, MP3, IPod, wireless Web-enabled cell phones, instant messaging, surround-sound home theaters, SUVs, hybrids...But you know, before you laugh at how 遜 I was in the 80s, take a honest look back at history and you'll realize that all these 炫 things and looks we're spending megabucks and megahours on today will all very soon become quite 遜.  In fact, I can guarantee that the popular use of the words 炫 and 遜 will itself fast become 遜 (to the max).

Acrophobia

From a very early age I've been fearful of heights.  More specifically, I've long been fearful of finding myself in any environment where there's any potential for falling to my death.  Suspension bridges, balconies off a tall building, mountainside lookout points, glass skyscraper elevators - I find myself rather queasy and short on breath whenever I'm in these places, despite the spectacular views such places usually offer.

Multiple reasons probably account for this fear, but the lead cause easily comes to mind.  It occurred many years ago, when I was around 6-7, a little kid in Taiwan who just began attending what was then the newly-built Hsiu-Lang elementary school (秀朗國小).  The walk to school was about 15 minutes, but there was a shortcut, a narrow, precarious stone path that curved around the outside of a large stone building.  The building stood right next to a bridge with heavy pedestrian and motorcycle traffic.  I remember it had a bright red double door right at the corner where it faced the bridge, a door that I never saw open.

That narrow path had no railing or parapet of any sort.  It was just wide enough for an adult with good balance to walk on, about two feet wide.  From the path it was about a 40 feet drop to a rocky, debris-filled gully.  In the beginning, I had no hesitation taking that path.  After all, I saw some other kids my age occasionally do the same.  On rare occasions, I even saw an adult walk around.  As long as I didn't look down, I felt fine.

One fateful day, I began walking around that building like I had always done.  Midway through, I collided with a man twice my height coming from the other direction.  I felt one foot slip off the edge of the path; instincts somehow made my body shift its weight toward the the other foot closer to the wall.  Once I regained my balance and pressed myself against the wall, the man annoyingly but slowly stepped around me and went on his way.  I stood there, back pressed against the wall, for a few more minutes, my face completely pale and my pulse racing.

The next day, I tried that route again, this time very carefully, sideways like a crab.  After just a few steps, I panicked and simply could not go on.  I headed back to the bridge side, never to take that shortcut again.

Years later, when I revisited this spot as a teenager, a feeling of dread still swept over me just looking at it.  By then the path had been blocked off by a sign.  I didn't know what that meant - I could only hope that it was not from someone having met a tragic end there.

With Taipei's constant reconstructions and rezoning, I've not been able to locate this building and path anymore on recent trips to Taiwan.  Perhaps that whole part of town has been revamped.  Yet they'll always be a lasting part of me.  When life gets desperate and suicidal thoughts enter my mind, this unpleasant yet important memory always serves to remind me how thankful I should be instead that I'm still alive.

Family Reunion

With my eldest sister's flight back to Portland this morning, the big family reunion that began a little over a week ago will be officially over.  It was the first time in 13 years that everyone - my parents, three sisters, older brother, and myself - were under the same roof.  A few photos, videos, meals, and hearty conversations later, it's now a thing of the past.  Who knows when the next reunion will be.

The five of us, the kids, we've always been so different, in our personalities, our interests, our beliefs.  About the only things we all share nowadays are our ethnicity, parents/relatives, and a degree from the Ohio State University (three of us graduated with a Computer Science degree).  Subjectively speaking, each of us has his or her set of quirks.  One sister seems almost always stressed out and ready to snap.  Another sister has unhealthy obsessions with excessive photography and shopping.  A third sister often seems a bit too far "out in left field."  My brother is rather too much into futurology.  As for me, well, any quick read of this blog will prove just how messed up I am.

Past sibling arguments aside, where would I be without all those years spent together with my sisters and brother?  I can and should thank them for my understanding algebra, my love of reading/writing, an (albeit limited) understanding of both men and women, and an appreciation for both nature and culture, to name only a few obvious examples.  There's much more, I'm sure.  Just last night, my eldest sister shared how, when I was only 2 or 3, the four of them used to take turn playing with and carrying me, and how I used to drool all over their hair and bite their shoulders.  She also told of an interesting incident when one day I (for whatever reason) started playing with pop-filled glass bottles, just dropping them one by one in front of me on the floor.  She still remembers how horrified she and my other siblings were to see a little toddler with so much blood on his legs and feet.  I've absolutely no recollection of this, and I see no scars from it, but I believe her.

Those days of us five living, sharing, bickering, and debating together are long gone.  Three of us are married, two with kids of their own.  We each are wearing new hats and have formulated our own, individual ways of confronting the harsh realities and challenges of life.  I pray, though, that regardless of how far apart we are geographically, we'll not cease reacting with horror and alarm whenever another among us bleeds.

Wily Wabbits

With all the news in recent months about giant rabbits, friendly or hostile, I'm again reminded of those pet rabbits my brother used to keep when I was in high school.  They were cute, furry, and generally passive (except when boy met girl, then it was for adult eyes only).  How could anyone not adore those big eyes, long ears, fluffy tails, and twitching noses?  But my attitude toward rabbits has been one of ambivalence, ever since a strange incidence one summer afternoon.  On this sunny day, we had let the rabbits outside in the back yard to run around the grass.  The dark gray rabbit, a docile female I named "Furball" (OK, I never claimed to have Adam's animal-naming talent), was just lying on the patio, looking bored.  I headed over, stooped in front of her, and began petting her head.  Suddenly, completely out of the blue, she leaned forward and took a quick bite of ... a certain body part of mine before scurrying away.

It wasn't exactly an encounter with the Killer Rabbit of Caerbannog, but I've learned better since then that rabbits aren't always what you think.  I'm not quite sure now what eventually happened to Furball and gang (I think my brother ended up releasing them in the wild somewhere when he simply could not take care of them anymore).  I'm also uncertain whether animals go to Heaven, but if they do, when I see Furball, I'll be sure to ask her to introduce me to her gargantuan cousins.