Viaje Medico 2011

I forgot I wrote during the med trip in Bolivia--found it in one of my notebooks.

Viaje Medico, November 2011

Mapiri, Bolivia

I've been working triage. I wish I knew more Spanish, but at the same time I'm happy that I am at least able to communicate after only a month down here. Triage is busy, but fun and beneficial for me. I hope our visitors are receiving the help they need, and, if not possible, I hope they at least are able to look into caring eyes or be touched by compassionate hands. This is what I long for. I hate seeing pain, but I would rather see pain than be oblivious to pain. There was a lady at triage yesterday who had scars from being burned. Her skin had shrunk around her fingers so much that she could no longer straighten them. She told me that she was always in pain and at times while she would be walking in the street, she would fall down. ... I don't want that kind of pain to exist in life. I hate that it exists. And this is what language does--allows pain to be shared, allows glimpses into hurting souls, and, my prayer is, somehow alleviates burdens. And that's about all that can be done in this life.

November 8, 2011

Santa Rosa, Bolivia

There's always one more patient. So far, I will always try to find a way to meet the needs of one more individual. Individuality is important to me for some reason. Maybe because I grew up in an extremely rural area rather than a city? Could be. In cities there is more of an emphasis on efficiency, and it's necessary to keep the system flowing. And a society that is driven by efficiency, communication, teamwork, etc., leads to the Natural Wonders of the world. But individuality is lost. And this is why I think longer lasting Beauty is often found by turning around and walking against the flow of the spinning world. Finding Beauty in simple things, seeing value in individuals, using compassion as a motivating force.

November 8, 2011

Conzata, Bolivia

It was fun playing futbol with the kids here. I'm thankful for being able to communicate better than the last trip. I'm thankful for every word I've learned. I'm thankful for health, no sprained ankles, no weariness, no fevers. I'm thankful for my lack of comforts...it causes an emphasis to be placed on relationships, the people surrounding me. Tomorrow is the beginning of a four-day hike into the jungle villages. Should be hardcore.

November 12, 2011

Memiconi, Bolivia

It's funny that I sprained my ankle the day after I wrote that I was thankful for no sprained ankles. I sprained it early in the morning while playing basketball. That day we began our four-day hike. It was fine, really. It hurt, and that's all. I could still walk, just without agility.

I loved the hike. There was one super hardcore part after the waterfall Odell and I jumped off. I didn't have any water the whole time, so I was really dehydrated at the end and just sat lethargically on the bags. But the scenery is amazing, the remoteness is amazing, the people are amazing.

November 13, 2011

Conzata, Bolivia

It's like trying to take pictures of a breathtaking view--words convey so much and yet are confined so immensely to our individual skulls, outside of which true meaning and true image drop sharply into a simple and earthly communicable expression. Life in the Amazon is fascinating.

"For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven:

A time to be born, and a time to die;

A time to plant, and a time to reap;

A time to kill, and a time to heal;

A time to break down, and a time to build up;

A time to weep, and a time to laugh;

A time to mourn, and a time to dance;

A time to throw stones, and a time to gather stones;

A time to embrace, and a time to part;

A time to seek, and a time to lose;

A time to tear, and a time to sew;

A time to keep silent, and a time to speak;

A time to love, and a time to hate;

A time for war, and a time for peace."

"God will make His home among his people. He will wipe all tears from their eyes, and there will be no more death, no more suffering, no more crying, no more pain. These things of the past are gone forever."

December 4, 2011

It's too much. Sometimes the sensory overloads my mind. Too many new places, too many new scenes, too many new faces. It feels like I'm missing so much by seeing so much. I love every moment; I just regret that my mind can be in only one moment in Time, the Great Thief and Hoarder. There is so much more to know and so much more to remember. It is as if every time I open my eyes, I am taken captive to a new dream, a new breathtaking vista, a new wave of thoughts crashing down on those former. And if there were ever a beauty in transience, I am the lowly guest sitting placidly underneath the grand orchestra of all things magnificent that Motion ably bears. To let the eye roam through thick jungle mountains, to be led atop the jagged glaciers, to wander for hours across desert terrain, to hop freely from star to star, to know the moment of laughter disclosed through the eyes around me--all a microcosm of my wandering mind, my time-traveling thoughts, my hopes, my dreams for the future, for my beautiful friends, for the kids in the orphanage--let the eyes find what is Good and never let go.

Different Places

More from the Project Helping Hands Trip 2011:

In a lot of ways, I have quit thinking of how different my Bolivian experiences are from my American experiences. But I will try to recall a few of these differences--

I ran around with the kids in one village to collect giant ants to eat. You don't eat the whole ant, because they have pinchers that hurt, so it's better to tear off only the abdomen to pop in your mouth. I don't know how to describe the taste really. Tastes like an ant, I guess. Kinda gooey?

On our bus ride I would lean out the window of the bus on the turns just in case it tipped over--unless it was tipping my way. But for the bad turns we usually just ended up unloading everyone anyway, just to be safe. In the end the bus never tipped over. So, it all worked out perfectly.

My showers usually consisted of jumping off a cliff into a waterfall or else just finding a nice swimming hole if the cliffs weren't big enough. That's different from my American life. I don't really shower in America.

I was apathetic about where I slept. So sometimes I would throw my sleeping bag and sleep wherever it landed. Worked well. In the States I usually sleep in a bed.

I gave coca another chance. I was hoping it would take away the pain in my ankle which I sprained the morning we began our 4-day trek. The saliva just made me drink less water, which was helpful in that I didn't have to stop hiking as much to drink water. It makes my mouth numb, but I don't feel less tired or less pain. I'm beginning to think coca simply operates on the placebo effect. 

November something, 2011

I feel obligated to write something about the Project Helping Hands medical-mission trip. Our teams, made up of medical professionals from the States and Bolivian translators, hiked into remote mountain villages in the Amazon basin to conduct mini medical clinics. In many ways it was a typical Bolivian medical-mission trip, i.e. there was a high level of risk, spontaneity, and un-American situations involved. But allowing expectations to roam free with the wind works wonders for the mind, body and soul. Seizing every moment, running into the unknown full speed, allowing every new raw and rugged view to take one's breath away--this is where Life feels real. I loved every moment of the trip. In many of the villages there were only a handful of people who spoke Spanish; the rest spoke Quechuan, and we were dependent on the Quechuan translators to run our mini-clinics. The thought occurred to me that on this trip I could claim to be the most remote I have ever been in the world, second only to where I was raised in North Dakota, of course. But it's a crazy feeling to be surrounded by nothing except continuous mountain vegetation for as far as the eye can see. There's always the feeling of wishing more could be done in the remoteness. How useful is it to give them a month's supply of medication as temporary pain relief when they need so much more? But these people were thankful that we had recognized them, and I would like to believe that that somehow holds value as well. It's a hope.

On the trip I went on last year in Santa Cruz I was focused on learning about the Bolivian mindset--how the system works, how communities live, how life flows. On this trip, however, I couldn't help but take a psychological approach to figure out the American mindset. My initial thoughts are that the concept of Comfort is deeply engrained in the American's mind, maybe even DNA. It is the overarching end goal of hopes, dreams, aspirations for the future. It is the cultural subconsciousness, and to voice this constant labor for Comfort chips away at any nobility left in the American Dream. It sounds lame to sacrifice everything for Comfort. It sounds more noble to call it Security or Opportunity or Success. But whatever it is, it seems obvious that being happy outside the confines of Comfort takes a new perspective, one that isn't taught in the education system in America nor by the media nor even by many parents. Did Adaptability get left behind in the fine-tuning of a system that radiates Opportunity and Wealth and Efficiency to so many needy areas of the world? And at this point it feels like holding a certain ideality above another would simply depend on one's underlying philosophical beliefs. Is it bad to strive for Comfort? Is it better to strive for Adaptability? Depends on what Life is for.

I rest my Hope in the idea that Life gains its value not from what any eye can see, but from the hidden Beauty, the compassion in one's heart, the sacrifice in one's deeds, every moment of friendship, the smiles in a game of futbol, the individuality of each person walking the high Amazon trails every day, the satisfaction in seeing a new waterfall or mountain peak. It's a Hope.

October 10, 2011

I guess if I were to stop and think, I would discover a peace, a quiet happiness and contentment in the latest string of Moments. Life is good now. I am immersed in land uncharted by my own eyes, I am immersed in nature, raw and inspiring, I am immersed in a simple life that lacks so many comforts that claim beautiful lives by the thousands, I am learning, constantly, word by word. Thanks, God. For this Moment. Be in this Moment. Let another language hurdle be set on fire, never to hinder again. But more than that, speak where no words can go, speak to what sets ablaze passion, speak Life into places where None exists. I feel peace here. Does that mean something? I don't think my Home is across the sea from this Moment, where I was born and learned about life. For some reason, I think it's in a simple place, that is bursting with Beauty at its seams, where impressive man-made structures always come in second place, and the smell of dirty children is always at my side--maybe this is Life.

Another Night, Another Day

It was just another night. My head goes on a pillow, or something similar, and then my eyes close. But the barely conscious flashbacks had a different theme. I was always near an edge, balancing--always the feeling of the Moment, the exact moment, when one decides to let go of the comfort of solid ground and fly. Jumping over crevices, displacing pebbles on the cliff, watching the cliff pebbles float far away into whatever will catch them. The constant replays in my mind were my last waking thoughts before being nailed into hard sleep; like a bug's final thoughts before being hit by a semi-truck on a highway. The hard sleep--it could very well have been the aftereffects of two straight days of the adrenaline-coated bridge/cliff jumps--the barely conscious replays, for certain, were a product of this perpetual string of cliff moments. A simple lack of sleep would also fill the role of culprit quite nicely--we (my Bolivian friend Odell and I) didn't necessarily plan to arrive back in La Paz at 5 am--but then again, we didn't plan anything really. After the waterfall jumps, we trekked back to the road. The Yungas Road snakes its way through the mountains from rugged La Paz to Caranavi in the Amazon Basin. It has a reputation, even earning the title "Death Road" for one stretch. But it gets the job done--as long as the drivers are experienced and never blink. A single error at any moment, however, has potential to hurl a bus or fully-loaded truck down 2,000-ft of jungle vegetation.

It had just gotten dark, and now we needed to find a ride back to La Paz. We managed a ride to the next village so that we could at least eat food and drink water after a hard day of trekking. It wasn't too long--only two hours--before we found a truck headed to La Paz. The driver was gracious and allowed us to hop on. The truck was loaded with crates of empty beer bottles. I discovered that crates are actually pretty comfortable if you lie on your back and distribute your body weight over several crates. To the right, vertical cliff up; to the left, vertical cliff down; overhead, stars of the night sky. It was one of those moments where I could tell myself "See--life's not that bad." Alive in another beautiful Moment in time.

Odell told me that we should sit on the mid-beam during the "sketch parts" so that we would have the option to jump "just in case." But everything went smoothly. As in, we didn't die. The ride was nothing even close to smooth. The truck driver turned out to be a really cool guy. He let us ride in the cab over the La Cumbre Pass so that we wouldn't freeze to death--as far as packing clothes go, it's kinda inconvenient to travel from jagged, trees-can't-live mountains to the tropical jungle and then back again. Odell and I chewed coca leaves to stay awake through the night hours, but I don't think coca is for me. It worked in the sense that my whole mouth was numb; however, it seemed to have no effect on my melatonin levels--I had to fight for every moment of consciousness. Like I said, the driver was a cool guy and we were able to talk with him the whole way. He drives the Yungas about every other day and chews candy to stay awake because coca has no effect on him either. So yeah, we got back late. La Paz isn't categorized as a safe city, so we still had to make it through La Plaza Villaroel to find civilization, but more importantly, a taxi, so that we could get back to a roof, water, and bananas (while waiting for a ride earlier, both quadriceps cramped up while swimming across a river and I couldn't move--never want to experience that again). Fortunately, none of the Villaroel murderers were out at 5 am that morning--no murderers, nor anyone else for that matter. We made it. We ate bananas, tried to get the coca bits out of our teeth, and crashed into a world of subconsciously re-lived adventures from the jungle. The end of another night, another day.

Stuff

I think Faith should be sought, but not conformed to. Not something for which one trains, nor a product of lifestyle--it is a gift from Heaven. Given, not taken. Saul received Faith on his way to kill. Peter received Faith while fishing--as someone who failed to pass the "greatness" test, a betrayer, scum. Faith is created where None exists, and that's kinda a beautiful thing.

"Only words, words; to be led out to battle against other words."

Plague of Perfection

Sometimes, it all feels like garbage.

Why does a thought have to be articulable to be worthy? All of our "most precious" traits are acquired. It's how well we excel, it's our list of accomplishments, it's how we learn to separate ourselves from the group. "It's not artistic enough", "It's not succinct enough", "It's not innovative enough" -- The ordinary isn't worth anyone's time.

It doesn't feel perfect. Like when you're a kid, and you have to draw a happy picture -- this somehow doesn't fit into the happy picture.

Why write?

It's all garbage.

Time Travel

Thoughts on the past:

Sometimes I wish I could travel back in time. But I don't know what I would do, really. Laugh at the same jokes again. Look at my favorite faces again. Stand there, awkwardly, thinking to myself "Do other people know about this?!" the whole time. It's hard to predict.

Thoughts on the future:

Last week I listened to a Harvard psychology professor talk about findings comparing two cognitive tasks: 1) projecting oneself into "others' shoes" and 2) thinking about oneself in the future. Results: both tasks engage basically the same areas of the brain. One could say that we tend to see the projection of our "future self" as a different person--our biology leaves us with only hypothetical inferences into our future mental states.

Thoughts on the present:

In high school I remember being brave, strong, and the envy of all nations. With fresh thoughts, I took my first tiptoed steps across hot coals, arms clenched full of beautifully folded origami dreams. I am only one thought in one place in one moment, a worm eating and pooping soil underneath a divine orchestra. I cannot seize my future and am, at a worm's pace, realizing that I would not wish my future into my fickle and fleshly hands to be carried upon frail, bared feet, blistered in the summer heat, bitten by the frosty night. Is this a mindset derived from failure? Maybe. There are the moments I imagine what it might be like to be a genius--to succeed in whatever endeavor one undertakes simply due to blessed neural networks, maybe from the perfect combination of childhood conditions and inherited genetic sequences. And maybe here I should say something eloquent about how failure teaches perseverance and humility, and in doing so fashions stronger men, more affectionate women, and inculcates deeper empathy for fellow humans. The truth is I long for perfection in all my strivings, which only succeeds in giving me a keen sense of my own imperfection in all my strivings. So, if ever presented with the hypothetical choice, I would choose to be better than what I am, in art, in music, in writing, in science, in muscle mass, in empathy, in skin color, in smell. Would this make the path to the future an easier one? I don't know. I'm tired of thinking hypothetically--it opens up endless, useless divergences.

Perspectives:

The point is that there is Freedom in the Moment that I am, a Freedom to choose the eyes I will use, a Perspective to utilize and, at times, share. My arsenal is the perpetual culmination of past experiences--failures, accomplishments, passions, attitudes, weaknesses, ideas, mindsets, knowledge of the world. Contrary to what I believed when I used to sit in pews as a kid, the world from a distance is gray, not black and white. I think the blackness and whiteness is at a much more implicit level than what one individual mind can observe, which happens to render most judgements about the motives of neighbors inane and obsolete. A good lesson here would be: Just don't do it, ever. There are so many other more useful things to use one's brain for. Where do the gray shades come from though? I think there are good perspectives and bad perspectives in the Moment one owns. Bad perspective: Why the hell does everyone and everything in the world exist to make my life miserable? Good perspective: Cool. It's a nice day. There might be more, but they are all probably just derivations of these two.

Cross-country Musings: Day 12

Day 12: Washington DC
Spent the day hanging out with old friends and visiting museums in DC. Ben, Katie and I went to the Jefferson Memorial to celebrate Thomas Jefferson's 268th birthday. We miss you, Tom. The real reason we went was because Katie's husband Thomas is in the Honor Guards and had to help out in the wreath ceremony. He did a really good job at carrying the wreaths and standing and looking cool. So at least we got cool pictures of him out of the deal.

Thomas Jefferson was smart. He understood the dynamic process of thought. His worldview was bigger than just himself at one moment in time. He noticed that things in the past had changed, and he predicted that things in the future would change. So he said a lot of profound things along those lines. Ben said he likes monuments because they are monuments--they preserve a moment in time for longer than that moment. It's like a little glimpse into the past, which means it's free from the constant upheaval of culture, worldviews, values, passions, laws, etc.

Sometimes I get tricked into thinking that a lesson learned occurs at the peak of a mountain--once I learn, it's conquered territory. When I expound on that in my mind, I realize that's an unrealistic outlook. I don't learn a lesson and then merely move on to a different lesson, rather I learn a lesson and then learn it again, but in a slightly different context of thought each time. I remember in early high school, I felt worthless a lot. There was a time I felt I had lost/lacked the traits I valued. Important things, like being smart, artistic, athletic and popular among the ladies. That's a tough place to be in such a formative junction in life. And, actually, I attribute the inner strength I found during those emo times to a faith in God. Since high school, those thoughts have been known to slither their way back at times, wrapped in different contexts, different worldviews.
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Does anybody ever think about what shapes one's identity? Ben read a book on how millionaires think and it noted some key differences in millionaires' mindsets when compared to others. I'm going to keep all the secrets to myself. But one subpoint included in the discussion was that the middle-class mindset tends to associate the question "What do you do?" with who a person is. The profession determines one's identity. What if identity is deeper and transcends human accomplishment?
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"I'm living in the tombs." Abraham Lincoln was sentimental. Anybody quoted in a history museum would have to be sentimental, right? From reading President Abe's quotes, it seems that he was a man with strong ties to his past. He remembered. The juxtaposition of a childhood in a log cabin and a presidency during a civil war must have been extremely trippy for him.

Sometimes I question the value of sentimentality--it feels week. In a lot of ways, it seems to create isolating barriers more than kindred thoughts. But maybe the occasional kindred thoughts make it all worth it. Like finding a small ruby among endless sand dunes.
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I have been to a few museums/sites dedicated to the holocaust--Nuremburg, Berlin, Dachau--and it's always hard for me to relate to the content. It's unimaginable in my head. But what intrigues me are individuals' stories.

"Never shall I forget those flames which consumed my faith forever. Never shall I forget that nocturnal silence which deprived me, for all eternity, of the desire to live. Never shall I forget those moments which murdered my God and my soul and turned my dreams to dust. Never shall I forget these things, even if I am condemned to live as long as God Himself. Never." Elie Wiesel's words reflect the depth of hopelessness in my opinion. I wonder if I would have given up hope in a situation that so clearly exploited humans' capacity for evil. My friends are good. They don't usually seek out death and destruction, so it's easy to forget that raw evil roams free sometimes. I would love to believe that I would cling to hope when all hope is lost. It feels right. Like what a little kid would do. But it's easy to forget pure things when you live longer than a childhood. I don't know. All there is is hope.
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I Looked Down

I looked down to the ground
Worms swimming in my steps
I saw my feet, they knew this place
A stamp, a swift graze upon earth's face
Withered leaves and broken trees
Creatures huddling in decay
The path was mine, my steps the first
Floating freely where I please
My feet embodied in the mud
I was free to rule the world

I looked up at the stars
Thinking all the thoughts that men have thought
I tried to count, I stopped at four
I walked for hours, my path unknown
I kneeled down, yelled out loud
But words can't fly like balls of light
Can stars look upon a soul?
Do they look this way at all?
There were no sounds, I heard no sounds
I'm a worm underneath a symphony

Convinced of the vanity of my vain attempt
To lay my hand upon the Hand that lives above
(And before and after and below)
My corpse of walking dust, my forever loyal lust
My fatal rationality, I am no child, I know my world
Said I, struggling to feel the past I once knew so well

I look down at my feet
I see the remnants of decay
The heavens are too high for one like me
Though my feet rule all life's end
Where shall I cast my gaze?

Yet I stood
As one captured between the dream of hope and dismay
My feet in the mud, touched by the air that touched the sky
Held steady by the mercy of a Hand from afar

Boundaries

Whenever I wear a chicken suit in the States, I hear the same reaction over and over again—“Hey, it's that chicken from the Family Guy.” And they say it like they're the first one to ever have that thought—even though the tv show is watched by millions.

I used to think Americans were the only ignorant ones. After exploring the world a bit, I have realized that there are ignorant people in every country.

There are definitely more important things in life than being “globally aware.” People have diverse interests. I understand that not everyone travels or is even interested in traveling. Instead, some people watch baseball. Or knit. I hate baseball. So, props to those who have the patience to sit through games and make the players feel valuable.

Anyway, lately I've been a bit puzzled. Even troubled. Everywhere I look I see boundaries. Does anyone move? People are different, of course. Friends usually become friends because of some uniting factor. So, naturally, individuals tend to sift into groups according to common interests. Understandable. But if you zoom out a few clicks to the “culture view,” the borders become thick fast.

In Japan I had to invent a new word once in a while to describe some of my meals. One amazing meal (mostly because it requires minimum effort) is “kimo-gohan”--a mixture of rice, raisins, milk, sugar and cinnamon. The Japanese translates as “disgusting rice.” The facial expressions that it evoked on my Japanese friends' faces often made me second guess what I was actually eating—like double check to make sure I hadn't accidentally mixed in a decomposing dead animal or something. When I'm around people who were raised in the States, I always find their lack of reaction kinda nice when they notice me eating kimo-gohan. The point: it's often relaxing to hang out with people raised in the same culture as oneself. It's effortless.

Groups are inevitable and even beneficial. But why are the boundaries so thick? Does it need to be like that? Are people so obsessed with an effortless lifestyle that it destroys any chance of adventure into learning?

My current life is influenced mostly by Korea. A couple days ago I was at the Korean pub, where I go to fairly often since my roommates work there. It's not uncommon for me to be the only white kid there, but the other day more than a couple people expressed puzzlement over my presence there—“Do you have a Korean girlfriend?”

“No.”

“Is one of your parents Korean?”

“No. Both white like a cracker.”

“You like Korean food?!”

“Yeah, it's good.”

“Why do you know so many Koreans?”

“I don't know.”

Anti-extremism is a virtue. One could make the extreme case that if people were too “culture-friendly,” all the cultures might dissolve into a big ugly gray Super-culture. The other extreme is that people get surprised when an American hangs out at a Korean pub or goes to a party with English language school students.

I guess the question nagging at my mind is “Don't people get tired of their own culture?” I've lived in American culture for over 20 years. That's enough for a lifetime. Don't Americans get tired of talking about football? Don't Koreans get tired of talking about cute actresses? Don't Chinese get tired of talking?

I guess there's a general consensus nowadays that stereotypes are evil. I agree that people should use their brains and not throw individuals they meet into a category; however, stereotypes are funny. As long as people refuse to venture out of their comfortable little lives, stereotypes will remain strong. And Family Guy will continue to be watched by millions.

More Words

The brain is finite. We understand new information only in a context that already exists. Always. Not in a context outside of our experiences, not in a all-encompassing context, and probably not really in the original, or "true", context.

Luckily, as humans living together in the same world, there is an abundant overlap in our individual experiences, and we possess the ability to communicate, mainly through words. Through words we are able to extrapolate our own individual contexts in order to relate with others' experiences. Words are a very diverse instrument. They also give us the ability to justify anything. Maybe it's the validation we receive from mutuality, maybe it's capacity for education, maybe it's the inherent imperfection--maybe the sum--and it equals an egocentric human population. And lots of words.

I've been reading C.S. Lewis's Till We Have Faces intermittently over the past couple months and finally finished a few days ago. It follows the story of a girl as she becomes queen but who is plagued by misery throughout her life and carries her complaint against the gods with her. Near the end of the story, she stands before the gods and, at last, voices her complaint—which is also her answer. She states, “I saw well why the gods do not speak to us openly, nor let us answer. Till that word can be dug out of us, why should they hear the babble that we think we mean? How can they meet us face to face till we have faces?” The last paragraph reads, "I ended my first book with the words 'no answer'. I know now, Lord, why you utter no answer. You are yourself the answer. Before your face questions die away. What other answer would suffice? Only words, words; to be led out to battle against other words." (Lewis, 308).

It's interesting because it alludes to the idea of the External—something outside of our seeing/breathing/thinking context. Whatever part of the External that does leak into our finite human context can only be understood here, in our place—regardless of the original context.

In my opinion, this is where religion is born. A bit of the External leaking into all of our diverse little human contexts. It's the context we understand. And it's hard for me to understand why many human social circles are so adamant about propagating their own context as truth. They treat God as though He is trapped in a book or—even more absurdly—a human context of their choosing.

I miss mountains. Cities are impressive and amazing, but the structure concept goes too far. It pervades mindsets to the point where people get perturbed by seeing even a slightly abnormal facial expression in public. Mountains are rugged and completely void of human invention. I think it points to the External—Something completely outside of human invention or planning.

There are some brilliant things about life. But, often, I am overcome with the realization that something doesn't add up. As the greatest actor of all time (Nicolas Cage, of course) said once while he was acting, "They say, 'Evil prevails when good men fail to act.' What they ought to say is, 'Evil prevails.'” (Lord of War). In many ways I understand being mad at God for (seemingly) allowing evil to prevail. That is a spot I walk through often.

Dr. Paul Farmer helps poor people in Haiti. Sometimes he also does stuff like teach at Harvard Medical School and work as an attending physician at Brigham Woman's Hospital in Boston. He said, "The fact that any sort of religious faith was so disdained at Harvard and so important to the poor—not just in Haiti but elsewhere, too—made me even more convinced that faith must be something good." In the end, I find myself back at the place where I simply hope that Someone is keeping score.

Much seems lost. Does perfection lie Outside? Because it definitely doesn't make a name for itself in this human context. Yet enough fragments are left flowing through our veins to evoke longing for that place. Fragments of all different shapes—friendship, laughter, love, peace—nurturing the hope that Beauty is out there, somewhere, past where words can go.

Weak to Weak

And maybe this . . . is life.

And I'm living today
With my hand on your shoulder
And that look in your eyes
That says we're just the same
(God, we're just the same)
But I was given this shade
While you wither in the sun
I sat in wonder at the heavens
Was that the night of your scars?
You never asked for this, I know
And, no, I don't know the reason
(Does a father give gifts of stone?)
But I couldn't help but notice (again)
That your bowl is quite empty
Would you like a bit more of mine?

(screaming part)
Take from me my bowl
And this wretched coffin of precious stones
Heart a bloody mess
Lying on the crystal clear glass floor
Bars of gold instead of doors
Will someone please wake up and sing of blood and death?
And is somebody keeping score?
Is there an ocean that's less deep?

And when we are done with this foolishness
Sitting above the mountain mist
There'll be a great reward for those
Who left their mirrors at home
And the boys and girls who still think they can fly
And the few who survive, their tears wiped dry

And with a hand on my shoulder
The searing pain is no more
And the hope in your eyes
Awakes the hope in mine too
The strength from your hands
From the toil in the sun
I remember shivering in the shadows
I recall the lone eyes in the night

And then words stopped
Beauty, in its place, fixed its gaze

…And I fall
Into the mist
Again;
…and you're poor

Your bowl is quite empty
Would you like a bit more of mine?

A Cup of Water II

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October 25, 2007
…Differential equations, mass transport, microbiology, neuroscience, magnetic resonance microscopy—a means. Please God, merely a means to an end. May the label of education be hope to someone—anyone, anywhere. Even if just to give a cup of cold water to drink to a child…
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July 10, 2010
I spent the last few weeks in Bolivia traveling with friends from La Paz as well as medical professionals from the US to small villages in the desert mountains of Santa Cruz where we would set up free medical clinics for the people. While some of the villages had sufficient medical facilities and personnel, other villages we found seemed to be lacking in adequate medical care for its people, especially the elderly. All of us worked very hard over our two weeks of mountain travel so that we were able to provide care for as many people as possible during our short stays.

I have many exciting stories from these last few weeks of adventures, and the team could talk about diverse cases that they saw at the clinic or heartwarming encounters that they had on some of the home visits. They are all beautiful stories. But I would like to share an ordinary story.

June 22, 2010
Quirusillas, Santa Cruz, Bolivia
I worked crowd control today. We saw around 120 patients. It was a constant flow of people and even got a little hectic, but in the end I think we did a good job of looking our visitors in the eye and giving them the care that they deserve as human beings. During the busiest time of today, as I was directing visitors from triage to the appropriate nurse station or waiting area, something ordinary happened. A team member approached me with a little girl around age 6 in tow and said “Hey Rob, she’s thirsty, is there something to drink?” and handed her over to me. Sure, let’s go. “Ven con migo” – I used one of my recently acquired Spanish phrases and off we went to the other side of the spacious gym to grab my water bottle. She was bubbly little girl with bright eyes, and on the way she started skipping. Naturally, I joined in. We made it to my water bottle, and I proceeded to hunt down a cup for her, pour her a cup of water, then stood by to see if more would be needed. She finished, gave me the cup, said “Gracias,” and once again went skipping off in search of the next exciting activity. I went back to crowd control.

And that’s the story. The reason it’s even a memory for me is because it obviously holds some personal significance. A couple years ago I remember sitting in my room trying to solve a mass transport equation for homework. My thoughts were elsewhere and I proceeded to write about it. I wanted to be elsewhere, to be in the world, looking at faces, not books or computer monitors. My prayer that day was that my label of education would be simply a means to provide care for people with needs – even if it was merely handing a cup of water to a child (in the words of Jesus). I feel like handing that cup of water to my little friend was a moment that was supposed to serve as a reminder to me that there was a deeper level – deeper than a line of people at the triage desk, deeper than the number of prescriptions of ibuprofen written that day, deeper than the number of toothbrushes given out to the kids that day.

I like Jesus. He talked about a “kingdom” in which the ordinary things in life had potential to be significant. It’s a refreshing thought, especially coming from my Western society that places so much emphasis on accomplishments, on results, on numbers. This kingdom that Jesus talked about marries the ordinary to the noble, and I believe this is a notion that many people from a full range of socioeconomic backgrounds and cultural upbringings long to embrace. It means that meaning is not defined by status in society or by influence over the world. It means a simple act of giving can hold significance. It raises a caring heart to a higher level than an amount on a check. It ensures that giving a mother a glimpse of hope again or helping a kid smile will not go unnoticed.

What if a simple prayer for a neighbor can carry significance? What if giving a cup of water to a child can be beautiful? What if providing medical care in obscure and seemingly forgotten villages in the mountains of Bolivia has potential to have a lasting impact, rather than simply vanishing the next morning along with the mountain mist?

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To view some pics:
http://www.dropbox.com/gallery/3269422/1/2010%20Bolivian%20Death%20Road?h=f4bcd6

Mind's Eye

The images imprinted on my retina as I close my eyes to rest have been spectacular as of late. I close my eyes and find myself immediately made spectator to vivid images from my recent life: thousands of pale square houses upon houses perceived as little specks cloaking the rugged peaks of La Paz jutting out past the tree line, as seems fitting for something as raw and untamed as nature; a green mountain, laid thick in jungle vegetation, defiantly stealing any glory from the backdrop of a bright blue sky and lingering mist; the dry, dusty trails of atv terrain passing quickly underneath in my mind’s view; exhilarating views of densely vegetated valleys winding through steep raw peaks as the foreground of meandering stretches of highway is a constant blur as I navigate my mountain bike deeper and deeper into the green.

These images imprinted on my mind are just a glimpse into my life in the last few weeks. As I sit on a plane en route back to the states, every minute that passes makes this most recent life grow a little more surreal.

But life moves. I’m thankful for the time I had to explore Bolivia with my friends. We traveled with a team of medical professionals from the US through the desert mountains of Santa Cruz, Bolivia, setting up medical clinics in rural villages along the way. Our eyes were given a chance to see into what life was like in these areas. In a few of the villages we found a handful of elderly individuals shut away in their houses, neglected to their death bed. In other villages we found well-equipped medical facilities and caring Cuban doctors ready to serve the Bolivian farmers. There were also the kids, the heart of every village. We played football, basketball, freeze tag; they took my hand and led me around the villages; we played with cool toys the team had brought as gifts; and I ran around in my chicken suit as they chased me, screaming “Pollo! Pollo!” Kids are beautiful. I have promised myself to go back and visit my beautiful little friends as soon as I’m able.

Our adventures continued back in La Paz. We explored surrounding areas overlooking La Paz; we went 4-wheeling in a big terrain park with beautiful views of the valley below; we went mountain biking down “Death Road,” a stretch of 63 km of narrow mountain road that drops 10,000 ft in elevation during the ride. All of these things and all of these people have left a deep imprint on my mind. Now my biggest challenge will be to have a good attitude as I come back to the US. God knows it’s a place in which I’ve never actually desired to live. I hope this won’t last too much longer.

Five minutes till touch-down in Miami...
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Life's Ramblings

Church was deep. The topic: one of the pastors passed away from cancer last week. He was young; 30’s, wife, three kids. WTF? People were sad, confused, angry, broken. I don’t really participate in church stuff, so I didn’t know him. At church another pastor talked about his life and final days. He often battled depression and despair. Of course. He was wasting away, becoming weaker every day from the chemo. The day before he passed away, he laid his hands on each of his children and gave them his blessings. I couldn’t quit trying to imagine what a dying father’s hand feels to a kid, how his final words would sound, the concept of an “end.” The pastor at church talked about inner strength. It was encouraging. There are verses in the Bible that talk about how “what is seen is temporary, but the unseen is eternal.” To me it’s an extremely attractive thought, but a ridiculously hard thought to process. Is it wishful thinking? Believing that there is a deeper level abiding underneath the sensory? And if God is part of the deeper level, why do strong-spirited, loving 38 year-old fathers die from cancer while their kids watch? In my brain research group meetings, a phrase often uttered is “Biology is messy.” That is one thought that I always include in the thought blender. In addition to random chaos, imperfection is rampant in the world. It’s not an answer, really. Just another thought. Christian answers drop dead at my ears. I think the Christian faith possesses many brilliant concepts that help many find strength in God; it’s just that my ears have become immune to Christianese. It happens. A lesson in the relevance of language. And in the irrelevance of regurgitated aphorisms. I’m kina like Job from the Bible, except not righteous and don’t have very many crises going on in my life. But I try to justify my position to God. I still think I’m right in a lot of cases; in all the other cases, I used to think I was right. I still hope there’s an “unseen” where our inherent knowledge that perfection exists proves true, where maybe biology isn’t so messy, and where once in a while a bridge or two cross over to what is seen.

The Confidence Interval

I might’ve gotten an epiphany the other day: I hate normal. I hate natural responses to a set of stimuli. Predictable reactions annoy me, and predictable mass reactions annoy me a tiny bit more. Why? I don’t know. Maybe because out of everything that a brain is capable of streamlining into a conscious thought, predictability is the least interesting imaginable. It’s necessary, of course, in the name of efficiency. Clapping has its place; without it, nobody would stay awake during awards ceremonies.

Doing the flip-side thing and sifting out the negativity: I love diversity. I love the concept of individuality and uniqueness. I love seeing new terrain, moving, floating, flying – learning about other cultures, people, worldviews. All of which add up to make it hard to come back and remain in America for the present; however, it would be unwarranted to allow my nostalgia for the world to hinder me from exploring what’s around me even now, what I have been given. Because it’s here too. Yes, the world is everywhere. And you can even quote me on that.

I love the many faces of humor. I have seen them in so many places around the world. They all share a common thread – unpredictability. In some ways, this means a complete disregard for the steady stream of human behavior that constantly flows right through the middle of the Gaussian curve of social interaction. It means my friends are all insane. And our place of gathering lies outside any cultural or ethnic boundaries. Those are the kinds of people with whom I somehow end up making the longest lasting friendships.

I hate getting to know people. I love knowing people; the former, laced with shallow words and misunderstandings; the latter, sturdy with unparalleled beauty and depth.

Thoughts on a bus – Boston, 2010:
When I grow up, will things be different? Is there a life where mundaneness can’t make a bed? Or does it all inevitably just morph into another new shade of gray?

Doctors become doctors because they’re bored, right? They hope to leave the confines of safety and familiarity and, especially, self-centeredness, and instead to live a life of unpredictability among those stricken by the unpredictability of life. Sometimes it’s hell and sometimes it’s heaven, but the constant, underlying beauty imprints deeper than all the ink in the world. . .right?

My fantasized and naïve hope.

Surgery

Anyway, I went to church the other day. The lady who spoke was a total fruitcake; however, she has lived in Mozambique for the last several years so she has good stuff to say about life. She helps people. When they’re hungry, she feeds them. And the people in Mozambique are starving. It sounds so simple when put in that context. It brings to mind so many of the words that Jesus spoke. During her talk at church today she said “Are [Jesus’ words] relevant to Boston, too?”

“Wow, good question…no idea…,” echoed inside my head, as I sat in the midst of emphatic “yes’s” heard throughout the spacious sanctuary.

This is me in 2010.

The few friends of mine who have a general idea of how my neural circuitry works have often recommended C.S. Lewis’s Till We Have Faces for me to read. I still haven’t yet taken the initiative on it; however, recently at church I listened to the speaker read an excerpt from it, and I must say, there was some resonance going on somewhere up there.

“I say the gods [God, in this context] deal very unrightly with us. For they will neither (which would be best of all) go away and leave us to live our own short days to ourselves, nor will they show themselves openly and tell us what they would have us do. For that too would be endurable. But to hint and hover, to draw near us in dreams and oracles, or in a waking vision that vanishes as soon as seen, to be dead silent when we question them and then glide back and whisper (words we cannot understand) in our ears when we most wish to be free of them, and to show to one what they hide from another; what is all this but cat-and-mouse play, blindman's buff, and mere jugglery? Why must holy places be dark places?” (Lewis, C.S. Till We Have Faces: A Myth Retold. 1956. 118-119.)

I have some ideas for how to run the universe in case someone ever asked. For one, I wouldn’t throw a planet into orbit and then go to sleep for thousands of years, only waking up once in a while to remind “that one planet with living things” that I was actually alive and going to come back to save everyone. Or destroy everyone. Someday.

I grew up in the church and learned apologetics fairly well for a non-theologian. I used to think it was important to know what one believed, to defend what one believed, and maybe to even convince a few here and there to believe “what’s right” – which is always one’s own beliefs. Now I try to live in reality. It makes talking to people, learning about people, understanding people, etc., way easier.

Has anyone else noticed that Solomon was kinda smart? He had some good stuff to say. He talks about reality: “I know the best thing we can do is always enjoy life, because God’s gift to us is the happiness we get from our food and drink and from the work we do. Everything God has done will last forever; nothing he does can ever be changed. God has done all this, so that we will worship him.” (Solomon, Ecclesiastes 3:12-14) The last part seemed a bit desultory when I first read it. He lays out so many profound observations concerning how life under the sun progresses, how it cycles, how it leaves so many questions unanswered. He finally ends up saying “Just enjoy your food and your work” and, finally, at the very end he throws in a “…and this means worship God,” almost like a southern Baptist preacher might.

Life’s so complicated. This might indeed be one of my biggest criticisms of the general Christian/church population – they offer answers for everything like they actually know. In reality, life is a chaos-generating beast, completely non-linear in almost every aspect save the systems that are a product of clever inventions from within the logical mind so that they can fit nicely in our compartmentalized conscious brain. What about death? And pain? What about extreme hopelessness? Poverty? Earthquakes and tsunamis? If you’re reading this, and you’re a Christian who believes that natural disasters are a judgment for people’s sins – stop, and go find a more fundamental website to read. Life’s random. People are beautiful. Sacrifice is beautiful. Hope is beautiful.

So that’s why I find Solomon’s musings so profound. Life is ridiculous. But what if the response is simple? What if the dark holy places only require a flip of the switch at the back of the room? What if it doesn’t require thousands of shelves filled with theological dissertations? What if happiness is important? What if thankfulness is important? What if God is real? It would give one a direction to look toward. One thing I am convinced of is that you don’t have to go to a church or a mosque to find a real God. He’s there too sometimes, of course, but True Beauty is too rampant to be confined to the cute inanimate inventions of flawed hands.

I would just like to emphasize the main point, which is that I don’t know. I write stuff down sometimes—sometimes I can even make people believe it’s coherent. But as for life, like I said, it’s only 2010. No idea what’s left. Here’s another excerpt from Till We Have Faces:

“The past which I wrote down was not the past that I thought I had (all these years) been remembering. I did not, even when I had finished the book, see clearly many things that I see now. The change which the writing wrought in me (and of which I did not write) was only a beginning— only to prepare me for the gods' surgery. They [God] used my own pen to probe my wound.” (Lewis, C.S. Till We Have Faces: A Myth Retold. 1956. 120.)

And sometimes Perfection halts everything.

Because nothing is perfect.

And what's left is sleep
Against the wind and the waves

The Hospital

Inspiration has been hard to come by recently. I haven’t yet figured out exactly which environmental factors are mainly responsible for my mind entering stand-by mode. I think it could have something to do with a realistic outlook on life mixed with some apathy and the ever-present mundane, all intertwined to yield absolutely no verbal or written thoughts that would be impersonal enough to articulate yet interesting enough for someone to read. Apathy.

I live in Boston now. Mostly, I observe. I’ve been learning about the grown-up world. The stuff everyone already knows from TV – grown-ups get up in the morning, grab their coffee, read the news on their commute to work, lead a sociable presence in the workplace so that everything continues to flow efficiently, get a paycheck, home to the family, family time, etc. There are problems, there are fights, there is laughter, there is love. I live in America, an American life.

I never asked for this. I only beg it’s a tiny stepping stone near the riverbank. Every morning I pass through the main corridor at the Massachusetts General Hospital on my way to the shuttle bus to the Martinos Imaging Center. It’s the usual hospital activity, I suppose. But that sixty-second time frame that I’m in the hospital usually gives me thoughts for the rest of the day. Hospitals feel deeper. Deeper than what’s outside. And maybe in actuality they’re simply more people mindlessly following their daily path. But at least to me, they feel deeper. The reason for this is that for most people, hospitals are a place to go when their daily path gets interrupted somehow – when the ladder breaks, when traffic collides, when a child forgets to look both ways – when biology fails. And suddenly time is important. Not time in itself, but time as the independent variable in the function of humanity. These are the experiences that shift us out of our steady-state and let us discover the beauty in each others’ eyes.

In those walls, I long for so much, actually. I long for life to be better. I long for time to increase inside those walls. I long to learn. I long for my life to pass through those walls sometime in the future – but for more than sixty seconds next time.

And I feel so much pressure. The dreams of a child are not simple. Is there a place where dreams and reality are the same? Does that place exist in time? I want skills. People are dying. People are poor. And I’m in America, reading headlines on my commute to work. WTF?

Lamentations of the Night Sky

Do you care about the stars?
Do you ever glance into the night?
To see the voice of his heart rise high
On the air of silence above the Rising Sun’s darkness

Were you there on the shore?
Listening to the agony in her voice?
As her pleas drowned out the dull blows of her fists
On his lifeless chest

And I saw the bruises on his face
Felt the scar on her arm
Kissed every tear off her cheek
Turned and screamed your name at the stars
Do you care about the stars?
Do you ever glance into the night?

(Or do I just look the wrong way?)

And if I would be so privileged
As to receive a final request
I’d stamp a word or two on my lips,
Maybe tie on a bow and a pretty lace,
All the while screaming from my heart
To where words can never go

But we must feel to move
We must perceive to be
Wherefore I respectfully submit this request
To be taken to rest among the starry host,
The throng of time, my hope:

Don’t let this be the last verse.

Adventures in the Far East

My latest travels took me on a road trip from MT to the East Coast where my friends and I saw many sites we had only heard about on tv. It was a good American experience. Here's some pics of some of the sites we stopped at:
















Yale University, CT






















Cape Cod, MA
















Times Square, NYC






















Statue of Liberty, NYC
















Mackinac Bridge, MI

(Concerning this montage they call Life…)

My mind is not here, God forbid my mind be here, finding comfort in this comfort.

“From everyone who has been given much, much will be required; and to whom they entrusted much, of him they will ask all the more.” -- Bible (Luke 12:48)

Thoughts calling from the past…lying awake at night to the dreams of a child in the theater of my mind. Where did he go? Who is the real thief anyway? Who would steal something so precious and where did I put it? I never asked for this. Peter Pan could fly. I can barely lift my eyes sometimes.

. . .There's so many people hurting. So many people troubled, so many people longing for something even remotely close to true love. And when I see this, my heart sinks; hope seems so distant. When I look up to heaven, words won't come. What can be spoken that hasn't already been heard?. . .

Come down, heaven.
Won't you come down? (As Cities Burn)

This world is backwards and it never quits spinning. Walking, running, flying…will I ever get somewhere?

Take me back to where I was
Before I was born
sweet and dreamless sleep
It sounds like heaven to me (As Cities Burn)

. . .But I can see lights. Lights spread among the walking corpses that constantly surround me. They are a little glimmer of hope that still burns. And all I can hope for and beg for is that this life that I possess would also be one of those lights, staying lit for those around me.

I’m so weak. I can do nothing. The constant motion of time, weathering hope, stealing a little more day to day. All that remains is a dream of a child. But may it forever outlive the child.

Here’s your hope tonight, my love
Please hold it again
Tomorrow I’ll find it again for you

That night I went to bed with a smile on my face. That night takes my hand and leads me on.

What if a heart is more important than a face? What if a vow means more than a ring? What if the rich aren’t the ones who are truly blessed, but rather those who are poor in spirit? What if those who have plenty are not the ones who are truly satisfied, but rather those who hunger and thirst for justice? What if the ambitious aren’t the ones who are truly strong, but rather those who are merciful and humble? What if forgetting about a reputation in order to look at someone with whom others go out of their way to avoid eye contact is important? What if loving one’s neighbor is important?

It’s all backwards.

...May this love be the beginning quiver of a leaf before the rushing of the whirlwind. May this love bring color to the grayness of this world. May this love go where words can't go and eyes can't follow. May this love break through unending facades. Let this love speak. This love…I want this love…

Withered Words

Is this safe in your hands?
Will it outlive your flame?
Cuz it was so beautiful when I looked down
Just a second ago
I held it with care
Like a child’s first dream
And though the filth of my hands
Taint it ever so soft
It still remained as a torch
In a world of ash
A hope in small hands
The one gem not lost
It was beautiful
My God, it was still beautiful

And here I sit in silence
After the wind’s taunting dance
Surrounded by withered words, my stale thoughts
Where does darkness sleep?

I heard the oceans have walls
And the stars a stage
And young ravens are fed
As are clouds before rain
Rivers freeze, mountains break
Lightning roars

I don’t know how I was made

May I sleep on your grave tonight?
Rest my head under your name?
Awake to my bones breaking and beg once again
May I sleep on your grave tonight?
Rest my head frail in its place
And the morning comes
Silent, I stare into your face

Plutonium

I'm glad Pluto's not a planet anymore. I always hated it. I don't think atomic bombs are good for the environment. So, in my opinion, it was a good decision to blow it up...or whatever they did with it...

Uhm...

Here's a picture.

A World Spinning Backwards

Stephen Wiltshire. Sometimes referred to as “The Human Camera.” He’s an autistic savant, which means that he’s an autistic who has been gifted with some incredible abilities. Try this YouTube link to learn more about him: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a8YXZTlwTAU. When my neuroscience professor saw this video, he said that he gave up on ever having a complete understanding on how the brain really works—it’s too ridiculous. To think that a brain can be capable of this phenomenon is fascinating and leads to countless questions concerning the neural mechanisms of visual attention and memory. Provided we have two working eyes, optic nerves, and optic tracts, everything in our field of vision enters our primary visual cortex, right? So, what discerns the “level of salience” of objects that we see? What discerns which objects are lost in the background?

Most cameras nowadays have an Invert Colors mode. It’s fun to use if you’re bored with normal pictures. What if there was a Invert Salience mode? All the things that don’t get noticed suddenly become the focus of one’s attention. All the things that weren’t important are actually what’s truly important.

What if the world is backwards?

In the world we live in, the smart are seen as useful, the rich are seen as blessed, the successful are seen as immovable, the good-looking are seen as beautiful. Material weighs one’s success, ambition weighs one’s value, a smile weighs one’s hope, a mirror weighs one’s image. The list could go on.

There’s that thing Jesus said about a poor widow once [1]. Nobody noticed her putting two small coins into the Temple’s collection box. How are the two coins going to help anybody? Her contribution didn’t matter—kinda like voting for President if you’re from North Dakota. But Jesus noticed her and told his disciples that she had given more than everyone else. Visual attention is a funny thing.

Something about the attitude of the woman’s heart mattered. She was poor. She didn’t have money to give, but she gave anyway. Others gave because they had money to give. When we, as a world, focus on this situation, we see the coins. We see what the coins are used for. We try to justify seeing the coins by also looking at the results of the coins. But it’s a rare thing in this world to look at the attitude of one’s heart. Maybe it’s because we can’t physically see it. But what if the things we don’t see are the things that truly are important?

What if the rich aren’t the ones who are truly blessed, but rather those who are poor in spirit? What if those who have plenty are not the ones who are truly satisfied, but rather those who hunger and thirst for righteousness? What if the ambitious aren’t the ones who are truly strong, but rather those who are merciful and humble? [2] What if prayers never answered but still prayed are actually important? What if forgetting about a reputation in order to look at someone with whom others go out of their way to avoid eye contact is important? What if loving one’s neighbor is important?

It’s all backwards. But when it’s all backwards, individuals have value—and it’s a value that doesn’t stem from other individuals’ words. And that’s a refreshing thought in today’s world.

More than anything else, Jesus talked about a Kingdom. Turns out, it wasn’t visible like everyone at the time thought it would be.

[1] http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=luke%2021:1-4;&version=51
[2] http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=matthew%205:1-12;&version=31

2008 Euro Cup

Since I live in Europe this summer, I've been following the 2008 Euro Cup. It gives me something to do. I'm in Germany, so I figured I would cheer for Germany, even though I could really care less. With each Germany victory, the celebrations around town gradually grew more lively, so it was fun to observe. Last week when Germany beat Turkey to advance to the championship game, there was a huge celebration downtown. The street was packed with singing Germans, draped in their national colors and waving German flags high for all to see. Around the town all that could be heard was the cacophony of car horns as cars drove around parading the German flags from the windows.

I went to England this weekend and flew back on Sunday night, which ended up overlapping perfectly with the the Germany vs. Spain championship game. On the plane I kept wondering what would await me. If Germany won, I figured I should know immediately after walking into the airport, if not immediately after landing. It would be fitting to type right here "The suspense was more than I could bear," but that'd be a lie. I just sat quietly in my seat and read a book about Saudi Arabia.

Immediately after landing, I began to look around at different people's faces to see if there would be anything telling in their expressions. I didn't see any exhilaration, but maybe they were just acting reserved or maybe their phones didn't work, or maybe the game wasn't quite finished. I was leaning towards a Germany loss.

The second hint I was given was standing in line for immigration back into Germany. I kept hearing murmured voicings of "Scheiße" (English spelling: Scheisse), which is definitely not a good indication of victory. I was almost convinced. I needed to be sure though. Finally, as I walked into the airport terminal, awaiting me was an indication that was a little bit less ambiguous than the previous ones. Here's what I saw:
















That's not Germany's flag (for all the Americans out there). It's an upside-down Spanish one. *shrug*

I have to admit, I was a bit disappointed. Knowing that I would have a 3-hr. layover at the train station in Mainz, I was hoping that the celebrations would still be rockin when I got there so that I could take some cool pictures. Instead, I walked aimlessly around a dark and relatively quiet town at 3am before heading back to the station to wait another hour and a half. Instead of pictures of masses of victorious Germans in their red, black, & yellow garb, singing "Ole, Ole, Ole, Ole!" I have only pictures of lonliness and boredom (below). Oh well, maybe another time.

To My Child in an Imperfect World

(This will be a really cool hardcore song someday)

Wait inside tonight, my love
And rest your eyes
I’m at your side

Here’s your hope tonight, my love
Please hold it again
Tomorrow I’ll find it again for you

And when we embark on our journey again
I’ll hold your hand, my friend
And we'll fly, my friend
And we’ll see the trees from the sky
We’ll see the oceans rise
We’ll see the mountains cry
And we’ll see rivers dry

We’ll see small ones as they watch their mother cry
We’ll see a mother’s pain and adulteress eye
We’ll see brothers abandon for a loaf of bread
We’ll see fathers falling and then they’re dead

We’ll see desolation where the masses are
We’ll see rivers run free in the palace of one
We’ll see nations devour and then take some more
We’ll see kings of peace turn in defeat
We’ll see an empty spot in the judge’s seat
We’ll see recklessness in those we need
We’ll see fire destroy the innocent
We’ll see the starving die, but pass the wine

We’ll see ashes give birth and ashes die
And we’ll see ashes rising high into the sky
We’ll see monuments for the hate they love
We’ll see a bed for the lovers they’ve won

And a strong man will die
And a rich man will cry
And you’ll ask me why
As we look at the trees from this blood red sky

This world is backwards and we’ll spin it back again
We’ll give a Name to the End
And I’ll hold your hand, my friend

We’ll see beauty in the unknown
We’ll see joy in agony
We’ll see hope that comes back again
We’ll see darkness that can’t run free
We’ll see wealth in poverty
We’ll see a heart in the hungry
We’ll see a strength in the lowly
…And maybe we’ll prevail

Please stay with me
In this blood red sky

Give me all your tears
Drop them at my feet
I'll pick each up
Put them all on my cheek

(break-down)

Cuz I’ll dry all your tears
And I’ll dry all your tears
And I’ll dry all your tears
And you’ll sleep tonight

Going Through Life: Part 23

Pretty sure no one still reads this, because it's just another dormant blog site. But I have nothing to do right now, so I'll give a little update and use really cool pictures to make it non-boring.

I graduated from Montana State University with a chemical engineering degree, so that's enough of that. I think the engineers are usually the people who are happiest to graduate. Their four years aren't just some classes and some papers and then you graduate. It's more like hell. So at the graduation ceremony, it seemed fitting that the engineering section erupted with the most pomp and silly string when their college was called. Yeah, so I'm gonna move onto neuroscience now and leave engineering behind for the time being.





















I done gradutated!

After that, I left the U.S. once again on May something, 2008. Before I left, however, I went to Disneyland. And I will now prove it with a picture.
















Me at Disneyland

From Disneyland I flew to Taiwan (for all you Americans out there, Taiwan is an island off the coast of China and south of Japan). The tallest building in the world is there, so I took a a picture by it.





















Taipei 101 Building

After Taiwan, I returned to the lovely Jakarta, Indonesia, to see my family and to eat. My friends and I spent a few days in Bali. It was a good time and I really miss the homies. It was me, my brother Ryan, Chiaki the Jap, Tomo the Jap, and Shinae the Korean.
















Kuta Beach, Bali





















Yeah, I can fly. But only down.

Next we were off to Surabaya, which is in East Java. We went to Mt. Bromo, which fascinates Indonesians with its desolate landscape. I think it's the only place that looks like that in Indonesia, and Indonesia is a big country (not just one little island in the ocean, like most Americans believe). Here's a couple pics:
















Mt. Bromo, Eastern Java, Indonesia

















Jumping off stuff

I eventually left Indonesia and came to Germany, where I am now. I'm doing MRI research at the University of Würzburg. I was able to get my brain scanned at the other building. So here's what my brain looks like when I'm looking at different depicted facial expressions:

















fMRI of my brain

So that's not too bad, I guess. Fairly normal. Got all the important things, at least. Ok, well...I'm hoping to write some interesting thoughts someday. So...whatever. Farewell.

Surrender

There is something powerful in surrender. Not simply a momentary surrendering to an instinct or an impulse or a logic—that can be seen every day anywhere you look—but surrendering one’s life. I think the reason for such a salient notion runs deeper than it simply being rare in today’s world, although that’s definitely a point to notice. What kind of person decides to yield control over their own life? It sounds ridiculous, especially in independent America where notions such “the individual” and “freedom” are heralded almost like a cultic dogma. What would possess someone to go against natural, physiologically mapped-out synaptic pathways and surrender his body, mind, decisions, goals, achievements, etc., to another? Only two kinds of people come to mind: 1) those who know nothing and 2) those who know that they know nothing.

Some are simply taught to surrender. But then there are others who are driven to it by a gradual realization that, when it comes to how to live a life in a world—a world in which others also live, no less—there are so many factors involved in attempting to create the good things in life—things such as perfection, ideality, joy, hope, love—that one would never in a billion years be able to take all these factors and load them into a statistical model to determine “how to have a good and productive life.” It’d be a mess. No consistency.

So maybe that’s why surrendering is an option. It would, of course, depend on if there was indeed a Way to know how to live in order to produce these good things in life. All I know is that following my impulsive or instinctive tendencies is really inconsistent—sometimes selfish, sometimes altruistic, and sometimes altruistic only in my selfish mind.

It seems like consistency is something longed for in the world. There are so many people in the world—those in the most horrid conditions and those living comfortably; those who are content and those who are miserable; those with hate and those with love. And the initial conditions on a person’s life are a huge influence on determining what kind of person he/she will become; however, I don’t believe it’s the ultimate influence. My belief is in the teachings of Jesus and that true goodness and consistency is found in a relationship with Him. I heard of things such as beauty in poverty, hope in hopelessness, joy in anguish. I’ve even experienced this phenomenon on a small scale myself, but I would be embarrassed to call my experiences of poverty, hopelessness, and anguish the real things.

So, again, I don’t believe a life’s initial conditions are the only determining factor involved, but are very influential in determining the course of a life. And I think that the consistency found in Jesus is actually able to resolve these seemingly unfair beginnings scattered around the globe. I plan to write about this in my next blog.

A Cup of Water

Another night, sitting at my table, focused, driven, striving to grasp a mass transport differential equation. It’s not long before my eyes look up. My eyes scan the room, but my mind is not here—it’s not in this spacious, furnished, American room with a queen-sized bed, two computers, a connecting bathroom, a walk-in closet.

What is all this CRAP? Where did it come from? What am I studying? Why am I studying?

What is happening outside the walls of this American home? Is justice being uplifted in Myanmar? Are kids being fed in Sudan? Are fathers caring for their children in Japan? Are the homes of earthquake and tsunami victims in Indonesia being rebuilt? What about the many families who have been forced to split up in North Korea, China, and Laos? What about those who have grown up without even the thought of hope in Palestine, Israel, Iraq, Thailand, India…the list could go on forever, because the wars could go on forever.

My mind is not here, God forbid my mind be here, finding comfort in this comfort.

Differential equations, mass transport, microbiology, neuroscience, magnetic resonance microscopy—a means. Please God, merely a means to an end. May the label of education be hope to someone—anyone, anywhere. Even if just to give a cup of cold water to drink to a child.

I’m so weak. I can do nothing. The constant motion of time, weathering hope, stealing a little more day to day. All that remains is a dream of a child. But may it forever outlive the child.

“From everyone who has been given much, much will be required; and to whom they entrusted much, of him they will ask all the more.” -- Bible (Luke 12:48)

More From The World

Well, I completed a world trip this year and have finally arrived back in the great white America. This was my first full-year spent outside of the U.S., and it definitely changed a lot of what goes on in my head. My plan now is to chill in America for a couple more years to get a finish an engineering degree, and then I'm off to the world again. Here's some pictures from random countries:

The last "purikura" ever. These pictures are really popular in Japan, but they're not so interesting to me. It was good to see the homies again. Sho and Sae are still crazy, so that's good.

From Japan I went to Morocco and saw cool stuff. Here's the 2nd biggest mosque in the world.

And then I was off to Europe. I went to Germany to meet my friend Kaori, and then we drove down to the Austrian Alps. They were flippin cool. Here's a picture of something that can never be captured:

In Austria there was a guy that we call "Drool Man," so we went to see him.






















While driving in Austria, we took a wrong turn and ended up going to Italy. We figured since we were going to Italy, we might as well go all the way to Venice. So that's what we did and it was an awesome trip. Yeah, Venice...they use boats.























My final stop was Iceland. I drove around the island by myself for a few days before coming back to America. Here's me and my friend in Iceland:

Thoughts

There's so many people hurting. So many people troubled, so many people longing for something even remotely close to true love. And when I see this, my heart sinks; hope seems so distant. When I look up to heaven, words won't come. What can be spoken that hasn't already been heard?

But, I can see lights. Lights spread among the walking corpses that constantly surround me. They are a little glimmer of hope that still burns. And all I can hope for and beg for is that this life that I possess would also be one of those lights, staying lit for those around me.

Once Upon A Umi

Good morning, World.

It won't be long now until I go back to my mother country. I can tell already it's gonna be pretty messed, but I think as long as I don't let my mind expect anything, then it won't be as shocking. Right now I'm just trying to finish up my Japanese classes as well as my one Korean class. Crazy how many alphabets I've learned in the past year.

Last weekend we chilled at a beach at a place called Amakusa. It is on the west side of Japan's southernmost island of Kyushu. It was really green except for the sand and the water. There was a big yellow sun. We did the normal beach stuff, like play in the water, construct a sand castle, get sunburned, etc.