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From my little brain
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Content is paramount.
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[4/14/2007]
Today will be marked as the first day I sleep in the master bedroom.
That might not mean much to you, but right now, I'm so excited I can't sleep a wink. Serious! I've dreamed of this moment for quite sometime, it came so close two weeks ago, but of course my Mom gets first dibs. But now, I'm master of my domain, king of the castle, lord of the estate, man in the mansion, fool in the foundry - okay, I'm getting carried away. I look around and see shades of yellow and white. My bed sheets, a pale robin egg blue (not as gay as it sounds okay??) matches the sunset gold or whatever the crap it's named. I'm actually excited. Also a first for me was the use of the upstairs shower. I am happy to report that it cleans just as well as the downstairs one, and now it's got enough room for me to lift up my elbow and scrub underneath the ol' armpit pubes. But before all this tonight, I went to fellowship at another church. There was a girl/woman who just came back from a missions trip from Nicaragua, and the pictures of the poor from Bluefields ripped my soul to shreds. Here I am, complaining about every little thing in the house, to insisting on buying a faucet $40 more just for the "right look", and these kids are so poor, they're scrounging around landfills just to have something to eat. She told us of a four year old girl who's hands were bloody and raw because she was made to work in the rock quarry. I almost cried out loud. A tiny little sob escaped from the bottom of my throat, but no one heard. I felt so bad about myself right then and there - I couldn't think straight. But I know I'm blessed, beyond my wildest dreams. If anyone can prove there is a God, just look at me and see that my Lord and Saviour truly loves me. Not by allowing me to just buy silly materialistic trinkets, but that He blesses me even when I don't deserve it. Woe is me, for I have forgotten what it's like to be humble. I have forgotten the tastes of simple foods; bought because it was all I could afford. I have forgotten how those years not too distant was fraught with fear. Real fear. The kind that keeps you up all night wondering if you'll have food to eat the next day, whether you'll once again have to move, or if your two windbreakers worn together will be enough warmth to slog through 3 hours in a blizzard just to get home because I didn't have enough money for the bus. (true story.) And I have strayed. I have not feared my Lord, God Almighty. I have not remembered to continually thank Him in my daily life. I have not used my life to bear witness to His awesomeness. I have not thought about Him enough, except to complain that I'm much too tired to do my devotions. I didn't even mean to write the above stuff, I just wanted to talk about how great the house is, how I'm so glad I can finally be alone again, etc. Instead, as my fingers fly through these words, I realize that this life really is throwaway. Because no matter how well we do in this life, it won't matter to God in Heaven. He won't care if I've amassed a fortune. He won't care that I drove nice cars, expensive hardwood floors, or LCD TVs. What matters is that I honour Him. Even if He doesn't bless me with bling, I have to honour Him. That is tough of course, but if I spend one fifth of my energy that I waste on stupidity, I know I can make a difference in His name. So that means my plans of buying the S2000 by summer is scrapped. I am actually going to start praying for a chance to go on a missions trip, even if I don't have any more vacation days left. I don't want it to be a self-gratifying trip, I want it to do as Jesus commanded, cloths those who need it, feed those that are hungry, and love those that people have forgotten. (I paraphrase). Anyway, I'm going to sleep now, and tomorrow will be a new day for sure. Yes, I know I will fail occasionally, or in my case, more often than not - but with your prayers and support, I know God will use me for His purpose, whether I understand it or not. ....Good night.
[4/13/2007]
[4/11/2007]
There are things which I never knew I regretted until, err, I realized I do.
Talking to my Mom, she revealed that one of her true joys in life is riding the humble bicycle. My mother has a smile. Not a thousand watt smiles of a supermodel obviously, nor a smile that kind older ladies give when they greet their you; because she ain't all that old. No, this special smile she saves for when she's talking about her kids, her wonderful co-workers in the past, and especially food that she absolutely adores. It is often seen of course, but still, heart-warming nonetheless. So it is with this smile that my Mom tells me of her biking days of yesteryears - how her friend and her rode along the shoreline by some Australia beach. Her eyes light up, the corners of her mouth pulls wider and wider, revealing teeth. A throaty yet motherly chortle bursts forth, accompanied by laugh lines that blossom out of the side of her eyes. And then I remember that when I was a kid, my Mom bought me a BMX bike from Crappy Tires. It was black with red lettering that spelled "Wildcat". A stupid Crappy Tire logo prominently displayed on the gooseneck that protrudes from the frame connecting the handlebars. Coaster brakes, not the squeezeable types that all the fashionable kids had. I didn't hate the bike as much as I was just embarassed to be seen with it. Like I said, all the cool kids had better named bikes, looked better, stopped faster, pedalled smoother. Everything mine didn't do. There I was, about the only Asian kid in my school, with a crappy bike from Crappy Tires. Even the wheels looked cheaper than everyone elses. And lordy, it was rusted. Yeah, we didn't have a garage way back when, and I left it outside for a whole winter. By the time it was said and done, there was rust everywhere, and the chain was never lubed. In that time span, my mother also bought a ten speed "Supercycle", blue, also from Crappy Tires. Now, in my day, that was totally square. I mean, riding a ten speed bike was about as cool as walking, except at least you had friends when you walked. My point is, as I got older, reaching high school age, the Supercycle was about the only bike I could ride with any comfort. By then I had started growing a tad bit faster, and the blue Supercycle from Crappy Tires was basically mine. It wasn't as nerdy mind you, until people saw the red inverted triangle that was invariably associated with C.T. - meaning you couldn't afford anything better, because we couldn't, quite frankly. What I never grasped was that my Mommy loved that bike. I remember the very few times we rode together. I can see the joy on her face as she pedalled through our small street, the wind in her hair, the glasses, a little too thick, several years out of style mind - and yet, there she was, as happy as a little girl with the coveted tea set and friends invited to show it off. I betrayed that. I took that Supercycle after she moved back to HK, and I abused it. I mean I utterly destroyed the bike. There was about thirty percent of front brakes left, zero in the back - there wasn't even brake pads in the back, truth be told. And I would get flats a lot, because I did a lot of jumps with it. Skinny "racing" tires weren't made for curb jumping. Worse, I got hit by a car at an intersection. It was a red light for me, and I swore that the car with the right of way coming from my nine was signalling to turn right. So I went through the red. It was late at night, I was tired, I didn't care about my safety, and I didn't think anything would actually happen. Next thing I know I was falling on the floor, my head hitting the right mirror, my shoulder sliding down the side of the car. I vividly recall putting my left hand down towards the upcoming asphalt to prevent my body from causing any more injuries to the ground. Honestly, about the only thing that was wrecked was my front tire. It was so warped that it would rub against the front forks, and yet I still rode it like that for the rest of the summer. An hour each way from where I was staying to work. Kennedy/Hwy 7 to Lawrence and Victoria Park. I don't even know when I gave up on the bike. I just remember locking it up somewhere and walking away. I thought at the time I would go back to retrieve it, but I never did. I'm sure it's gone by now, the management at the plaza removing that eye sore long ago. I sometimes still think of that bike, oddly. My Mommy never knew of this story, and of her faithful steed's demise. Maybe she'll know now. Which comes to regret. Apparently as a younger child, her Mother, my granny, would not buy her a bicycle because she didn't want her only son, my Mommy's younger brother, to ride one, deeming it too dangerous. So I'm sure that when my Mom bought that blue Supercycle, she had secretly fulfilled one of her lifelong dreams of owning a bicycle. To equate that, it was like my first motorcycle. Although now when I see a picture of its doppelganger I still laugh, I remember my first ride on it, how great it felt, and just how grown up I was. Well now that I'm beyond grown up (looks wise of course, my brain is still striving to catch up), I look at my wonderful Mother and realize just how the simpliest things can bring the greatest pleasure. A bicycle to you and I, but for her, bliss on two spindly rubber wheels. ....Get well soon Dragonboy, hope the leg gets good soon.
[4/10/2007]
[4/09/2007]
I just bought an ECS stage 1 clutch kit for $339 US. *Cha ching!*
At least it has free shipping - if only to Yodaslap's place. It'll cost me $400 CAD to have it installed I believe. Now I have to wait and hope my clutch doesn't give out. In the meantime, I will either take my motorcycle out (please be warm enough soon....) or bum a ride. ....Please, let it be warm.
And now, one to go.
I dropped my brother off at the airport (again) today. And while the bastid side of me is pretty relieved that he is gone, what's left of me is feeling a little sad that he's not around. Now my Mommy is still here, and I love her terribly, but a small part of me (maybe my left arm and a right pinky) cannot wait until she too, is sent back on the plane. Yes, I'm a terrible person, I know I am, but I realized that now that I've lived alone for so many years, I struggle to have people around me twenty-four, seven. I really enjoy my alone time, even if it's nothing more than updating this sad little blog. It has nothing to do with my Mommy or my brother. I really need a time to decompress, to not have to talk to anyone, and just, be. There was a pang of hope that somehow, my brother's plane would not make it, and I'd have to once again pick him up at the airport. Although that same left arm and right pinky might groan in horror, the rest of me will rejoice to see him smiling sheepishly, regailing his stories of just how stupid customs officers can be, and see him smile when the restaurant we pick sparks his appetite and imagination. Sorry jy1o if I've been a right twit this trip! I know we had our arguments, but you know I would still drive out to wherever you are to pick your non-driving butt up. Your brotherly tush is too good for the bus. ....Be well bro. I'll take care of Mom in the meantime.
[4/08/2007]
My mother is now a hockey fan.
Okay, maybe not a "rah-rah" know-it-all. She certainly doesn't know every penalty called, and I suspect she can't tell when it's a delayed off-side or why a delayed penalty call will allow six attackers, but that's not what's important here. We watched a hockey game tonight on TV, the Leafs vs. the Habs. Even though she doesn't know much about this ancient rivalry, she at least appreciates the fact that this was going to be a heck of a game - and that the Leafs' playoff chance was based on this one critical game. As we watched, she kept screaming that the Habs were vicious, and was quite upset whenever the Canadiens threw a body check. She would point out that they were playing dirty with their sticks, and that all the tripping and interference penalties were well deserved. I can imagine my Mommy with a rolling pin at the edge of the rink. She would threaten all the opposition teams with her disapproving look - the special one she saves for my brother and I when we do something absolutely stupid (which is quite often). Her brows furrow together, meeting in the middle, her smile, turned unside down into a frown. She crosses her arms, shakes her head side to side twice, and usually calls us by our full name. I see her with the rolling pin, telling the guys on the other team to not play so rough. "You hit my son again, and I'll bonk you good!" ....You're the best Mom we could ever have. |
