rlly just trying to remind myself that pain is my bodyâs way of crying out for Godâs glory to be revealed intricately and personally to every cell in me
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rlly just trying to remind myself that pain is my bodyâs way of crying out for Godâs glory to be revealed intricately and personally to every cell in me

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In 2024 I âfound outâ I was Asian in a way I did not expect.
I felt since then this weird pull between two worlds. I grew up raised within Polish culture. It was only when I started digging that I was ever told anything other than that, and then came the facts to back it up.
When I moved to a large city in 2020, in the height of the pandemic, I was identified differently. I had white grandmas in the park asking me if I was âoriental or canadianâ as if that was an acceptable question. Asian Uber drivers would ask me where I was from. When I said Europe they would laugh right at me. âNo youâre not.â And proceed to guess which country I was really from. I was bowed to in dollerama when people excused themselves to walk past me. When I went to Asian markets, the cashiers spoke to me in their native tongue. When I took photos with friends of Asian descent, they would criticize my eyes. âYour eyes are smaller than mine! And Iâm Chinese. Open your eyes more. Make them bigger.â They chastised and questioned me. And when I started working in health care, patients happily spoke to me in their native tongue, Tagalog, or Mandarin. When I couldnât speak the language, theyâd curiously asked my colleagues if I was half.
I found the reason for this shift was not that I suddenly looked different when I moved. It wasnât that my looks changed. But I moved from a town of 2000 people to a city of millions. And some people saw themselves in me. Only for me to find out I am Asian in the most dizzying way. Historic Palestine, South India, TĂźrkiye, Iran, and Siberia... places I have never been but there are pieces of them in me.
And now I grapple. I grapple with being these things all my life, but never knowing. I grapple with the words from strangers and friends alike. I feel the innate need to send the receipts. âSee? This is the ticket. Do I have a seat here? At the table?â And when Iâm met by crickets, I build my own table at the intersection where âAsianâ and ânot Asian enoughâ meet. Because of the erasure, because of the violence that came with being these things in Europe, my family moved to North America to be a homogenous blanket. Changed their surnames. Let go of history. But it didnât just erase culture, it erased identity. Ancestors who were knit intimately into a story that was not one dimensional, against safetyâs greatest fears.
So I am here. In a place where people will say âjust because you have DNA from those places doesnât make you those things.â And I raise you a âmy family fled from systemic violence and cultural erasure so our bloodline could continue, and I refuse to pretend they did not exist and are not part of me. I am those things, and I will not pretend otherwise for anyone.â
And even so â when I tell people who only ever understood me to be white, I furiously want to know. Do they see me. Do they really see me? Do they believe it? Am I accepted? And I will probably always wonder. I will probably always have people in my life who think itâs a fun cute little backstory, but doesnât mean anything to them, or make me Asian at all. And frankly, thatâs their problem â they donât get to dispute the facts. Culture does not ethnicity make. Their agreement or disagreement is not what enables me to actually partake in and honour the culture that was killed. It is something I will carry, identify, and take honour in. With anyone who is willing to listen to my story, and accept that this is what I am made of.
âNever will I leave you. Never will I forsake you.â
â God (Hebrews 13:5)
yesterday I was crying in church
iâm in charge of the lyrics for worship and messed it up because in practice one slide was skipped so I thought we were skipping that one irl service as well but we didnât. so I quickly flipped forward and then had to go back.
I havenât messed up in a while I guess because as soon as it happened I started to cry. I felt the weight of it. this is a time when people are fixed on Abba, just being with him and singing to him and there I was. ruining it.
of course I asked some people after service. and they say they didnât notice. I believe them but I do think there were people who did notice.
I was so anxious before the service started because I knew that I didnât understand. so I went to the worship leader and asked him and he said weâre doing one thing twice before the interlude and I was like âwhatâs an interlude?â but I told him iâll figure it out.
thankfully that was the only time I messed up. but I think I forgot how personally I take my job. and it turns out some of my friends were watching me. and theyâre like âyou look so serious,â and I said âI take things too seriously.â to which they said âitâs good to take this seriously, you should.â
after service my friend asked if she could drive me home because she wanted to ditch the regular post church dinner. I said okay and then we got in her car and she said âletâs go to home sense!â so we went to home sense and marshallâs and a grocery store. I felt better by the end.
but I know that our worship leader could see me there at the back, all through service I was trying to ground myself. alternating squeezing each hand, focussing on colours. a stray tear slid down my cheek. I think my other AV people noticed but they at least pretended not to. iâm just so sensitive sometimes. I wish I wasnât.

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Because HE lives, all fear is gone.
my dad has early onset dementia.
in my birthday card this year he signed his first name (never previously).
itâs getting weird in here.

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Snow and traffic on Chicagoâs Lakeshore Drive
would you put a discarded fruit sticker on my forehead in whimsical jest yes or no
reblog to put a discarded fruit sticker on the forehead of the person you reblogged from in whimsical jest
does it ever bother you to think how drastically different Peter and Judasâs betrayals of Jesus ended? it truly blows my mind. Judas was used by satan, and yet accepted responsibility for what the evil one did through him. so instead of returning to the Messiah and hashing things out, he ran away ready to pay for âhisâ mistake. even though it clearly states in scripture before he abandoned Jesus that âsatan entered him.â he didnât seem to know he was being used, or, the guilt he felt made him willing to pay the price for it. as soon as his thoughts started spiralling, he was off trying to make his own amends. to him, that looked like running in the opposite direction of the God he had just spent a great deal of time following.
but Peter, after abandoning him not once like satan used Judas to do, but THREE times, returned to our Lamb and hashed things out. he didnât even get any money out of his denial of devotion. he did it for free. and not just once, but repeatedly. not in secret, like the quiet exchange of cash, but in public. he didnât gain anything material from denying him, like Judas did. and yet, when he returned, Jesus re-commissioned Peter.
these two had drastically different relationships with Jesus â Judas had proximity. Peter had intimate friendship. so even when sin worked in him, Peter knew that couldnât separate him from the love of Jesus.
whether we have proximity or true connection with Christ is paramount. it makes the difference between abundant life and senseless spiritual death. if we place our thoughts above Godâs word, weâll fashion our own solution, like Judas. but like Peter, when we have relationship and not just proximity to Jesus, we can run to him instead of the opposite way. trusting God and his Word above our own thoughts and ideas that change with the wind. imagine if Peter thought Jesus would cast him away, and never went to see him again? imagine if he took his denial in his own hands like Judas?
thankfully, like Peter, we can also confidently return knowing nothing can separate us from the love of our King.
Weeping plum blossom.
Mie, Japan.

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iâve been off work for a week with pneumonia and now went back to the doctor for a one week check up and turns out iâm having a severe asthmatic flare in addition to still getting over this pesky thing.
they have me on symbicort and ventolin around the clock. the ventolin doesnât even completely take away the wheezing. crazy.
happy 2 be alive tbh.