Giving up stuff for Lent

When I was younger (and Catholic), I used to give up something every Lent. I was partly inspired to do so by my many Muslim friends who fasted during Ramzan, and partly by some little religious twinge I experienced as that time of year approached. (Incidentally, I always found the period between Ash Wednesday and Palm Sunday particularly depressing, although I'm certain it wasn't in contemplation of Christ's tribulations.)

The one thing I remember resolving to give up year after year (with varying degrees of success) was sweets. I soon realized (although I suspect I knew deep down all along) that my reason for this was anything but spiritual. True, it was a huge sacrifice, probably harder than anything else I could have given up. I've an inordinately sweet tooth, which resulted (and still does) in a constant (and largely unsuccessful) battle with my weighing scale. So when I decided to give up sweets during Lent, it had very little to do with Christ and everything to do with my midsection.

As I came to realize this, I took the easy way out. I simply stopped giving up anything. And since then, even when I've felt the urge to try again (maybe not something as obviously self-serving as sweets but perhaps a little more spiritual), I always decided against it, with the excuse that I would end up making it about myself or giving up altogether. I've also told myself that giving stuff up for Lent is largely a Catholic thing -- so I don't need to do it anymore.*

So I haven't given up anything for Lent in ages. But this year, I feel a bit guilty. I've finally acknowledged that I've been lazy about dealing with the real problem. If I end up making my Lenten sacrifices about myself, the right thing to do would be to find a way to make it glorify God. The problem lies with me, not with the sacrifices.

I've finally realized this three-quarters of the way through Lent. But isn't Lent just a symbolic period in preparation for Easter? There's no reason why I can't start now, is there? Of course there isn't.

Now that that's settled, the question is this: which of my many vices will I give up?

*I know that in some traditions, penance during Lent is supposed to make up for our sins, and that, as I've been put right with God through Christ, I don't need sacrifices to justify me in God's sight. But human hearts and minds don't submit willingly to God (mine most certainly don't), and I do believe that sacrifices focused on God can help us bring our desires more in line with His.

Sri Lanka trip

View of the sea
My parents
Neighbours
View from my parents' place
Playing pool (or trying to!)
Old college friend with her husband and friend
Ready for high school friend's wedding homecoming party
With the bride

What went wrong?

I know I've sadly neglected this blog (and haven't read any others in ages -- will remedy that soon!).

I'm still recovering from my trip that was good, bad, confusing, guilt-ridden, joyful, tense, scary, exhilarating, tearful, fun, restful and exhausting (physically and emotionally), all rolled into one.

Can a simple change of scene bring about a drastic change in personality? I can count the number of times I've cried or yelled at someone since I moved to Tokyo on one hand (in fact I don't think I've yelled at anybody. . . I just stew inside). But when I was in Sri Lanka, I felt like I had absolutely no control over myself. . . I'd be talking about something, get slightly emotional, and the waterworks would start (I cry when I'm really angry which is very frustrating). I yelled and screamed, threw tantrums, swore and acted like a diva.

I had a great deal of control over how this trip went, and how much my parents and I enjoyed my stay there -- but I just felt like a puppet in the hands of an evil version of myself. I tried to explain to my parents why I am just a Christian and not a Catholic like them or any particular denomination, but I was constantly conscious of how unChristian my behaviour was. I tried to point out to them how wrong some of their attitudes towards their lives were, but felt completely unqualified when my outlook didn't seem any better.

I'm back in Tokyo now, feeling stragely detached, as if I'm remembering someone else's memories, and devoid of emotions, as if I used up all my quota during my trip, and now have none left over. And I'm wondering who I really am . . . the person I was on this trip or the relatively nice, relatively cheerful person I seem to be here?

Flying off!!

Today, I fly off to Bangkok!! And then, on Christmas Eve, I head "home" to Colombo, just barely making it before Christmas. . . and probably starting off Christmas Day in a taxi on the way to my parents' place from the airport, if not in the airport itself! This year has certainly been all about new experiences!!

I won't get to blog or read other blogs until after Christmas, so merry Christmas all!! Hope the joy of Christ's birth remains with you throughout the new year!

"For to us a child is born, to us a son is given, and the government will be on his shoulders. And he will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. Of the increase of his government and peace there will be no end. He will reign on David's throne and over his kingdom, establishing and upholding it with justice and righteousness from that time on and forever. The zeal of the LORD Almighty will accomplish this." Is 9:6-7 (NIV)

To know or not to know

At one time or another, we've all been through it. We stand in front of a (metaphorical) closed door, faced with two choices. We can either open it and deal with whatever is behind it, or we can leave it shut and never know.

I've been asking myself which course I would take. Would I rather know, even if the answer turns out to be something I really don't want to hear, or would I prefer to let it remain unknown.

When faced with this dilemma in the past, I've always opted to know, no matter how painful. And painful it has been. But the need to know has always trumped the fear of getting hurt. "I just want to know! I can handle anything as long as I know!" But then, more often than not, when I have found out, I've realized that I'd have been better off not knowing. Surely the wise people who came up with sayings like "ignorance is bliss," and "what you don't know can't hurt you" were right. No?

I'm in a situation now where I could either let the door remain shut and retreat quietly, or open it and face one of two possible solutions -- one that I want -- very much -- and one that I don't -- very much. If I leave it, there won't really be any adverse effect -- after all, if I don't know what could have been, I can't really count it as loss. On the other hand. . . oh, the possibilities if it turns out to be what I want! And yet, even as that unconscious smile begins to appear at the thought of what could be, I'm reminded of what the alternative could mean.

But the familiar mantra is never far away. If only I knew. I could deal with anything, if I just knew!! I can't stand not knowing!

In the end, I know I will choose to find out. I am, after all, in the business of finding things out. I just hope I can deal with the consequences.

Yokohama and turning 27!

Seeing as last Friday was Black Friday, Okia and I decided we were due for another Ikea trip in memory of our U.S. days! Just to keep life exciting, we headed off to Yokohama this time, a different place and a different Ikea. We spent most of the day there, and emerged hours later, duly laden with lots of good (but necessary) stuff.

Deciding that we'd earned a good dinner, we headed off to Chinatown for a wander around and some yummy Chinese food.

Some pictures from Chinatown:
Ini in front of one of the Chinatown gates

The world's best Nikuman (pork bun) shop (or so they claimed)

Enjoying the world's best Nikuman

Okia trying to decide which of two identical pink teapots was prettier

A real rotary phone in the restaurant where we ate

Ahhh! Food!

The next day I turned 27! Something about getting older must have triggered some sort of signal in me, because I spent most of the day huffing and puffing, rearranging my furniture to make my apartment more homey. I think I sort of suceeded (pics to come!) That evening, a few friends and I went out to a bar with some live music for a very low-key celebration.

Suffocating. . .

There are times when all I want to do is curl up into a ball and go to sleep and not wake up until the thick cloud clinging to me and hovering around me disintegrates and I can actually breathe again. This is one of those times.


I'll be back.

Photo courtesy of Half Moon Imaging

Where have all the endorphins gone?

I have been on a health kick for the past couple of months -- going running almost every morning, taking care to eat (relatively) healthy food (the last time I so much as looked at a pizza was about six weeks ago) and in smallish amounts. These phases descend on me from time to time. Unfortunately, they don't last very long, so I try to make the best of them when I am still caught up in them.

The weird thing, though, is that I find myself in a constant state of annoyance and irritability during these times. Which I find perplexing. Because, isn't exercise supposed to make you feel BETTER? Aren't those endorphin thingies that the brain releases during and after exercise supposed to increase your sense of wellbeing? In my case, it seems like the opposite happens.

Take last night, for instance. I went to bed in a slightly better mood than I've been for the past few days. But as I tossed and turned, I managed to have a mini-inner tantrum, thinking about various things, situations that bug me but are not entirely tragic or life-altering. I got so worked up that I even composed a blog entry, mostly about my work situation, which has served to enhance my prolonged crabbiness (who knows, I might even end up posting it the next time my annoyance level rises -- yikes!) The result -- I couldn't fall asleep, which made me wake up in an even worse mood today, get annoyed at the smallest things at work, and feel even worse.

Sigh! It's a vicious circle! Maybe I should go back to sleeping in and eating junk food. After all, aren't chubby people supposed to be jolly?

After a long day. . .

Okia enjoying my new recliner after a long day of furniture building. . .
Exhausted Ini putting our handiwork to good use

Lessons in humility

In the 39 days I've been in Japan, and before that, I've often wondered why God decided to send me here. I'm sure there are several reasons, but as time passes, I've come to recognize one in particular.

I'm one of those people who, when deciding between struggling through something on their own for 30 minutes and doing it easily in 10 by asking for help, will choose the former. But I'm realizing that that's not easily accomplished in a country where I feel illiterate and incomprehensible most of the time. For instance, no matter how long I stare at a row of coloured liquids in similar bottles in a supermarket, I'm not going to have a revelation about which of them is the hand soap I want. And no matter how much time I spend "umm"ing and "aah"ing and "hai"ing on the phone with the gas company guy, the words coming out of his mouth aren't suddenly going to start making sense to me. . . or vice versa.

And so, out of necessity, I've started to humble myself. I've started to deal with the possibility that I might indeed look stupid if I'm holding a bottle that's, to the shop assistant, clearly labeled "soy sauce" and ask (in Japanese) "Is this soy sauce?" I'm getting used to constantly asking for directions, mostly by gesturing wildly, despite the possibility that the bewildered expression on my face might elicit a helpless one on response. And I'm getting used to asking Okia 17 times a day to call the cable company to set up an appointment, or to come over when the gas company guy is expected so she can translate for me (Poor Okia, she's spent almost every weekend since I got here with me, acting as translator, tour guide and furniture-building-helper. . . and now I'm moving 10 minutes away from her!)

I'm still not comfortable with asking for help and acknowledging my helplessness, feminine charm notwithstanding. But it's not a matter of comfort. It's a matter of swallowing my pride and being ok with sometimes looking and feeling stupid. I often feel overwhelmed and helpless and completely drained from the sheer effort of living in a place where I can't even read a label or fill out a simple form on my own. But I am slowly learning to live with that. And looking forward to the day when it finally all starts to make sense.

Forward march

I am a depressive person. Ask anyone who knows me well, and they will, for the most part, agree with this assessment. Take, for instance, the times when I've had one glass of wine too many. Now when your inhibitions are lowered, your true feelings surface--if you're a happy person, you're a happy drunk, and if you're not. . . well, then tipsiness is a whole different experience. In my case, as my blood alcohol level rises, I start to ruminate on the unfair and pathetic nature of life--my life in particular--and the next thing you know, the tears, they're a-flowin'. Which just goes to show--I am a depressive person.

But I'm liking this whole new beginnings deal. New place, new life, new language, relatively new job, very few people I know. . . and I'm starting to think that I can make a go of this being happy thing too--for once. Like today. I learned something that would normally have sent me crawling off into the "depths of despair"*. Ok, I'm being a little dramatic. But it would definitely have put a damper on my mood, and at least a few tears would have been shed. But today, as I stepped on the brink of wallowing, I caught myself, sharply pulled myself out, and continued cheerily on, carefully sidestepping the angst and self-pity. For a moment, I felt the familiar pang at the thought of going back after work to my apartment and being alone with my thoughts. But I stopped myself. I've a fabulous apartment (that I've to move out of VERY soon), a nice relaxing evening, a weekend of house-hunting ahead, and a nice church to go to. And I shook off the fear and admonished myself. . . this too shall pass.

*Anne of Green Gables -- fabulous book, highly recommend it, for kids and grown-ups alike!

Update: my friend Yamu posted this in response to this entry on another site, and I thought it was beautiful. . .and true, and wanted to share it.

I walk down the street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk
I fall in.
I am lost…I am hopeless
It isn’t my fault.
It takes me forever to find a way out.

I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I pretend I don’t see it.
I fall in again.
I can’t believe I’m in the same place.
But it isn’t my fault.
It still takes a long time to get out.

I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I see it is there.
I still fall in…it’s a habit.
My eyes are open
I know where I am
It is my fault.
I get out immediately.

I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk
I walk around it.

I walk down another street.

(from the Tibetan Book of Living and Dying)

London

Whatever I expected from my return to London, it was not this. When I planned to stop here on my way to Tokyo, I expected a sense of homecoming, a feeling of relief and lightness after the frustration of life in New York. I expected to walk along the Thames, with my head thrown back taking deep breaths of London air, elated at being back in the only place that I had ever loved for itself. I did feel that way--for about one day.

I realized pretty quickly how much I had forgotten (or buried) about the time I lived here. It's true. . . we do start to see past experiences with rose-tinted glasses as time moves forward. But after being here for a day, the emotions of that time--both good and bad--came rushing back. London was where I formed some of my best memories, and my worst. It was where I was the happiest and where I felt the most alone. It was where I loved the most and with the greatest intensity, and where I experienced the greatest loss.

On my first day back, I basked in my pleasant memories, in the familiarity of everything I had expected. But as time wore on, the pain slowly crept back in. At first the familiar sights, sounds, smells seemed to welcome me back. But soon, that changed. At one point when I was living here, everything I looked at, smelled and tasted was tinged with utter misery and darkness. In the past few days, as I began to absorb my surroundings, that feeling returned--although to a lesser degree. And I realized that, while many of the memories have faded into the distant past and the feelings definitely long gone, the pain hadn't completely disappeared. I had peeled off the bandage too fast, expecting the wound to have healed completely, only to find festering remnants that I had just made worse.

It has been a strange few days. The night I missed the last train back to my cousin's, and spent the night wandering around Central London and shivering on the stairs outside Waterloo Station, didn't help. The return of an overload of pain-inducing stimuli didn't help. And the feeling of being suspended between the end of one life and the beginning of another didn't help.

Strangely enough, I don't feel a yearning to leave. . . I have enough good memories and people I love here to keep that at bay. All the same, I don't think I'll be returning to my beloved London anytime soon. . .

Good-byes :(

Nayma, Ruchika, me






Me, Caveboy
















Kris, me

















Me and Nev (with his favorite photograph face!)

















Mits and me




Nev and me


Sophia, me, Ilajna

Sayonara New York!!

That's it. I've decided that I can't live without Wednesday. I miss him so much that I've decided to chuck it all in and move to Tokyo.

Haha. . . just kidding! I'm not that big a loser. . . I mean, I am moving to Tokyo, just not moving there for Weds (although Nev contends that Weds is my real reason for going there).

So yes, I am moving to Japan. . . the Land of the Rising Sun, the Land of Tiny People (I'm 5'8":(), the Land of People Whose Language I Don't Speak.

The story in a nutshell: I was hired at my current job to go to Tokyo, and have been working in the New York bureau while my paperwork gets sorted out. Now, it's all almost done, and I'm flying away on April 26, never to return. . . for the foreseeable future anyway. Of course I will still continue my blog, so I hope you will accompany me on my new adventures.

So see? I wasn't just being a dramatick (to quote Caveboy) when I was going on about the decision to take this job changing my whole life. And that was why I took 18 hours of Japanese classes over two weekends (which I'm already forgetting :S).

So yes, I have a few crazy, hectic weeks of packing, getting rid of stuff and shipping what I haven't gotten rid of. But after that, I'll be off to London for a few days, then on to Chapter 7 of my life. Wish me luck and blessings!

Water off a duck's back? Not so much. . .

Sigh! It's crabbiness galore in Ini-land these days. Things that I'd normally brush off have me seething--a bad choppy haircut (I can pull off a ponytail for a month or two, can't I?), earphones that don't fit in my ear while working out (I've always known that my ears were a earphone-unfriendly shape--why does it bother me now?) a couple of messages that have gone unreturned (that's certainly not new), and just getting on the subway everyday. Teeny tiny things that would normally slip right off my back, that I'd usually not even notice--after all, this is someone who was walking around blissfully unaware of sporting two noticeably-uneven eyebrows for two months--have me up in arms. It might be time for a change of scene . . .

Where has all my free time gone?

So I've been wondering. . . where on earth has all my spare time gone? My very deadline-oriented new job means that, while the 9 to 6 hours are biz biz bizy, once it hits 6:00, or a little bit later as I wrap up the assignment in progress, I can leave. So what have I been doing with myself? I haven't gone to the gym, I haven't watched much TV, I haven't stayed much past six at work, I haven't hung out much with friends, and I certainly haven't been pursuing my beloved passtime of blog reading:(. But I feel like I'm running around like. . . well, like I did when I was in college. . . when I was YOUNG and had lots of energy! It looks like there's one thing after another that needed to be done YESTERDAY. And I'm chasing my tail trying to catch up with myself.

In a couple of months, chapter six will be over. And then, maybe at the beginning of chapter seven, there'll be time to spare?

The new job

So, I'm sure my beloved readers have been waiting with bated breath to hear about my new job. Yes, yes, I know you have! At least you were before the waiting got to be too much and you couldn't take the fruitless checking any more. So I've decided to end the unbearable suspense and enlighten you!

For the first few days, I was drowning in new information. Lots to learn, lots to remember and memorize, a seemingly infinite number of little details to tuck away and as many minute tasks to remember to do. But as the days have passed, I have been learning--by watching, stumbling through the assignments. . . and making mistakes. Fortunately, in my eight days at The Wire so far, we've only had to put out a correction once for something I wrote. I know if that pattern keeps up, I'll rack up quite a number. But I prefer to see the glass as half full! My heart did jump into my mouth today when I got a new kind of assignment that I hadn't done before but fortunately, it ended up being too important for a rookie like me to do, so I ended up in the spectator role instead. Which suited me just fine--until the next time.

And I'm becoming quite the new junkie, what with the news on all day and the hundreds of stories flashing across my screen. So, whether it's the Boston "suspicious package" scare or Tyra Banks' weight woes, or the Fed's latest move (or lack thereof, as it turns out), I'm your woman!

The corporate culture at The Wire does take some getting used to. Because, while The Mag was also technically part of a big company, it had a distinct journalistic feel, and felt like a separate entity from the rest of the organization. The Wire, on the other hand, is much more integrated into the rest of the corporation--which might take a while to get accustomed to.

So overall, as we used to say in college: It's All Geeewwwd!

The answer. . .

In my last post, I wondered if happiness comes from giving or holding back. My perspective in that post was a worldy one. And I think I got some consensus that putting yourself out there, and givng and caring, you put yourself at risk of getting hurt. So should you still continue to give and love and care?

I found the answer over the weekend, while reading the book Mocha on the Mount for the Soul Per Suit an online Bible study recommended by LL Barkat. Mocha on the Mount is based on Jesus' teachings in His sermon on the mount, the "Blessed are the. . ." part of the Bible. The author, Sandra Glahn, distinguishes between happiness and blessing. Here is what caught my attention:

"Happiness depends on external circumstances--I got a new job, I got engaged, my relationships are going well. But blessing depends on being rightly related to God despite external circumstances. Horatio Spafford, though his daughters had just drowned in a boating accident, was still able to write, "It is well with my soul." I seriously doubt he felt happy. Yet he knew he was blessed. Lady Juliana of Norwich, writing in the fourteenth century, said, "All shall be well and all shall be well and all manner of thing shall be well.

"Jesus' message would never fly on Madison Avenue. Sigh up for the Christian life. Come, be poor and mourn and die!"

The author goes on to quote Ken Gire in The Reflective Life, who confesses that he wants to be like Christ in His glory, not Christ when he was hated, disgraced and spat on.

And as I thought more about this, I realized that my answer had been within my post, when I wrote that the world rejected and scoffed at Christ 2000 years ago.

Happiness in this world might require less love and caring, and more isolation and selfishness, but blessedness requires the opposite. I'm not saying that only in suffering and rejection do we find blessing--God absolutely rejoices in our happiness. But living by God's heart sometimes means loving and caring and giving even when we don't get much in return.

We still need to guard our hearts, and know when to step away and when there's nothing more we can do in a situation--after all, Christ calls us to love others AS we love ourselves. And, as a Christian, I realized that that is my part, and that is what I need to try my best to do--even if I don't always get the same in return.

Happiness comes from giving. . . or holding back?

Caveboy and I have been talking a lot about happiness lately--perhaps partly the effect of discoveringThe Happiness Project blog. He even wrote a blog entry about it as a guest blogger, but then refused to let me post it. So I decided to write my own, albeit slightly different one.

The idealistic notion of happiness is that the more you give, the more you get. If you give love and kindness and caring, you get it all back, many-fold. In other words, as Luke 6:38 puts it: "Give, and it will be given to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together and running over, will be poured into your lap. For with the measure you use, it will be measured to you."

This doesn't always hold true in the world we live in today--the more you give, the more you put yourself out there, the more you risk unhappiness--because you leave yourself vulnerable to being hurt, rejected, scoffed at, an open shot for those who are not willing to give as much. And you let your happiness be determined by others. But those who don't give, or choose carefully how much of themselves they do give, tend to be happier. They don't face as much hurt and rejection, because they protect themselves from it. Maybe they are less passionate, their loving a little less intense, but they are generally shielded from the hurt that comes from getting nothing or very little in return.

Take Dr. Izzy Stevens on the show Grey's Anatomy, for instance. She's actually my favourite character, because she gives abundantly but also expects much from those she gives to. But because she loves and cares so much, she also gets hurt the most. "But she was incredibly loved by Denny," Caveboy responded when I brought up the example. "Yes, and she lost him," I told him. "Well, um. . . he died," came the reply. But what was the guarantee? Maybe if Denny had gotten better and left the hospital and gone out into the world, he'd have fallen in love with someone else. And Izzy, for having loved him to the extent she did, would have been left to pick up the pieces.

Caveboy contends that those who are shallow, who hold back, are not really happy. Yes, they give less, so they get less. But they are also satisfied and content with less. Happiness is greater than contentment, Caveboy argued. Contentment beats heartbreak and misery, I shot back.

Ultimately, I don't think I am the pessimist I come across as. But I see, over and over, those who choose to go above and beyond in giving and loving get hurt and broken while those who hold back sail through, for the most part, intact. It happened 2000 years ago with Christ*, and not much has changed today. And in my own life, in every instance in which I've given completely, it's come back to bite me. Impulsive and hard-headed as I am, I have not learned from these experiences--much as I wish I had. I know that I will, in some instances, continue to care blindly, but the more it ends up backfiring, the more I wonder how much it is worth.

*I'm talking about the world's response to Him, not His coming into glory after His earthly death and the implications of that).

Changes. . .

Today was my last day at The Mag. I take next week off to work on some freelance projects, finish up a couple of stories I've been working on for The Mag, gather my wits and my emotions together, and prepare myself for starting my new job at The Wire the following Monday.

The past couple of weeks have been a roller coaster ride. The Mag has been a haven for me, and leaving that security is daunting. I fear I will never work with such caring, accomodating souls again (although The Rock did present me with two scenarios: a. that I would be hired by The Mag in the future, or b. that I would come back and take his job--we'll see).

During the week before my departure from London, as I made my way down to my goodbye party with two colleagues, I told them that the beginnings and ends of the chapters of my life have always been clearly delineated. One closes unequivocally before another opens. I am now nearing the conclusion of chapter six. And I am worried and confused.

A job at The Wire means a lot more than just another new job(more on that later). And this time, an additional, personal, variable has made things even more confusing, and I hesitate. For, with this job comes a turn that is difficult to retrace my steps from. And while everyone else exclaims at the opportunities that lie ahead of me, all I can muster is a sigh and a "Yeah, I guess it'll be ok." Because I fear I may be giving up one opportunity for another--and in so doing, making a choice that will define the rest of my life.

Confusion begets worry and fear and frustration, and one result of all this is that I may have caused irreparable damage to a valuable friendship. Amid all the confusion, I felt wronged and hurt by this friend, and I told them so, not very pleasantly, without really considering their position. The conversation I'd imagined in my head went so much better than the actual one. The moment I'd uttered the words, I cursed myself for having said them. I learned the power of words--both good and bad--a long time ago, but forgot those lessons. And I also learned many years ago that, while work-wise, I may be thick-skinned, I am not so when it comes to those who mean much to me--and that what gets to me more than anything else is having something come between me and someone I care about, regardless of which side the fault lies with. I will joyfully take all the blame if it will bring reconciliation. And reconciliation I need now--as all my efforts to contact this friend have been fruitless.

So the close of this week finds me minus one internship, plus one job, possibly minus one friend, plus many doubts. But contradictory as this may seem, I also have an absolute, concrete-block kind of sense that this job, and the direction it will take me in, is part of God's plan for me. And yet, I can't shake the feeling that I'm losing something. . .