Her.

As the darkness dances across the dreary sky, she is a light that flickers, the hope that overtakes the darkness, the innocence that is so unfamiliar to those who walk the earth. Her young eyes see life. Possibility. They see a power to change humanity. Her optimism is a cool breeze on a blazing hot day. Her joy is the embodiment of the sun’s rays. But as she grows, she begins to know things she didn’t before. Her pure mind full of wishes and hopes is darkened by a blanket of “reality.” She clings to her youth, her young mind slipping through her fingers like water, being left disillusioned. But for one last try, she twirls around like the wind, falling into a gentle heap, into a puddle of wishes, spread thinner and thinner across the dry ground, being soaked up, being licked up by the sun, until there is nothing left, until the wishing well is dry.

The Island

Written from a beach in Da'lian, overlooking the blue bay and islands dotting the horizon.

If it’s far enough away, we can’t tell what it holds. Therefore we swim hard, and we swim harder, because we don’t know what’s there. It’s the promise of something new, of something undiscovered. It’s the possibility of something better, but we can’t see it, so we can’t be disillusioned, we can’t be disappointed, we can’t be disrupted from our dream. If we can’t see it, we can’t identify it, therefore we can’t run from it, instead we run towards it, so as to discover what it truly is.  So we swim. We swim to that island off in the distance. To the one where we can only see the outline. Not the ones that are closer, the ones that are populated with mansions and overused tourist traps, but the one that looks rocky. The one that looks undefined. Indescribable because you cannot see what it holds.  Whereas that which is close is not a mystery, there’s nothing to be discovered…at least we think so.  Although it may have hidden treasures that no one will ever know of because they don’t want to go somewhere that’s known.

But the one far away, the one you can hardly see, that’s the one where we strive so hard to be, to reach, so we can discover and claim it as our own.

I’m not sure why, but that’s the draw, the attraction, the mystery of the unknown.

Pressure

In a world offering worth based off production, where value is directly proportional to performance and reached potential, where our perception of perfection is skewed, the pressure is enough to drain the life from even the strongest of men.

In a society where they are pressing me into a mold, trying to take hold and define my identity, where they judge me by what I do or don’t have, it’s a roller coaster, and not a smooth one.

Its pressure presses into the brain, causing me to come close to insane, never finding rest because there’s always something more I could do, something more productive and presiding.  So this mentality robs of rest as every time a breath comes, it feels like a test, seeing if I waste my time or keep going.

It’s not a waste to rest. It’s not wrong to watch a movie. To write some poetry. To go explore the city. Yet my identity is not fully formed, therefore I am susceptible to this society’s verdict. What I long for is that frame. That solid frame of identity that ensures that I know I am me, and my value does not come from what I say or how full I make my resume, or even how many people I’ve saved to date. No, it comes from elsewhere. From the maker who looks with compassion and declares I have value because he made me. Punchenello, you are special to me.
And in that moment, all of the dots and stars from the Wimmex begin to loosen. Some even fall off. Those who previously judged me and told me who I was no longer have that power or capability. No, I can walk confidently because I know I am worthy, not because of what I have to show, but who I know.

And that’s a relief.

Their grasp cannot contain, their pressure cannot crush this frame, their words do not profane the identity of who I am.  And that, my friends, is where I want to stand.

Moments.

Blue skies and beautiful rides. Green trees and joyful times. Times of solitude in the midst of a crowd, times when it seems like glory is raining down in the pouring rain, backed by the promise in the sky. A life bringing rain that revives what’s going to die.

Soaking up this breath-taking view of the mountians and the sky, I smile deeply as the nature whizzes by, feeling the peace pulse through my muscles as they move to move the bike.

Within a huge city full of empty life, there is a depth to be discovered, you just have to open your eyes. The willow trees contrasted against the blue sky, the sound of the dirty canal and the sight of the all the old people’s eyes as they watch me run by. The thrill of exploration, of being confronted by something new, of discovering a new point of view as I ride by the quiet river life. It’s a different world there, a place where people enjoy a slower pace, where the landscape is of trees and hutongs instead of buildings that scrape the heavens.

The joy of getting lost and discovering places you never thought you’d discover. The refreshment that comes from making dumplings in a simple apartment that is full of love. The excitement that comes from burgers at a pub. Karaoke painfully filling our ears as the first real burger fills our bodies.

The struggle of change that I may not like, but the new opportunities that come alongside it. The way  community can support each other. A dinner of stuffed crust pizza like no other in the middle of China. 

In the quiet moments on a long bus ride, playing with the little girl seated by my side and watching her smile and laugh as we attempt to chat in chinglish and englese.

The winding paths of the park tucked quietly behind the apartments, connected to the road of willows. The park that twists and turns and is full of quiet spots to go when burn out threatens. Two butterflies planted majestically in the middle for those who dare to explore to see.

A magnum at night, a conversation with a friend and the simple sight of their smile. Time talking with new people, exchanging honest words for a while.

There are moments like these that I hide away deep inside, and

It’s in these times I stop and remember the joy of being alive.

When I'm gone.

You never know what you got till it’s gone. I’ve always thought that was a shallow, cliché, overused saying, but now I’m beginning to understand it’s depth. How we take things for granted until the moment we realize we are losing or have lost them. Or even are temporarily separated from them.

Relationships. Meaningful conversations. True friendships. I guess I never realized how utterly valuable they are. I never recognized how beautiful they are. I never internalized how rare they are. It’s easy to pass day after day together, living life together, but when you’re separated, distanced, you begin to miss each other. You begin to see the life that springs up from the well of deep friendships. Your ears long to hear the sweet sound of their voice and their words, both kind and, at times, harsh. Your eyes long to see the smile of one who knows and understands who you are and what you think. Your heart longs receive the acceptance, acknowledgement, and affirmation of who you are. When absent, you begin to wish for the presence of ears that really care to hear what you have to say. To hear your heart. Your victories, your struggles, your unanswerable questions. You begin to miss those who have walked with you as you’ve experienced all that life holds. When their hand slips from yours as the oceans keep you apart, when their life moves forward in your absence, when you no longer have that kindred spirit to share all things with, you feel it. And you miss it. And there are times, moments, that I’ve felt that deeply since I’ve arrived. So I now vow to re-read this message to myself every so often so as not to forget to cherish and recognize the meaning and magnificence of what is before my eyes.