Switching Gears

Today I came to the realization that I am actually a very artistically driven individual— art is what fulfills me. There are a lot of things that I am interested in and are intrigued at, business plans, philosophy, politics, literature, film, math even—but what truly makes my heart beat, is art. There's nothing that melts my heart more than seeing an artist express themselves through some form of brush and canvas; there is nothing that makes me happier, than expressing myself through some form of brush and canvas.

I must have known this all along, but somewhere along the way, I started believing that I was a success driven person. Like Carol (see her entry here), I believed that a certain position at a certain company will make my life perfect and solve all my problems. But of course, like Carol, I was chasing after all the wrong things.

A lot of people see me as the artsy type because I enjoy crafts and projects, but no one really sees me as an artist. It’s because I don’t act like one. I think I gave up that identity when I decided not to go to art school. Once I entered business school, I moved even further from that persona: putting on the business cap and telling myself that I’m a business person. I think because I never went the artist route, I denied myself the right to behave and act like an artist. I’ve neglected art for a long time, and as a result felt lost and uninspired for just as long. I don’t think it would be too far from the truth if I said my brain was the most stimulated when I was in middle school, when I did art every day. I was among a couple several kids who wanted to go to art school, so we took every chance we had to go to the art room and study from my art teacher. Drawing, painting, and creating were the most important things in my life. After I moved to America, I continued with art classes in high school and college, but with far less intensity and never with a mentor as good as my middle school art teacher. To this day, I still yearn for the kind of fulfillment I felt as a young artist.

Subconsciously, I’ve settled uncomfortably for a path which society tells me to be the right . Even event planning, something I am undoubtedly passionate about, has became a career path rather than what it should be—a way to express myself. I remember chatting with my art teacher when I was back in Taiwan this Summer. Even while I admired the way he lived, his views on life, his visions and passions, I was thinking to myself, “your life is too different from his; you will never be where he is now”.

But how silly was I—to limit myself just because I didn’t pick a certain path? Whoever said that because I didn’t make a living with a paint brush, I can’t think like an artist and live like one? With this new realization in mind, I examined my life and decided that this will be the end of me planning my life around my job, my next move in my career, and what society expects of me. I’m going to start doing things that make me happy and fulfill me. I am switching the gears of my identity from “Lillian the girl who wants an event planning job” to “Lillian the artist who will create beautiful events”. And already, I am excited for the endless possibilities.

=),

Remembering

Though Autumn doesn’t officially begin until another week or so, the month of September’s arrival and the cool weather sure feels like the start. It only seems right for me to pay tribute to the ending season.

I didn't know it then, nor did I realize until now that the summer of 2007 was my last real summer. It would be my last summer as a single woman, my last before becoming a mom.

In retrospect, it was an amazing summer. It started with a trip to Hong Kong , with a man I was absolutely smitten with. Though, my smitten-ess with this man also ended during this time. I travelled to three continents I had never been to: Asia, Australia, South America. I was prophesied over the first time. And I encountered a miracle of God this summer.

A friend of mine had been holier than usual this season of 2007. He was high on holiness, devouring all things Christian. So when he invited me to a gathering of Christians where we’d get to meet a real life modern day prophet, it was a no brainer I’d be there.

When he invited me, he failed to mention that the prophet doesn’t speak any English and that everyone there is at least 20 years older than us. But whatever, I was about to meet a modern day Moses.

The prophet only spoke mandarin. While he spoke his prophesy over me, a man next to me simultaneously translated. I was hearing Mandarin one ear and English the other. No doubt, the message was lost and diluted in translation. From what I did understand, the key message was that I will come upon a crossroad soon. At this crossroad, I will have to make a very important decision, a decision that will change the course of my life. With either one, I will be with God, however, one will prove much more difficult and challenging than the other. Something like that.

This prophesy didn’t make much sense to me at the time, it only made me weary of what important crossroad I will come upon, what difficulty I might face in the future. Now, in hindsight, I know much too clearly.

Weekls later, I was sitting in Boston Common one morning writing in my journal and meditating on God. I felt that God was imprinting on my heart to remember. To just remember. Remember the intimacy I shared with him this summer. Remember his nearness. Remember his Love. I kept repeatedly writing down the word, ‘Remember.’

Later, I gather up my things to leave, and start to exit the park. When I’m almost near the gate, I walk by something inscribed on the cement floor. Something in me tells me to go back. I return, and take a picture of it with my cellphone. For the mere fact that it was written in nice fonts and I’m a huge sucker for fonts. And that’s when I saw it. What the words were on the floor. The words said on the ground read: “Garden of Remembrance.”

I would not have made it through the 9 months of pregnancy and the days that followed had it not been for God and his love. Upon finding out I was pregnant, my first thought was, “My mom is going to kill me!” But the next immediate thought was to surrender to God. Everything that I had depended on was stripped when I became pregnant – boyfriends, looks, my independence, my future.

With all those things taken away, I was finally forced to only depend on God. And for the first time in my life, I learned to depend on friends. On family.

Some may say that my encounter with those words “Garden of Remembrance” 3 years ago is only a matter of coincidence, or at best, a matter of fate. But to me, fate is only the secular word for God’s will.

Three years have passed since I first came across those words, almost a year has passed since I was utterly dependent on God, but I hope to always Remember. Remember his love and his grace, his intimacy and his tenderness. But to also Remember the state of being so completely reliant on something other than myself, and to Remember that that is the key to life.

Remember.

New York

I had a small glimpse into single life in New York this past weekend. For about 5 hours, Jeremy was with my mom while I scheduled back to back dates with friends I haven’t seen in a while. I took the subway into Manhattan from Flushings, trying to pose and pass as a New Yorker until I needed to confirm with my map that I’m heading to the right place.

As I got out of the subway and headed upstairs to the street, New York came onto me naturally. Without struggle, I started pacing myself as quickly as anybody else; maneuvering between the crowds, waiting impatiently at red lights, walking with purpose. It felt so good to be in the city. In the midst of activity. In the heart of everything.

I went from one pinkberry to the next, one restaurant to the next, ecstatic on good conversations and good company. But mostly, from the rare freedom I was experiencing. It had been a while since the last time I was alone in the city. I lost myself in these dialogues, believing that I was just like my friends in that moment – free to do as I chose with my night, free to stay out as late as I wanted to.

The euphoria that came along with such freedom didn’t last long however. Soon, my real identity knocked at my soul. And with that, the realization that I’m not like them. The mother in me started to miss my son. I then felt like I was missing a limb. Still able to function and get by, but not fully comfortable in my own skin.

Truth is, my being no longer makes sense without a 20-lb baby strapped onto me. Although at times I relish the independence, it’s never long before my arms, my heart, my entire being ache for my baby. My Jeremy.

I live a dual life. While I am a 23 year old single woman, I am also a 23 year old single mom. I don’t have the complete freedom my 20-something friends have, but I also have more freedom than my married parent friends. This is an identity I’m still learning to adapt to. How to make time for myself and my goals but still spend enough time with Jeremy. How to be a mom and a single woman.