And the World Grew Quiet: Living Between Adventures

Hey there, Jordan - long time, no see! Or writing, rather. How appropriate that the last post in this blog, over a month ago, was entitled 'On Writing Nothing at All.'

This past month, I've been running downhill. I've hosted workshops at conferences, tabled at zine fests, been elected to club president, written over 30 pages of essays and exams, interviewed 15 people about Asian American psychology, and seen the President speak at our college's commencement. Oh, and did I mention that I'm in Seattle for a brief week before flying to Bangladesh for two and a half months? Yeah, there's that. I'm leading my own quiet life revolution and, unfortunately, I've had to sacrifice my writing time in favor of sleep. I know, I know, creative people should sacrifice for their art. But I enjoy being able to function, thank you very much.

Right now is an interesting time because I am resting in the space between adventures. While it is true that I'm working on a final research paper and reorienting myself to the west coast, it's for a brief flickering instant. As short as this time is, I feel a bit of anxiety in this space. Nothing scheduled? Nowhere to explore? I was reading Sarah Wilson's blog post about happiness that doesn't depend on what happens and I totally resonated with the obsessive list-maker, adventure-seeking Sarah in her attempts to justify that happiness would come when something... well, happened.

But for now it's just wilting into the Seattle backdrop, claiming a few hours of shut-eye, and preparation. What does a person like me feel when there's nothing going on?

Well, it's something like death.

But fortunately, as for the proverbial phoenix rising from the ashes, a little death can be a good thing once in a while.

In a few weeks, I'll be halfway around the world in another country and (hopefully) catching a very different energy than I have in my life in New York City. I'll still be researching, but hopefully I'll also be writing and reading (in that unstructured free way that someone described as joy). I'll be exploring new lands, eating new foods, and hopefully recuperating from the run-yourself-into-the-ground burnout mode that I've been in since I hit Seattle soil. I plan to be blogging throughout the months that I'm overseas, though it may be on a less regular schedule due to internet connections. But the stories will be totally worth it.

Curious to see what I've been working on in the last month? Here's a list: 

Facilitating a workshop on Asian American mental health at the NYCAASC conference.

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Facilitating a workshop on body image to high schoolers at the Crossroads conference.

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Attending both the Brooklyn Zine Fest with new zines in tow!

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Creating the infozine Chasing Perfect: A Primer on Asian American Women and Psychology, available online.

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Watched this commencement speech happen.

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...and much much more.

Personal Artifacts

I haven't been writing much for this blog in the past week. I've been making grocery lists and plans to write and essays on women writers in the early modern period and notes on hormones. I've been using my words in other contexts - writing and talking out feelings in order to heal. But I haven't posted much here because all of that background writing is the preamble, the extraneous detail before the heart of the material emerges.

I often hate that stage of writing - it's not a draft, it's somewhere before the draft even starts. It's the notes and the ideas floating about that must get captured in some mundane tasks. It makes me sane, but not inspired. In the good times, it feels less necessary. In the bad, however, it's all that there is.

I wanted to address the writing that we do in our everyday lives that feels like nothing more than making endless to-do lists. It's still a form of writing and a form of expression, oddly enough, and it will be the stuff that tells historians most about these eras once they have passed. In some ways, being a historian of your own life is the best way to gain material for creative projects or to heal yourself. I've been looking back on some of the writing I did in high school and the memories just come flooding back. It's not always fun, but it's interesting to look at your own lists and wonder "what in the heck did I need that for?" until you finally stumble upon an answer.

I recommend looking back at old journals and files whenever you're confused on where to start something. Whether that "something" is an art project or a reflection on how to better your life outlook, these are the things that get overlooked, but can often be the most indicative of inspiration.

At the very least, they can give you a good laugh.

Check out some other reflections on perspective.

The Almighty Force: Personal Faith and Perspective

In light of the recent death of one of my family members, I have been musing on personal faith and its context in my brief life. This faith has sustained me through both tragedies and triumphs in the past and continues to support me each day. I know that many of my readers are not religious, so please do not take this story as an attempt at conversion - it is exactly the opposite. Personal faith must be approached on one's own path, and this is my story of arriving at it.

I first learned about my religion through the media. Growing up in a secular household, with one parent Christian and the other Muslim, I had never really thought about Allah from the perspective of organized religion. He was a being in the abstract sense when I was younger - I have no memories of faith beyond the paper-thin symbolism of winter holidays. I didn't know about Ramadan then.

I've written previously about 9/11 and its role in making me a reactionary activist to the Islamophobia that followed. But seeing Islam as a personal religion is different than seeing it in the activist light. No, it came to me in another package: The Autobiography of Malcolm X. I read this book at an age that was much too young for its subject matter, though I appreciate that it came into my life at that point (and am intensely curious to see what different impressions I get when I finally read it again). Malcolm X was a convert to the Muslim faith, someone who did not take the teachings for granted and approached them with careful eyes. Though he did not bring Islam to me, the words of his book displayed to me that the religion is loving as it is powerful, and as familiar.

At that time in my life, I needed a force like that. I had been bullied in school and was suffering from depression, though at the time the only names I had for it were apathy and loneliness. I chose personal faith over personal destruction, though the idea was still abstract. To this day, it comforts me to know that this choice was the one that kept me stable and allowed me to fully experience the life that I lead now - faith has passed with me through the shocking times and the beautiful ones, and it resides within me to return to lest I forget.

I suppose that's why I am returning to it now. The reassurances that my faith provides keep the sadness at bay. There is an end to suffering and there is a better place that we pass into once we are in the care of Allah once more. But more than that, the strength and dignity of our religion keep me working to improve my own circumstances and take stock of the life I am leading: what can I do better to take care of myself and those close to me? What can I do to better the world that we live in, so that we are not waiting in vain to pass into death? Even as I am alone, I gather strength and perspective. We are only given the burdens we can carry, and I will carry on with the number of days, months, and years I have left.