I Have a Cancer

Hate. Such a strong word. Such a dark word. Only under the utmost circumstances should the word hate be used. Not hate as in "I hate that color of that shirt." That's bullshit hate. I'm talking about the dark use of hate.

I hate myself. Truly, I despise myself. Always leaning towards one side, then the other, not being able to make concrete decisions, not being able to keep promises to myself and to others, not being able to stand on two feet and say proudly "Hi! I'm Philip Cho. Nice to meet you." I despise my own name.

Every time I see my name on a paper, I wince a little. I know that with my name on it, the standards are lower, the expectations are lower, the work input is lower.

But what I hate the most about myself is that I'm lazy. Such a trivial thing, why should I hate myself over that?

Laziness is a plague in my life. It is a cancer that I can't get rid of. I lived too long with it not knowing how painful it would be to be stuck with it. "Oh, I'll get myself straight when I get older. Oh, I can fix my habits easily, so I can wait. Oh, I'll just do that tomorrow."

Oh how I despise myself for that trait. It's disgusting. The tumor has grown to a cancer, the small disease has come to control my life.

I hate it. I hate it. I hate it.

To be continued....

-Phil

Young Nak

A month huh? Crazy.....

Anyways, I'm back from whatever I was doing. I actually think I tried to avoid my blog. Don't know how, don't know why, I just did. Another entry for another day, I guess.

Lets recap on my life for the past month: I'm scared.

Yes, this is about college again. Actually, scratch that. It's about church. It's about Young Nak. It's about the whole experience.

I don't want to leave. I'm scared of moving away from LA solely for the fact that I'm scared to leave Young Nak. I mean, this is where I found God, this is where I found genuine love (other than family), and this is where I found my second home. I don't want to leave.

Thinking about where I am going to apply to college, I seem to have narrowed it down to two locations: LA or New York City. The big cities. The messy cities. The cities where everything is alive and moving.

If you know me, I love noise, movement, and anything messy. In fact, I don't even clean my room because I prefer messy over clean (sometimes I say that to my mom to get her off my back too). It makes me feel at home. If everything is neat and tidy, I feel out of place. A big clumsy person living in a geometrically symmetrical room just doesnt fit.

So that's why I chose these two cities. I love LA just because it's my home. It is familiar to me. And I chose New York City because the first time I went there, I fell in love. With the atmosphere, with a constant city-like sound, with the dirty sidewalks, with everybody going their own direction not noticing each other.

But now, even NYC scares me. I want to stay in LA.

Why? Because I don't want to loose the relationships I gained at YN, the brotherly and sisterly love that flows throughout the buildings and people. I don't want to leave that place. I don't want to leave those relationships behind and dive into something completely new. A blank canvas, if you will.

But who knows? God will throw me into something new, something unexpected like he did with me countless times. But I'll try not to be scared. Because every time I got plunged into something, He was always there to help me out. He was there to replenish my strength when it was all gone. He helped me fill that blank canvas once before, and he can do it again.

Of course, it's hard trying not to be scared. In fact, its impossible to not be scared. With such a huge bridge to cross, there is always a sense of hesitance. What God does is he takes that hesitance and replaces it with faith.

So lead me where you want me to go. Anywhere, any time, every day.

Phil

An Ant in the Colony

I wonder what the world would be like if I never existed. I know, self-centered. But that question really stuck onto my mind and it irritated me. Whenever I thought about the question, I always imagined myself as an ant living in one of millions of colonies all around the world. Just, 10 times bigger.

So what if that one ant died? Another one will spring up and take its place. It will seem almost like that first ant never existed. Well, surely he existed right? He lived for the colony, and died. But how is he remembered? Who will remember him? In a day? A month? A year? A century?

Whenever I went to see my grandmother and grandfathers graves, it was always riddled with weeds. Grass grew over the tombstone, where it said, "beloved mother, daughter, and grandmother." I always felt a little tingle whenever I read the last part. But as I walked around the cemetery, I saw the same quote tombstone after tombstone.

How are they remembered? Some tombstones are completely covered with grass, and they weren't buried there for a century. They were buried there for maybe a decade, before mother nature hid away the very certificate that that person existed,that that person was once alive and could breathe air. How are they remembered?

I'm talking about the normal people. The people who lived just like I did. The people who probably thought the same questions I thought.

I pondered around with this thought. How will I be remembered? What if I never existed? What would happen to the world? Would it stay the same, or would it change?

I came to the conclusion that the world wouldn't change without my existence. It wouldn't care whether I died or not. Its not like the world grieved for the dead ant. So kill the ant. Another one will take its place anyways.

But wait! Why am I comparing myself to an ant? I am a follower in Jesus, not just an ant. Sure, I might not change the world in a big way, but I'll change it within people's hearts, one at a time. Whether it be one person, or a million, I will have changed something. And in the end, getting the world to remember myself isn't the main goal.

It's to rejoice up to God with my grandmother, grandfather, my aunt, and everybody that died in His name.

So what if the tombstone is riddled with weeds? So what if nobody from the Earth remembers what you did, or what changed after your existence?

That's not the main goal. The ant might die, but the follower of Jesus Christ will never perish.

-Phil

Innocence Robbed

I miss the good old days. The days when nothing seemed to stress me out, nothing seemed to put me in a bad mood, when nothing seemed to restrict me from my happiness. Those days are gone. And they'll never come back.

I miss the days where I could run around on the beach with my sister and not have any worries in the world. I miss the days when we would try to dig holes all the way through the earth, and always stopped after the sand got cold. I miss the days when we drank coconut milk straight from the nut. I miss the days where the ocean shined with a turquoise ray across the horizon. Those were the good days.

I miss the days when I fell asleep because the room was silent. I miss the days when my house flooded with sunshine. I miss the warmth of the sun always shining down on my little body. I miss those days.

I miss the days where the sun would rise and fall on the ocean horizon and the golden rays would reflect on the ocean and the view would melt away any pain. I miss the days where the nights were warm enough to walk around with shorts and a t-shirt. I miss those days.

But what I miss the most is the sky. Oh the beautiful sky. Such a rich blue with white fluff floating carelessly with bird flying by every now and then. The sky would be my sanctuary. It would heal anything when I looked up, and it would plunge my mind into wonder. Whenever I looked up, I would be in awe of the beauty and wonder that took control of my mind. Every time I looked up, I would gasp in wonder while basking in the sun.

Even on the plane, I would always take the window seat, and I would stare out into the clouds for hours. While dreaming, there would always be that one constant thing that I would always remember. The sky. Whether it was a good dream or a bad one, I would always remember what the sky looked like, what the clouds looked like, and what the color was. Why did it captivate me as it did?

I miss those days, because I can't relive them ever again. Even the sky.

Sure, there's blue skies and clouds here also, but what I was robbed of was my innocence. The real world came down, and it stole what I loved most.

Now, the sky is, to me, a big wasteland, smog, countless amounts of planes, filth. Living life robbed me of that. More like, living with hate, disgust, and stress robbed me of my innocence.

I really miss those days.

-Phil

Never in my Wildest Dreams

How does He do it? He somehow manages to balance the scale of the world in his hand, and finds time to answer prayers.

This retreat, what struck me the most was not from retreat. It was surprisingly my sister.

It was about 10 seconds from the moment I saw her at church, and the moment she walked away and I went into the sanctuary, but those 10 seconds were unforgettable. Here's why:

Ever since I was in 8th grade and was at SMT Tijuana, I prayed for my family, but mainly my sister. Reason being, she hated church, but more so God. She despised him so much that sometimes she wouldn't go to church and tell my mom she did (when she got her license).

For some reason, I detected the lies, but I didn't know what to do except pray for her, so that's what I did. For four years, I prayed for her to go to church, to start attending regularly, to even give God another chance.

I saw no change. I saw nothing transforming. I saw disappointment on my face.

I gave up my prayer for junior year thinking it was a lost cause. But, somehow, some way, she changed last winter break. Her life broke down to her very foundations and it was rebuilt.

Her image from the senior year of highschool to sophmore year of college are direct opposites. She was selfish and hated everything about the family, but when she came home from college, she made a genuine effort to connect with every single one of the members of my family.

For example, whenever I talk to her now, she doesn't give me the evil look but she gives me a smile and actually acknowledges my existence (trust me, it can hurt when all she gives me is a glare).

But I didn't think she changed her habits on church.

New years came around, and we were all sharing our resolutions, and unbelievably, hers was to attend church while going to college, and to start fixing all the wrongs she committed when she was younger.

What the heck? That didn't sound like my sister. So I simply brushed it away thinking it was complete crap.

But God does crazy things. When retreat moved down to the college ministry on Sunday, I felt a sadness that we were back so early. But then, my sister actually poked me first and said hi. I was surprised that 1) she would do that in front of my friends and 2) she was at church.

So she said hi, and asked us why we were down so early. I answered, and she left.

It didn't hit me until later, but I realized that was church. That was actually next to the sanctuary she was in, where God was in, where her fellow classmates and students were in.

During the afternoon praise, all I could think about was my sister and my 4 years of prayer. All this time, God was listening after all. All this time, he didn't fail me, when I gave up. All this time, he was with my sister in her time of need.

So even when we fail, God doesn't. His unfailing cross saved my sister and united my family again.

God works in the weirdest ways and it's awesome!!

-Phil

Dark Secrets

Ok, so that last post was kind of jumbled and extreme. I was really mad. But there's a better explanation of why I was mad at my dad. It wasn't all because of the events that took place that day, but rather the events that took place throughout my whole life.

Every Christmas I could remember from the time I was living in Guam, my dad was absent. I woke up happy to see the presents, and as I run to them, I notice my sister, my mom. No dad. There was space for him to be there. There was always a space for him in the family. But he wasn't there.

From one year to the next, my life changed and changed, but one thing stayed constant: somehow he always seemed to have to do something on that day. That day, where nobody was working, when nobody was doing something else, he was working. He was doing something else.

I remember one Christmas day in particular like it was yesterday. I woke up at around 7:30 in the morning and went downstairs to find my mom and my sister already sitting on the couch with my present in hand. I got excited and ran down. I sat at the edge to the left next to my mom, and next to her my sister. The sun was shining particularly brightly into the window to the back of my head. It was a beautiful day.

But I noticed something was missing. I looked around as I made my first tear into the present and noticed that my dad wasn't there. Pain and sadness filled my insides so much it hurt. My heart, my stomach, my guts, they all hurt as if somebody was reaching in and ripping them out. I looked down again at my present, and found out what I really wanted for Christmas, a whole family just enjoying each others company.

That was when I was about 9 years old. The next Christmas, he wasn't there, and the next, nope. This continued up until this Christmas. I guess all that sadness and anxiety turned to anger and hatred when I realized this. Unconsciously, the emotion swelled. It brought back lots of memories where my dad was absent. The little times, when he asked me how old I was, the missed birthdays, the mornings that I woke up knowing my dad didn't come home last night. All of those thoughts rushed back to me.

And I blew up.

There's still anger that's in me because of my dad. I mean, I was traumatized. Knowing I had a father, and yet knowing he's not going to be there during the important days of our lives together. As a family.

But I think I released a lot of that pent up emotion stored in the deepest recesses of my mind this week. We went on a family trip to Death Valley and relaxed. We spent time as a family without any distractions like school, work, or news for that matter.

My resolution for 2010 is to regain some ground with my dad, and restore the anger into love for him. No doubt, I love him, but we can still butt heads once in a while.

How come I only get mad at the people I truly love? Hahahahah food for thought.

-Phil

On the Brink of Destruction

Merry Christmas? No, not for me.

This was one of the worst day ever. And the fact that it happened on Christmas just makes it worse.

The day started out with everybody all jolly and joyful and crap like that. It ended with me trying not to destroy everything in the backyard with tears flowing down my face.

How did that happen? Who did what? How come you did that?

My dad was the catalyst for the masses of events that would eventually break me apart.

It started off with Christmas service. Everybody was there. I saw so many people from high school, college, and even some parents that I felt happy. I felt warm inside with all the memories shared with them. My dad was working the volunteer booth with his church buddies.

After service, we all went home. So far, so good.

We go home, and we all do our separate things. My sister washes the dog, I prepare the garlic for the food, my mom washes dishes, and my dad builds something outside. Seeing that my dad wasn't as fit as he was 20 years ago, I decided to lend him a hand.

I go outside, and it turns out, hes building a big box of some sort out of wood. He, always being stubborn, tries to deny my help. I go back inside, and get back to my own work. Then, I see him again, bending down sawing away at this plank of wood with the wrong tool. I get back outside and grab the right saw and I cut the rest for him.

After all the pieces were cut, for some reason he lays them out on the dirt. We have a huge cement patio type of thing big enough to fit the frame, but he lays it out on the dirt. The whole frame is lopsided because of the bumpy ground so I suggest to him to move it on the cement.

Completely ignored.

He continues to hammer the wrong nail into the wrong spot with the whole thing unbalanced. I tell him again, but he says its fine, he can do it. After the first nail (that didn't go through to the connecting piece), he told me to do the rest.

At this point, I started to get kind of angry, because he didn't even listen to my advice, he completely blew me off, then once he got tired, he called me to finish the job.

Seeing that he was my dad, I kept my anger to a minimum and hammered away. After 30 minutes of relentless backpain from the hammering, he brings out screws and corner locks for ME to put in.

I put in half, and then get tired, so I tell my dad I'm going inside for a minute. I come back out, and he says to me, "Decided to help me now?" Now? NOW? What have I been doing for the past half hour while he was sitting down WATCHING me work? I offer him help, he denies it, then calls for my help again, and doesn't recognize the fact that I helped him hurting my back, while he was relaxing.

Now, I'm pissed but I held it in.

I manage to get to my cousin's place without exploding at him. I get there, and I see my uncle. He's the only person I truly hate. I despise him. He treats my parents like crap, he treats me like crap, but he treats my grandparents worse than anybody else. He treats them as if they didn't belong in the house.

Every time I see him, I get angry, so I obviously avoid him. I avoid him, he avoids me. Works out fine.

I start to relax with everybody and I start to have a good time. Then my dad came.

It was dinner time, and my dad came up to me and told me to go pray in english. Why? Knowing that if I did that, everybody would give me glory for something I didn't deserve. So I declined.

But he started to get louder and louder with each command. I said no just the same every time.

I know, praying for the food is no big deal, but remember I was really pissed at my dad. If anybody else asked me, I would do it. Anybody. I know I'm acting like a bitch towards my dad, but you have to understand, this isn't a one time thing. He does it every single time with the backyard work, with the family gatherings, with the stubbornness.

At that point, I was really pissed. I knew if I blew up, then the whole house would have no more fun, no more food, no more enjoyment of each others company. So I isolate myself from the group.

Seeing that I had to drive my mom, sister, and her boyfriend home, I had to stay there until the end doing nothing in fear of exploding with anger.

I made it to the end of the day, and I drive home. I guess I was driving a little fast, because I was pissed. I pull into the driveway and my anger is about to overflow. I know if I make it to my room, I would be able to sleep through the night and calm down. But no, that never happened.

My sister, in her asshole-ish tone said right after I stopped, "You suck at driving."

Well fuck you. Fuck everybody. I exploded.

I'm sorry Jesus.

-Phil