Songs of Pain and Hope

I was a decent to good guitar player. It actually took me a while to grasp the fundamentals because I was a slow learner, didn’t have a knack for reading music, and didn’t have a good ear. Even to this day, I can’t detect simple chord progressions. I had to play along to songs on the radio to hone my skill. Also used a bit of a cheat called tablature to learn songs. I did end up becoming proficient enough to play for RM’s jazz ensemble. It took a lot of trial and error, embarrassment, and persistence to even have a basic competence level to practice, much less perform. 

The role of the guitar in jazz isn’t like that in other genres like rock, blues, or country. In those genres, the guitar is more prominent as a rhythm or solo instrument. In jazz, the guitar is not supposed to be heard but if it’s missing, you will know its absence. It is part of the rhythm section although I think that is also a bit of a misplacement. The drums, bass guitar or standup bass, and even the piano are way more audible and have more of a noticeable impact on establishing the rhythm for the entire group. 

In jazz, I feel the guitar provides the color, tone, and depth. It fit my role a lot in this life. Present but hidden. Hidden but present. I could play prominent roles if I needed to but my power and strength were behind the scenes. Even when I played basketball, the one sport I played the most, I was never the top scorer, rebounder, assister, stealer. But in a game, I would have stats in each category while my teammates would have some but not all. I knew how to do the little things to make the team function. Oh and I hustled like crazy. People would tremble when they saw that I was going to guard them. I’ve written about this before – I broke my colleagues’s arm during a game and once I clotheslined someone who threatened to hurt my college suitemate. 

Oh and that jumpshot – as often the only Asian on the court, I knew I had to make them at a higher clip than average. Even my brother said that he didn’t need to turn his head when those watching a game would gasp in awe or cheer. He said he knew I made another 3 pointer. I got so good I could hit when guarded closely. I held back though. I could have shot more if I wanted to. Maybe it was confidence but I also think I just didn’t want to look like a selfish player. I liked making my teammates shine. 

But back to guitar. Someone asked me recently why I don’t play anymore. I replied that I wasn’t good by myself but with others. The solo performance thing didn’t go well with me. I played a set once though in high school for a Theory of Knowledge class. My friend played with me. A song I wrote, Allison Road, and Wonderful Tonight. I was so nervous and my voice was shaking at the start. When I finished, my classmates erupt in applause. A few girls who had never spoken to me in my entire high school career approach and are interested in knowing more about me. But I’m shy and insecure, so I demur and deflect. 

But once in a blue moon, I picked up one when the opportunity presented itself and I couldn’t help but show off a bit. It’s nice once in a while to throw people off their guard and show them a different side. I often think what song I would start off with – Yellow Ledbetter for sure but I also realized All Along the Watchtower. The former is complex while the latter is a simple three chord progression. I liked seeing the look on peoples’ faces. It took so many hours of practice to get to that point. 

And that jumpshot. In the rain, sun, snow, wind. And what I tell people as the punchline – when I was crying. How easy it was to make them when I wasn’t. How easy it was. 

I haven’t touched a basketball or guitar for years. I think they will come back if I tried again.

I used to cook the Thanksgiving meal. Turkey, butternut squash soup, green bean casserole, stuffing, candied yams, gravy, the cranberry stuff from a can. I would brine the turkey for a day, stuff it with oranges and lemons, fill the oven with more fruit, and here’s the key to keep it from not being dry – cook it breast down. It doesn’t look pretty or like what’s portrayed in ads but it works. 

When one cooks that many dishes in a small kitchen with small appliances, planning and timing is essential. I had to map and chart out how and when I would have to start, prepare, and finish each dish – some of them simultaneously. It would, look at times, like madness and chaos. But at the end, it all comes together. It just does. 

It was the same way when I taught. I had three major courses – Ethics, Criminal Law, and Management. These courses were complex and many of the concepts tied into each other. The hard part was having to teach it bit by bit. I knew how everything fit together but my students did not. It was only at the end when they realized how beautiful and powerful some of these concepts were. One of them wrote in my student reviews that what was taught in the beginning of the course seemed so basic and simple, but at the end, showed how important they were. It all comes together. That is the joy. 

I suspect life is a lot like this. There are so many parts that look like they are random, stand alone, and don’t seem to make much sense. But it comes together. I think of the beautiful places I’ve been to – palaces, gardens, castles, landmarks, nature. And all the ugly ones – prisons, crack houses, drug neighborhoods. And I think in a funny way, there was beauty and grace everywhere. God is somehow present in all these places, even and especially those where you don’t expect Him to be. 

I once said that everything ultimately falls into place. The magic and mystery of it all. The weird thing is that it’s often the seemingly mundane and trivial that end up being so important. The cranberry stuff out of can tastes amazing when you combine it with the other dishes but not necessarily by itself. When I think back on my lectures, it’s actually the earliest ones in the course that are the most essential. Brining that turkey too.

The way I was as a prosecutor too was different. I wasn’t as aggressive and loud like the others. But I was still formidable. The way I fought was methodical and strategic. I knew how to make my moves count. Sometimes they were quiet and hidden. Others they weren’t.

I have a mentor who is a former US Ambassador. She served under every President from Carter to Obama. The Secretaries of State she served with included Kerry, Albright, Clinton, Rice, Schulz, and her favorite, Powell. Kissinger also taught her. She once met Nelson Mandela. 

She is one of the first people I sent my writing to and she said it was really good. I wrote more because of her. She is also a lover of poetry and travel. Recently, I showed her the reflections and stories I wrote for and about ———. She said they were lovely. I actually sent them to you so you could learn more about me because although we have known each other for 30 years or so, you didn’t actually know that much about me. 

By writing you, I thought that I would be just retelling the ones I originally wrote, which others have also mentioned as beautiful and should be published. But these are somehow better. I can now remember and recollect many buried memories – not just bad stuff but also the good.

It took me a month each to write the two major documents I sent you.  I’ve written for a living and I’ve been generally competent to good. But even I know these are special. The ones I wrote for you are among the best.  The very first one I wrote in January, people find powerful but the recent ones because and for you, they are different. 

Life is funny. It also comes full circle. You actually are the person I’ve written the most physical letters to. This happened in college before email became the norm. We used to write each other regularly although it was innocent.

And now it’s you again.

My uncle, who died recently, accomplished a lot despite much adversity. I don’t think what I’ve done matches him but both our lives had similarities. My aunt, who raised me, said he had trauma after trauma. I definitely did. Don’t get me wrong, we also both had amazing days and lots to be happy about. 

Either God allows or ordains things to happen to us. At times, they are good, at others, they aren’t. I think with the latter, His promise is that good ultimately comes out of it. I definitely had deep wounds. Many from events out of my control. I think I tried to respond as well as I could but the effects last. It did give me probably my most important skill, the ability to read people and situations. I did not reject healing for them. And they did heal in some measure but I think some never fully heal and they reopen. 

I wrote about this before. When I was in Philadelphia on a missions trip, I sustained a bad shoulder and arm injury. I was playing football and I got slammed into the ground. I’m sure I dislocated or tore something but I never got it checked out because I was about to head off to Indiana. That was 23 years ago. That injury has never healed. Some nights it’s painful and others it’s just tingly. I can tell the weather outside from how much it aches. If it’s more than a dull throb, I know it’s either raining outside or will rain. 

The wounds are reminders of how life works out but also how God brings us through. I’m not sure how true this is but intuitively any time spent with God is good. The nudges I’ve had from Him fit into that category. There is overall a measure of peace because I know that He’s somehow in control. Even in the darkest moments. And your nudge, the scariest and yet the most comforting of them all. I’ll tell you more about the other ones later because they take time to explain. 

So in the early morning, as I deal with a cough and cold, I feel led to write. I was talking with a friend this past week and I said that I actually can’t write on demand. Something comes over me and the words just come out. It’s like a higher power is holding the pen. Every poem I’ve written, including the ones that others think are publishable, take no more than 10 minutes to write. They are in many ways autobiographical. Much of what I’ve described I’ve actually seen or experienced. The ones I’ve written for you are among the best. This is actually the first time I’ve written poetry in 20 years and really anything deeply personal.

I’ve learned to alleviate the arm and shoulder wound. I rub and massage it. It’s bearable.