Songs of Pain and Hope

The Beatles are considered possibly the greatest songwriters of all time. Hard to argue with that but I rarely listen to them. The one song that really speaks to me is While My Guitar Gently Weeps, one of the rare ones written by their guitarist George Harrison not John Lennon or Paul McCartney. 

How Harrison wrote the song is interesting. He randomly turned to a page in the I Ching, an ancient Chinese wisdom text. His eyes fell on the phrase – gently weeps and a masterpiece was composed. 

The lyrics are wistful and show a yearning for a better world. The reference to his guitar gently weeping is powerful. It is bittersweet in its longing. I chose this song for the daughter’s soundtrack as it is part of mine. 

There are two versions I find particularly memorable – one by India Arie and Carlos Santana and the other by an all-star ensemble of musicians, including Eric Clapton, Tom Petty, Harrison’s son Dhani, and Prince. The guitar solo played by Prince is considered one of the greatest of all time. 

It is stunning. 

They couldn’t have picked a more appropriate musician to honor Harrison’s legacy. 

Prince was in many ways very hidden – much like Harrison. Although flamboyant on stage, he was in reality a humble and shy person. I can also identify with him. 

I told the daughter I was shy and she said she knew. I think I felt so much pressure to put on a show at times and while it had its purpose and benefits, I’m secretly very quiet – at least some parts. 

While my guitar is a deep dark red, I’ve often wondered whether that wholly represented my personality. I think a black one and even a plain uncolored one complements all that.  

My guitar is in NYC. Strangely, I do not miss it. It feels like an artifact from a long lost period. 

If it still weeps, it is not due to my fingers.

There used to be this local radio station – DC 101. Every weeknight, they would have a nightly segment at 10 pm titled Get the Led Out, where they would play three Led Zeppelin songs. I’d look forward to this, listening in the car, stereo, or walkinan. 

A friend and I discussed the band’s music. It is either really melodic or jarring. Maybe a bit like who I am. They sing about many topics – women, wine, wandering, wisdom, wanting, so on and so forth. 

English in origin, they also reference Tolkien in several songs – alluding to Mordor, Sauron, Ringwraith’s, and more. They point to a world outside this often banal, brutal one – a bit like the Harry Potter universe. Several years ago, the surviving band members were honored at the Kennedy Center. 

The closing song was Stairway to Heaven, their most well-known song. The performance was led by Ann and Nancy Wilson of Heart and involved a full gospel choir. The choir was a bit of a surprise, coming on at a crucial point in the song, which also happens to be my favorite segment which I would often sing to my kids. 

The choir is wearing black bowler hats, in a tribute to the late drummer, whose son became a drummer himself and was part of the night’s performance. 

It was epic. 

You can see Yo Yo Ma, Bonnie Raitt, President Ohana and Michelle rocking along. The band members are clearly touched. The lead singer has tears in his eyes.

I never learned to play this otter song correctly – Going to California but it reminds ne of you. The song is about a man who has spent his life with the wrong woman and is now looking for a fresh start with trepidation and anxiety. I love the closing lines of the song as they fit you. 

Find a queen without a king 

They say she plays guitar and cries and sings 

Rides a white mare in the footsteps of dawn 

Trying to find a woman who’s never been born 

Standing on a hill 

On the mountain of dreams 

Telling myself it’s not as hard as it seems 

It is relatively well-known that the woman referred to is Joni Mitchell. In some performances, the lead singer calls out her first name after singing those lyrics. 

Her singing reminds me of yours.

M. Night Shymalan said when his children were scared, he would tell them stories about their births. I have often thought of the wisdom behind this and it seems solid. I tell mine silly stories about their childhood to tease them but not their births yet. Maybe it’s too painful for me to recollect. 

The daughter was born a week after her due date. We waited and waited. She was scheduled for the first week of April – precisely April Fools Day, which I was hoping she would avoid. That week in April was an eventful one as Easter that year fell that week and so did baseball’s opening day, a really big deal in Boston where the Red Sox are like a religion. The night she was when labor began, for sone reason, the maternity ward was packed. They did not have enough rooms so they put us in a waiting room. It was a city public hospital and a weekend as well, so they were understaffed. In fact, one of the nurses didn’t believe that we were in labor and tried to send us home. We hung on, thankfully, because if we had gone home, the daughter would have been born on our living room floor. 

Every pregnancy is different and when I think about it, fits the personality of the child in some ways.  The contractions started off slow and erratic but escalated so rapidly that the hospital staff were shocked. It all happened so quickly that they missed the window for the epidural. As such, the daughter was born amidst great pain. And she came out just as you would expect – kicking and screaming. Her legs have always been long and that was immediately noticeable. She also had my face which concerned me because I’ve never thought I was particularly handsome. One of her eyes was open and the other was shut. She looked like a hybrid of an alien and raisin. I named her after the Lord of the Rings character because I envisioned her fighting for others. Her middle is Sojourner after the civil rights icon and because I wanted her to travel and learn. Her Chinese name is noble mountain – I knew she would be tall and be a source of stability for others. Now as I write, her arrival mirrors a lot of how I functioned – a lot of seemingly nothing and then a lot happening at once. She was born in the morning of April 7, the same day as her maternal grandmother’s birthday. 

The son’s birth was completely different. He was born in one of the best NYC private hospitals and arrived on his precise due date. He came out looking perfect and his cry was mild. His labor looked a lot different than his sister’s – more attentive staff, less pain, better facilities. 

He was a handsome boy from the start. He got his looks from his mother. I named him after one of the greatest strategists in world history, a man so capable he pretty much beat everyone with his mind.  This also reflected the work I was doing at the NYPD. His middle name is Luther, after the BBC homicide detective, also reflecting what I hoped for him – that he would protect others with his life. His Chinese name has part of Bruce Lee’s Chinese name – which means something like vibration, agitator, or riser. I wanted him to emulate one of the greatest Asians who ever lived – a fighter, thinker, teacher. I wore a shirt honoring him at the birth. It had the following quote – No way as way. No limitation as limitation. 

There’s a saying I read somewhere that goes something like – When God wants to brings change, He sends a baby. 

Hopes and dreams. They still matter. So long as you have them, you can stay alive. 

This story is about them – the most precious people to me. But it is primarily about God and His story, dreams. 

You are also precious to me:

I hated going to prisons. My God, I dreaded this more than going to some of the tough neighborhoods I had to go to. There is something about prisons that are dark and heavy. The barbed wire, fences, guard posts, clanging doors, bars, the behavior of the inmates, the guards and otter personnel.

Scary as hell. 

I I remember this one time I had to go to one in Philadelphia when I had to monitor a lineup. For some reason, there was a large group of people in the room. I can’t remember why but I think it was a tour for our office’s interns. 

When the witness entered the room, she was surprised to see so many people. When she was asked to view the potential suspects, she said she couldn’t recognize or identify any of them. I instantly felt something was off but wasn’t confident enough to speak up as the police officer conducting the proceedings was highly experienced. After the lineup, a junior colleague who was present, accompanying the interns, pointed out that the witness may have felt intimidated by so many people. 

I drove home. But I couldn’t get the incident out of my mind and I felt regret for not speaking up earlier. So I called the prison and tracked down the officer and conveyed my concern that the lineup was tainted. He told me not to worry and that he was sure the witness got it right. 

To this day, I’m not sure what to believe. 

On one hand, I feel terrible for not initiallty saying something as I was required to do. On the other, at least I tried to make things right if I could. I’ve mentioned this before – that I handled some really horrible cases. I was so young when I was first exposed to it all – just 25 – a relative baby. Sounds strange but I rarely ask why God allows things like this to happen. The answers are likely inadequate or unsatisfactory. I realize that maybe we really don’t want answers or explanations, but rather resolutions – that things would somehow be made right, to the extent that they can in this existence.  

Only God can. 

Every New Year’s Eve, I would light a proverbial candle for the crime victims in the city. I lit many candles for many people in this lifetime – family, students, those I fought for and loved. 

And one for you. 

Just one. 

 The one I don’t regret.

I can’t remember whether we were on RM’s track team at the same time.  I was a horrible runner and I kinda joined to say I participated in a sport and to get out of the phys ed requirement.  Because I really couldn’t run, hurdle, or jump that well, by default I threw – the discus and shot put.  I’ve also rarely to never mentioned this part of my history because overall I wasn’t that excellent.

But here’s the thing, that was in comparison to much bigger guys. For someone my size, I actually had a strong arm.  By the end of my senior year, I could throw relatively far.  It helped me playing football and softball.  I could throw fast and hard for someone not super big and tall.

I actually didn’t realize my arm was that strong until others pointed it out.  I remember throwing a football on a missions trip in Nashville and the leader said – what an arm.  I also remember throwing out someone trying to reach an extra base in softball.  I could generally reach home plate from my position in the outfield.

And here’s the real secret.  It’s all in the legs and timing.  The torque and power is generated from the lower body.  In some ways, this is a metaphor for life.  The unexpected and timing are key.    

I remember once you had these hand tumors.  You broke your hand affer playing football.  Fascinated, I looked up the condition and saw some x ray photos.

Your boyfriend at the time didn’t want to accompany you to the doctor. I would have.

Both sides of my family are from a port city state on the west coast of peninsular Malaysia. The state, Malacca or in Malay, Melaka, is relatively famous in world history. It is adjacent to the Straits of Malacca and was a major artery of trade for many – including Indian, Chinese, Arabs, and others. 

It was also colonized respectively by the Portuguese, Dutch, and finally the British. When you walk around the city – or really, the town, you can see the remnants of each culture. The Portuguese left behind a stone fort named A Famosa. It still has cannons mounted outside. I used a photo of the fort as my LinkedIn profile picture to signify my role as a protector and to honor my heritage. The Dutch left behind a beautiful red church, I think it is named Stadthuys. It is iconic and probably the landmark most associated with Malacca. The British influence is all over – from architecture, food, and perhaps their most enduring legacy, their systems and laws. 

Legend has it that the state was founded by a prince that was next to a river when his hunting dogs cornered a mousedeer, a small animal and wanted to presumably kill it. The mousedeer or kancil in Malay then does something surprising. It lures the dogs to the edge of the river and kicks them in. Impressed by the mousedeer’s courage and intelligence, the prince considers this event to be a good omen and establishes his kingdom there, the beginnings of Malacca. To this day, the mousedeer is the state animal and is representative of the reputed intelligence of the state’s inhabitants.  

Malacca is also known for producing the most famous of Malaysian hero-warriors, Hang Tuah. Along with his four childhood friends, also warriors, they serve and protect the kingdom.  Hang Tuah’s legend, unfortunately, also includes one of the most heartbreaking and thorniest ethical scenarios in our history. Hang Tuah, who is something like the chief protector of the kingdom, gets framed for something or otter out of jealousy. He is then exiled or something similar. Outraged, his best friend, Hang Jehat goes crazy and kills a bunch of people in response to the injustice. 

Eventually, Hang Tuah is cleared of wrongdoing and is reinstated to his rightful position. The ruler then orders him to kill his friend. Reluctantly, Hang Tuah pays a visit to Hang Jebat, who is overjoyed to see his best friend. Until he realizes what is actually happening – that Hang Tuah isn’t there as a friend but an agent of the state to carry out the order to kill him. A bitter, lengthy fight ensues between these formidable warriors-best friends. Hang Tuah prevails but is grief stricken for having to kill his closest friend. 

I used to teach the scenario above to my ethics students. The question posed is what should Hang Tuah have done? Obeyed his ruler or stood by his friend. It isn’t simple. The dilemma here involves competing interests, both integral to Malay culture – loyalty to the state or loyalty to family and friends. I ask myself what would j have done? I’m not sure.  It depends on the day but I think I actually would lean towards loyalty to family and friends. Although I was in government for a significant portion of my professional life to date, I saw much corruption and abuse of power.  

Although I was born in the capital of Kuala Lumpur and raised in another state, I feel a strong connection to Malacca. The mousedeer complements the tiger, the national animal of Malaysia or harimau in Malay. It is a fierce, proud, and powerful animal. 

I like to say the following phrase – Harimau Malaya, Kancil Melaka, to remind myself of the best of my culture.

To this day, I have no idea how much money my parents have. I really don’t care because they spent so little on me, especially things I needed. But even this actually gave me what I needed in a strange way. 

Recently, I spoke to a friend who also felt out of place. He is Korean but grew up in a predominantly white neighborhood. He and I both played a lot of sports that non-Asians do. We are bananas or twinkies, yellow on the outside, white on the inside. Interestingly enough, my NYPD unit was majority black and Latino. They used to say I had a lot of black in me – well maybe because we were heavily discriminated against in Malaysia as Chinese. 

But we were talking about how we used to practice our skills in all sorts of environments. I told him I was a very good fielder in baseball/softball and could credit this to the cheap glove I received. It was purchased from KB Toys, made of synthetic material unlike proper gloves that are made of leather. The glove was so thin that it hurt every time I caught something that was thrown hard. When I finally used a real glove in college, I realized how much this prepared me to field. I have never dropped a ball in the outfield. That cheap glove taught me how to catch effectively.

It was the same thing with a football. They wouldn’t get me a real one, so I had a Nerf one as well as a free plastic one from KFC. Both were unwieldy and difficult to throw. These also taught me to throw a real one properly. And other things like feeding me one meal a day (which I’m used to till this day), sleeping in a cold room because of inadequate heat and blankets, and even the refusal to get me a proper steel string guitar. 

All these made me stronger and better in many ways. I knew how to get by and make do with what I was given, many times less. I went on a half scholarship to Maryland, paid for a lot of law school, and had my PhD funded fully with pay. 

All the above is the grace of God. 

But the ability to do more with less care into play a lit in other aspects of life including navigating family and work, both extremely difficult at times. 

Even at the NYPD, I wasn’t allowed to consult outside my unit due to frankly inane reasons. Thus, I had to figure out a ton of stuff I had not seen before. I did quite well even if I say so myself. 

I know how to grit and stick it out. 

Starting from early last year, I wrote approximately 80 poems, 220 stories, 70 letters. Over half of the close to 650 pages of personal writjng I’ve collected since my mid 20s. 

I’ve never written this much before.

Just for context, I wrote the other half of the rest over 10 years. The 5 from the end of law school till the end of my first PhD year and the 5 with the NYPD. 

These are my psalms.

I lived most if not every line out. 

This is still about the presence and faithfulness of God. 

Was talking to my DA Chief last night and I told him how I would pray before I taught or went to court. I don’t think these words are mine. 

A gift – likely the right one for this period. Like U2, I allow Him into the writing. 

It shows. 

I also don’t normally talk about these two events but they are memorable for His guidance and more. 

The first occurred in Seoul when I went with the UN. My supervisor, a senior State Department diplomat seconded to the UN, and I were having a fancy dinner with these senior prosecutors. They started to discuss developments in their legal system and mentioned that they were either considering or implementing plea bargaining in Korea. 

Almost immediately, I mentioned that development would make them the most powerful prosecutors in the world. American prosecutors are powerful and a significant amount of that power is derived from the plea bargaining process when the government can negotiate with defendants to reduce penalties or charges in exchange for a guilty plea. For so many reasons, this process can be manhandled and abused. 

Korean prosecutors on the other hand derive their power from their ability to investigate violations of the law. In the US, prosecutors cannot do that – the police do the investigating. Comparatively, Korean ones are substantially more powerful than American ones. Their conviction rate is off the charts, rising to the level of near certainty. Giving them both powers would make them virtually invincible and unbeatable, which I’m not sure is such a good idea. 

But when I made that comment, those in attendance had a look like wow that’s correctly insightful and started to nod their heads in unison and agreement. You could tell they were impressed. So was my supervisor. 

That insight came from God. I’m not that smart or quick on my feet. Although I am proud of my time as a prosecutor, I knew after my second year that it was neither my full passion nor destiny. I did not truly enjoy going after people, I did it for victims. As such, I really wasn’t into the full concept like others. I told my friend that I felt God tell me what to say and he said he felt chills. 

The second story is about the management course I designed and taught, the one where a portion was dedicated to defending against the dark arts. I included a practical hands-on component to the course. I divided the class into groups of 5-7 people and told then they had to choose a cause and implement 3 projects to further that cause. 

The results were incredible. 

The students chose causes that included poverty, homelessness, wounded veterans, animal welfare, and even a people group. The projects were quite creative and effective – raising money, awareness, conducting service projects, and such. The students felt justifiably that they had done something good and felt proud about it. 

Perhaps the most remarkable group over the approximately 10 times I taught it raised around $50,000 to purchase a property equipped van for a disabled person. The group partnered with several organizations and manages to do this all in the span of a semester, which if I remember correctly was the summer one. 

I’ve told you this before but I was always nervous and anxious before each class. I really don’t like public speaking. Sometimes, I would lose my train of thought and stutter, stammer. But at others, it was nagic. I think God was always in my classroom but sometimes He made His presence known. 

And this is how God works in the seams, cracks, and gaps of our lives.  

I wasn’t originally supposed to go on that trip to Korea – only did because the original staff supposed to go had to drop out because his mother was ill. On that trip, I meet up with former students by both design and accident. Even randomly meet a college of one of the church students I taught. 

The management course was also an unexpected gift. 

One day, I casually mentioned to my dean that I was interested in leadership and management literature and said I was thinking of either exploring incorporating these into my current teaching or developing a course. To my surprise, he said the material could fit into one of the department’s current courses and the rest is history. 

And so it goes with God. 

There are surprises that are not only gifts but planned. 

That is the magic.