Songs of Pain and Hope

When my daughter was born, I wrote these lines over her bed, in addition to the 23rd Psalm.

Serve to rise. 

Rise to serve.

We reject the abhorrent, uncontemplative forms of Christiantity and other ideology that teach being a doormat is somehow holy or desirable. 

We reject the unbridled pursuit of wealth, power, and status devoid of self-reflection and proper purpose.

Our immigrant songs endure and resonate because they were written and sung in struggle and pain.

In the Dark Knight Rises, a bartered but not beaten Bruce Wayne climbs out of a seemingly unscalable pit. After failing on multiple attempts, he does so after forsaking any sort of safety harness.

A telling lesson.

And this is how life sometimes surprises you.  A year ago, I walk into a bubble tea shop.  The cashier appears Black to me. So I order and she speaks perfect Chinese.  It turns out that her dad was Black and her mom is from China. She grew up there since she was 3 before returning to the US only a year or two ago to finish high school, living in a predominantly Black neighborhood of NYC.

We ended up exchanging stories about food, culture, immigration, etc.  The conversation evolved into belonging, fitting in, calling, faith, etc.  So we exchanged information and the discussion has continued since then.

It’s been a while since I’ve taught but because of her background, she understands way beyond her age.  I showed her a videoclip from one of the X-Men movies where Magneto tells Mystique to stop hiding who she is as it is a waste of energy.  She is so focused on disguising her true form that it distracts her from the task at hand – in this case lifting weights. When she’s in her true form, it’s when she’s the strongest – a lesson that I struggled to fully grasp and learn,

I told her that this is her power and strength – a child of two worlds, to never be ashamed of that, that she will be formidable beyond measure and that is how the world changes.

Recently, I helped a friend track down someone who was a bit difficult to find.  I eventually did, but before doing so, predicted several things about the individual.  Pretty accurate.  Once one, always one.

We then talked a bit about dating, how the qualities we consider desirable aren’t necessarily what we need or even want.  As if someone super rich, successful, smart would definitely make a good partner.  There are correlations between those factors and good qualities but at times, they can be inadequate proxies.  I used to somewhat in jest, list Ivy League education, yup that stupid.  I should have just gone with strong brave kind, what I advise the kids to look for.  I must say the boy has always been drawn to beautiful girls / women – in his class, daycare, waitresses.  This is not soft eyes.

This principle also applies to other facets of life.  I told my friend, the former officer, that there are two scoreboards in life – the one many see with wealth, title, accomplishments, assets, popularity, etc.  

And there is the one that matters, the less visible one.  I think you know what’s on this one – all that is often preached, but not practiced.  Hard to remember and implement, but the one that you hope is lit up at the end of the game – Patrick Mahomes style.

I once played in a tournament when an opposing player started to trash talk.  I just pointed at the scoreboard.

I did not win the jackpot in terms of parents.  It could have been a lot worse, but no Powerball.  I told my uncle that in my extended family (Malaysians had large ones, not a lot of entertainment, state run censored TV), I pretty much got assigned the equivalent of the Cleveland Browns.

I also spoke to my aunt, who helped raise me.  I mused about how life would have turned out differently if I had my wealthy uncle and aunt as parents (both grew up in poverty, but uncle is a Singapore law school salutatorian, Harvard SJD and Ph.D, wrote the Singaporean securities regulation textbook, World Bank counsel, US white shoe law firm partner).

Surprisingly, my conclusion – I would have done and seen less.

My uncle’s son asked for and received a 40K blue sports BMW and promptly crashed it.  I worked two jobs in high school to buy a white Ford Escort, which I still dream of today.  Went on scholarship for all my degrees.  My uncle and dad would drive to my cousin’s high school to check for his car to see if he was skipping.  I had almost perfect attendance, even going to school with the flu.

At the Thanksgivings my uncle hosted, my cousin and his buddies would boast about their cars, the size of their TVs, etc.  I told my high school teacher and she was appalled and disgusted.

But I will end up the poorest of the lot.  And maybe the richest.  I taught the kids that rough waters make good sailors and navigators, not smooth ones.  

The words of Cavafy’s Ithaka are a comfort –

Hope your road is a long one.

May there be many summer mornings when,

with what pleasure, what joy,

you enter harbors you’re seeing for the first time;

may you stop at Phoenician trading stations

to buy fine things,

mother of pearl and coral, amber and ebony,

sensual perfume of every kind—

as many sensual perfumes as you can;

and may you visit many Egyptian cities

to learn and go on learning from their scholars

In a galaxy far away, long ago, I was a summer camp counselor.  Sponsored by the University of North Carolina-Greensboro, it was advertised as an All Arts and Sciences Camp.  Loosely implemented – it was run by and staffed by soccer players, the director played professionally and the assistant director collegiately.

Other than Disney World, I had little experience with the South. 

But I roll with it.  We end up in Greensboro and Wake Forest in Winston Salem.  It was so humid that my Bible’s pages were damp.  I pickup a Southern drawl while learning to say “dog” from my black friends as in “Who’s the man now, dog?”   My Irish supervisor teaches me to swear with one of the most profane combinations of words in the English language with an Irish accent.  When I stay with my friend in his small town, Denton, heads turn in a diner when I enter.

The camp is not run properly.  We smoke cigars, drink, and engage in other activities to relieve stress – I participate minimally (telling the truth).

But it was so much fun!  Southern girls are beautiful and I dance with a few.  I lead a group to an unexpected championship.  I teach biology to kids.  Make a lot of friends.  And by pure chance, run into the girl I lit the candles for at one site.

I ride Greyhound back to Maryland in the middle of the night.  And sing James Taylor’s Carolina in My Mind the rest of the summer.

To show their staff is diverse, I end up on the following year’s brochure’s front cover.

Valentine’s Day is obviously a big day for many.  In my high school, students could buy roses and have them delivered to someone during the last period of school.

Some of my friends didn’t like the day and I guess what it represented.  They would wear all black as a sign of protest or whatever.  Except I had a thing for one of them.  So I got her a rose.

She was also in my English class which was the last period for both of us.  When class started, she was grumbling about the day.  And then the roses appeared.  As they were being handed out, she just frowns.

Until she received hers.  The look on her face – priceless.  She didn’t know it was from me but she found out later. 

In my final year of law school, I returned from a ny final break to find several stacks of rejection letters from a plethora of DAs offices on my apartment doorstep.  I had so many rejections that the already full mailbox couldn’t hold them.  

I slept with those stacks next to my mattress until I was offered a position (I pretty much applied to every state in the Union at that point ).  Several people, including family, clergy, professors, classmates, ptold me not to go this route, and this has been a pattern for past and future endeavors as well.

But just like playing in the outfield and between the goalposts, I intuitively knew where I needed to be.

And it really is about the journey, every destination disappoints in some way or the other yet plays an importantrole in shaping who we are.

This life will both build and cut you. Do we really have a choice in all that?

I’d venture both yes and no.

We choose at some point – walk on part in a war or a lead role in a cage.

And the storm – it comes to us all whether we like it or not.

I waited patiently for the Lord 

He inclined and heard my cry

He lift me up from out the pit

Out of the miry clay

He sets my feet upon a rock 

Makes my footsteps firm

Many will see

Many will see and hear

I will sing a new song

The indomitable, unparalleled, massively flawed David, who wrote that Psalm, had a family that rejected him.  Father, brothers, no mention of his mother.

His first wife, whom he went through hell to court? is taken from him by his king and father-in-law and given to another. She later scoffs at who he is after his coronation. He never touches her again after this incident.

Saul is insecure of him and tries to hunt, kill him.  For years.

David loses his best friend, Saul’s son as a result of all this nonsense. David is constantly betrayed and let down by his friends and followers. His own children try to revolt against him.  One even sexually assaults another.

Both hid lead general and chief advisor foment rebellion. 

And he had six wives.

That’s why he writes 40 as a multi faceted communication to the most high.

There is no one else he can count on fully.

A lesson I’ve learned painfully but maybe a worthwhile one.

Everything and everyone will fail you at some point or the other.

Everything and everyone.

Very difficult to believe and trust, especially in the seemingly invisible, intangible, inaudible God.

Especially one who appears to say, do, or even know nothing.

But that’s the mystery and magic of it all.

He does show up. As in the lyrics of a popular song my kids like – God’s f——- fake till He’s not.

Sing this with me.

This is 40.