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meaninglesseverything
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Name: Micah
Country: Thailand
Metro: Krung Thep
Birthday: 9/5/1986
Gender: Male
Interests: Music, Comic Books, Drawing, Movies, People, Girls, ... Food, you (maybe)
Expertise: Writing Music, Playing Guitar, Drawing, Rap(but haven't done in a while), Talking to people, doing nothing, eating,... yeah...
Occupation: Artist
Industry: Art
Message: message me
MSN: micahlee@hotmail.com
Member Since:
9/27/2005
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| Imagine it stands before you. The sky behind its figure looming over you. The dark cross- heavy, rough, and ready to be used. The place where Jesus hung, where his beaten body was nailed. Its the place where all of your sins and my sins gathered, ultimately killing Him. It is an object of love and at the same time great suffering and pain. Ultimately its a object of forgiveness constantly reminding us of its price. Lately I'm reminded of what it means to me. What it symbolizes. To some, its just another ornament to put on a necklace- a cool design for shirt or even a nice tat. The other Sunday we had our communion. The taking of a small cracker and a small cup of grape juice reminding us of Jesus' broken body and shed blood. Before then during Children's Church, the message was about forgiveness even after that during the main service it was almost the same message (or at least that's what I remembered about it). Forgiveness. I kept thinking, "Man, that's a hard thing to do...". You see, before that day I had an encounter with true forgiveness. I hated my first trip to the United States. It was like going to the slaughter-house. I was the oinking pig of course franticly pushing against soil while my executioners dragged me to my fate. It was a long flight and a suffocating arrival. When we got off the plane and on to the outside, the first person we saw was Phil. I choked the ball of spit got stuck in my esophogus. His open arms hugged me as I hesitantly put my arms around him. Back a few months from that, I sat in a dimly lit restaurant with me, Danny, and my mom. We talked about my aunts and the trouble we had with them in Singapore. Then she drops the bomb on me, she's married. Nobody knew it. She just suddenly decided to get married because it was hard not to be intimate and she didn't want to sin. Even after she promised me before going on to her first trip to the U.S. that nothing was going to happen- it happened. Totally beyond my control. I tried to keep my mind off it, tried to keep going. The more I thought of it the more I boiled up. I was steaming but I stuffed it down. The first week of traveling in the U.S. was spent in a cramped pick-up truck with Daniel next to me and Jj next to him. We went from motel to motel seeing most of the Midwest (the states in the middle of the country). It was a beautiful place, however how empty. Despite the serene beauty the thoughts crept in my mind. How could she be so selfish? Where's the respect for me as the oldest son? How come she didn't tell me? Didn't she consider how we would feel? The more I looked at my mother, the more I saw how she changed. She wasn't my mother anymore. Sitting behind her, I didn't know the stranger. A totally different peron. I hated it. It seemed like she had only thought of herself. At one motel in Tennesee I broke. I couldn't take it anymore. We had just met Phil's oldest daughter- Robbie. Daniel was asleep and wasn't hungry at the time. I guess Jj wasn't either. When we'd come back it was past dinner time and Daniel was asleep. He woke up though- hungry- then he was scolded. By both Phil and my Mom for not deciding to eat on time. That night he cried himself to sleep and I knew why. He felt like his own mother did not care for him anymore. My heart shattered and my head heated. I hated her. I hated her so much. That same night while I packed my bags I had the music playing from my laptop. "I need you Jesus, to come to my rescue, tell me where else can I go," the song sung. I sang along and tears began to flow. Before I knew it I had streams coming down my face. "Please make this easier for us, please," I whispered. As I lay to sleep, I begged God to take it easy on us. The next day we stopped at Phil's other daughter's house. They welcomed us with open arms and were so generous. She was very understanding and it was an answered prayer. After their house I went to California- on my own- to meet and stay with a friend named Alicia Wong. It was there I learned that forgiveness was a choice. See at California I had my own- sort of mission trip. Alicia had helped our church when she came to Thailand for a mission trip- so I wanted to maximize my time there by helping whatever I could whenever I could in the church. It got my mind off things and got me breathing again and on the Sunday service during worship I believe God was pressing my heart to choose forgiveness. It was so painful, but I felt that was he wanted me to do. Then He reminded me that Jesus at first prayed for the cup of suffering to be taken away from him, but willfully He chose the Father's way. He chose to forgive us- because that's how much he loved us. The key word in showing us his heart was that he chose to forgive. He could have been programmed to do it but the truth is he was praying for it to pass him. Yet He chose. This spoke to me, I have to choose it and constantly choose it because God constantly forgives. It was so hard. Back to now. Sitting there that Sunday I remember the tears coming down my face. Most people who saw probably thought that I was crying because Phil had come and it was hard to stay at home. In a sense they were right, but not so much. I remember the pastor talking about the cross and I realized that it had stood there before me waiting. My very own cross. No I wasn't to be sacrificed for the sins of man but the Son of Man didn't stop there at the cross. He was asking me to forgive again but also to do as he did choose the cross. I felt that he was asking me to chooe the suffering, suck it up, and be strong and courageous. I had begun to weep because I plainly told Him, Its to hard. The cross is too heavy to bear. Although I wanted to honor God, I had to be honest. It was too hard. I prayed for the Lord to help me as I took the communion weeping. This week I had been reading Phillip Yancey's "The Jesus I Never Knew". I got to the part of the beatitudes and I was comforted. Did you know that Jesus said the those who mourn are blessed? Blessed are the meek? Blessed are the peacemakers? Yancey brought the beatitudes to life as I read what God had placed in his heart. God hold promises for those who mourn, those who are persecuted for righteousness, those who are poor in spirit. I wanted to honor Jesus despite of all I had felt but it was hard but what Jesus said at the sermon on the mount lifted my spirit and reminded me of what to hang on to. Blessed are those who suffer for the righteousness sake. The cross had suddenly looked lighter. It was still heavy but I'm reminded of God's promises through it. Most of all, that I'm not in it alone. The cross is now for me a place of realization. A place where the past goes back to darkness and the future has its rewards. Yes the cross is heavy, yes the cross is ugly, and yes the cross will kill you and you will suffer. But blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness sake. Blessed are those who are poor in spirit. It is not easy to carry this cross but we forgive because He forgives. I understand now when they say the joy of the Lord is my strength. I remember Jesus saying his yoke is easy and his burden is light. He made it easier for me to carry the cross when he promised me blessing. The cross is still a burden- yet- its now light because he carries it with me. The joy comes from knowing He's there with me every step of the way. Sometimes, I stumble but the cross is always there to guide me if I just let it. What does the cross mean to you? | | |
| The thing about Singapore is that its a country between a rock and a hard place. Everytime I plan a trip there, it's always un-nerving. Everytime I leave Singapore leaves a black hole inside me. Being there is both bittersweet and terrifying, and the sea of people passing me on the MRT are like ghosts floating by. It's a surreal feeling I tell you. Coming back home to Bangkok is another thing as well. Home is where the heart is, at least that's what 'they' say, and I guess my heart really is in Thailand but everytime I come back I get the feeling I'm not welcomed here anymore. I was born here! On paper, I guess, this isn't my home. When I was applying for my visa I had to fill out a form. On one of the dotted lines it said "Permanent Address". I put my home address of Tai Ping and by the time I got to the counter the lady said," Permanent address cannot put your Thai address k? Must put your Philippine address." "But I don't know anybody there. I mean I don't live there. That's my only home," I quickly told her. "No relatives... grandmother?" "Deceased" "You don't live there? How?" "I was born in Thailand and my parents got into some complications. It's a complicated story" "Then you should have a Thai passport." The words rung in my head like a time bomb exploding. I need to be somewhere I can live and be a part of. Was Thailand the best option for me? I mean, this is where my 'heart' is. Coming home is another story. I step off the plane on to shifting plains. It never really occurred to me before that I was homeless. | | |
| Hello internet blog, it's been a while hasn't it? I know i haven't talked to you in a while, but since there's more time to kill with nothing to do I guess it's time to talk again.
I'm sitting in starbucks looking out a large window pane. I spent the last two nights with my dad and tasted the life he's living. It's bitter- the black coffee kind- and by the look of his physicality I can tell it's an aquired taste (but not often welcomed). I only had a sip though.
He stays in a studio flat with another old man, about five years his senior- a part time cook. He speaks loud although kind but he doesn't talk to me much. I don't think he speaks english much. I don't know if my dad know's what he's saying though, I dont' even know if the other man knows what my dad is saying. Since my dad lost all his teeth he speaks with a slurred lisp.
The apartment is small with one single bed, my dad's, and a large king size bed, the old man's. I shared the bed with the old man, sleeping always near the edge and hardly sleeping. The bathroom is a tight rectangle without any tissue paper. The water runs cold because there's no heater. Next to my dad's bed and the bath room is the windows- medium sized and covered by a criss-cross of plasitc black bars.
As I layed down in bed the first night while the old men slept, I felt like I was in some sort of prison. The house was small. I shared a bed with a strange old man and the windows were caged. I wanted to sink away into my own world to get some sleep. I put on my head phones and listed to "Overburdened" by Disturbed. As Draiman's vocals wailed "Fate is so unkind" I couldn't help but think about how my father felt about his life so far. The suffering is un-nerving, did I do this? For some the blood on my hands will damn me.
New Year's Day, 1st January 2008. My eyes woke to my dad's old room-mate left. My dad layed in bed and his eyes opened as well. He got up and his pants drooped halfway on his ass. No it wasn't a hip hop thing, I can assure you. He's lost so much weight over the years, his body tells of older man than his age actually is. His legs seem to wobble with each step. They look like sticks- skin and bones and his walk was like that of an elderly 80 year old man. His body moving with each weight on each foot.
In the past, my dad's belly was big. I remember him in my younger days being fat. Now the size of his stomach is reduced to that of a cancer patient's. His ribs are visible as he lifts his skinny arms. When I look at his face I can almost see his skull. With gougy eyes, a toothless grin, and hair fading from his scalp he asks me, "Want some coffee?" All I say is later let's eat some lunch.
We watched a movie that day: Aliens Vs. Predator 2. I saw it for the third time, but I didnt' mind it was the movie he wanted to watch. I paid for almost everything that day. I couldnt' bear to make him pay for everything with only 200 dollars sing that the gave him that day. I told him during breakfast that I didn't want to stay at the apartment after the next day. I told him I just felt uncomfortable staying there with the other old man. It felt like he was housing my dad and he was housing me. He's a kind old fellow very secluded though, smiling only when I tried to talk to him. Honestly, it wasn't the living condition- I could've hacked it out if it was only my dad and me, but I didnt' want to bother the old man.
I wanted my dad to stay with me though. I wanted to spend time with him as well. As I told him, my dad looked with sad eyes and said he understood. I knew at that moment, that he was sad that I was staying at a hotel. By the end of the movie arrangements already had been made to make me stay at the place. By this time it was mid day.
My aunts, of which there are two, wanted my dad to come over to there place for new years, but my dad didn't want to go since he was with me. I didn't want to make my pressence known here as well, so my dad did as many times before- he bullshitted.
From the moment I met him at the airport he told me he bullshitted. He shitted that old man telling him as he had told his old friend before that I was studying in the UK trying to get a visa to Thailand. My chest tightened when he told me this. I never understood why he felt he had to bull shit at that moment.
As we walked out the movie cineplex he got a phone call. I knew it was my aunt by the story he was telling, telling her that he was with a friend who brought him to a chinese doctor on New Year's Day at Dhoby Gauht. My chest tightened again constricting my breath. I put my face in my palms and felt the heat pulsate through my arms.
After the phone call he looked and told me, "Sometimes have to bullshit 'cause if not kana get fucked one," which in our case was true.
I didn't want to see my aunts because I didn't want to be reminded of my sins, my demons. They never got over my parent's separation. They blamed me for it. They blamed my mom. I dont' blame them, but how can I resolve something out of my hands. What can I do to make this right? Mom's remarried and happy with a new life ahead of her. The only way I atone for my sins is through coming here for my visa application and spending time with my father. I wish I could get him out of the shit he's in. I wish I could, but now I can't. I've got nothing so I spend my time in hiding while I am here.
As we walked towards a MRT train station, he got another call. Another one of my aunts, whom I miss dearly, asking him to come get pie. Once more he bullshitted saying that now he has to follow that same friend (who was me) to Tampines to meet his daughter in law.
They questioned him on the phone because he kept coming up with the same story and backing it up with different details. After the call we sat on the curb and he took a puff of his hand rolled cigarette. I looked at the empty space in front of me and the tall buildings that surrounded us. There was no one on this side of the train station. Just one couple and an old man and his son.
I felt the cold heat life running up my spine. I was nervous. I thought my aunts would find us out.
My dad looked at me with those weary eyes once again and told me, "I'm going to pick up the pie at Pasir Ris at around 7:30." A brick of saliva jammed down my throat. He wanted me to follow him to my aunts apartment and wait downstairs. I couldn't do it. I sat on that curb and frowned as the tension squeezed my temples. "Can I not go to her house there? I'll just wait at white sands," I desperately asked. He puffed a long one and said that he understood once again.
He explained to me that he didn't want to withstand my aunts' nagging. He was tired of it. He told of the things they said of me, reminding him that I had kicked him out of the house in cohorts with my mother.
"I told them, that is my son it is my business to forgive him not yours. I will never disown him, if he disowns me that's problem," he lispfully puffed. I sat there in silence, I wish I said something. I thought more of what had happened over there years and the winds starting to blow. We took a train to Pasir Ris, the last station on the east side of Singapore.
As we got out on to Pasir Ris my mind raced and my heart palpated. There were gonna find us. I was sure of it. They would've already guessed and would be waiting for us just outside the station. They would've given it to us hard- especially me. They would curse me. Remind me of how damned I was. I broke a sweat thinking about it.
So far-nothing. We walked into the small mall next to the station where everyone on that side of Singapore went. We to a cafe for tea and drinks. All I could think about was leaving. I told my dad repeatedly, "I don't want to go to the place. I'll just wait for you here." As we walked out of that cafe every old lady i saw with glasses looked like one of my aunts. My pupils swelled as my eye shifted from face to face. As we walked up all I could think of was staying up.
"Let's go down to McDonald's," my dad said. "Wait wait... wait..," I panted. I stood next to the railing catching my breath. "I don't want to go down there," I mumbled.
"We can just sit at McDonald's she won't be there. I'm meeting her at 8 at her place and she ate already at Angela's place. Trust me, Micah, I'm your father I won't put you in danger."
I twitched as I looked up. I trusted him at that moment and walked into McDonald's. I sat there and waited for him. When he came back we met and went to the Bedok train station.
"She asked if you were here," he said. "What'd you tell her?"
"I said you did your visa in Malaysia and just greeted me Happy New Year over the phone," he bullshitted again. In my heart, I felt that my aunt had already known. She just didn't do anything about it.
At Bedok we took a bus all the way to the edge of Geylang. His phone rang again, this time it was my other aunt. He told her again of his "friend". "I didn't tell her anything I swear to God," his voice elevated in public. My heart sank and I began to choke. Again he would say this as people came on the bus. I plugged my earphones and zoned out.
"See, I have to endure this," he huffed as he put down the phone, "This is the type of shit they give me. Always scolding scolding scolding. How can I endure? How can I get better." I just kept quiet. "Angela's a fucking demon made in hell I tell you...," he resorted.
He then looked at me and said, "When you see JJ and Daniel I want you to tell them sorry that papa cannot give anything now. One day I will be back to make this right. I'm sorry i cannot give anything now-ah? Don't forget to tell them ok?"
Through the earplugs I could hear my heart being crushed. I saw my old self stepping on the pieces. The damage could not be restored.
Before we went up, he took another puff. Just of many he took along the way to compose himself.
As we walked up, my father didn't say a word. In the small flat he undressed his sickly body only to dress it with his droopy pants an oversized singlet. The old man came in and they talked chinese.
When we were about to sleep, I couldn't help but think that maybe I shouldn't stay at the YMCA. I should stay here, edure- but the arrangements had been made already. What could I do to make it right? Was this God's judgement or man's punishment? Do the damned have anyway out?
I only know now that my demon's are here to stay. Many of them cling to my back. How do I make this right?
I'm sitting at starbucks. Looking out the window. Talk to you later internet blog. Thanks for listening. | | |
| My reflection faces me in the dark cornere where our dinning table sits. My mom, Aunty Leah, Enya, and JJ chat and watch the black box on the shelf just diagonal to me. Some cheesy eighties ninja movie plays and I can't believe my brother is mesmerized by it. He watches anything anyway. Everyone is chilled out, laid back, and just happy to be almost finished with the week. Just one more day and it's over- but for me it's project time. I don't want to think about it now though. Meaninglesseverything people, meaninglesseverything. | | |
| Time: 23:23 Place: My Room Date: 4 June 2007 Lightning and dimly lit clouds float across the pitch-black sky as I sit on my bed in my white-washed lit room. Aside from the earthy brown of the furniture and guitars in the room everything is white washed. As I look out to the window a complete contrast strikes, everything’s black. I’m blinded by the view but to much of my dismay it’s very much like my room. Empty. You see my walls don’t have posters, pictures, or any type of decoration. The only decoration you’ll find in my room is mess. It’s very derelict I suppose, for the most part inhospitable to the mind. Something’s missing and I don’t know what it is. I often find myself looking through pictures online. Pictures of friends, family, and different acquaintances and sometimes think to myself, “I wish I had it like them.” Don’t get me wrong, I’m content but people in pictures always seem to enjoy themselves whatever they’re doing. It’s not like I don’t have fun either, I do in my own way but what is it that leaves my room white washed? Then what do I need is it a relationship? No. Is it physical comfort? No. Is it aesthetic fulfillment? No. Is it God? Possibly I know he’s there and that I have a relationship with him (at least I think I do). But no, I know I can run to him, but is that what is leaving this way tonight? I don’t know maybe it’s just loneliness. | | |
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