Alas, the time for bittersweet good-byes has come.
I want to cry, but the tears only wet my eyes without sliding down my cheeks. There's a quiet sadness, a hidden sadness, that's stored so deep down inside that it will take time for purging. Maybe writing it out will help.
It's been strange saying good-byes because I will still be here next year, yet my closest '09 friends are graduating and moving on to the next chapter of their lives.
There have been a few "last suppers" lately. A memorable one was with Jenny and Flora. We planned to eat at Lotus Heart Blossoms, only to find out they were taking an extended Easter break. Next, we tried Pan Chancho, only to read that the cafe closed at 4pm. Then, we walked to Mexicali Rosa's to find that it was temporarily closed for some unknown reason. Finally, we backtracked to the Kingston Brew Pub and had a very long dinner, talking about things that friends talk about. This has been a meaningful friendship thus far, although it has only spanned a brief two years since we first all came together. Sometimes you meet people and you just click. It doesn't take much effort to adjust to one another and befriend one another. Sometimes you realize your initial reactions to the person was totally off--they're probably friendlier than they look.
Tonight I ate at Leonard Cafeteria with two of my 2nd year housemates--the only housemates I've ever had during my B.A. years. They were my Queen's family. There's Queen's friends, and then there's Queen's family--the people who root for you and hear you out and see how messy and disorganized you really are, without judging you for the worse. One has finished school for good, while another is going away for more. And I... I am still here.
There's some sort of feeling--kinda like being left behind. Yet I'm really glad to be here for another year. My ministry here is not over yet. God is moving on our campus in huge ways and bringing people from different backgrounds and groups together. I still have a lot of hope and have seen God bring revival. It happens one person at a time, when God breathes into His beloved child and draws them up to life again. People are being transformed daily, and God is here.
Next year is going to be exciting. My best friend is coming! I'm living in a house again! I won't have any exams to write! God is good.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Easter Sunday
I woke up early to meet two friends and catch the Easter sunrise.
We went out to the pier with our cameras. The sky was bright already, but the sun was still behind the curtain of earth. In a few minutes, the sun poked its bald head over the horizon and slowly tugged into the sky.
I was surprised to see how the sun made the sky appear dusty rose, especially since it was pretty bright on its own. But the sun overpowered the other light in the sky with its own intense luminosity.
Throughout this year, a thought has been playing through my head about the sun and the Son. In the English language, is it an accident that Jesus Christ is referred to as the Son, and the brightest source of energy and light is also called the sun? Saying those two words aloud, I cannot hear a difference.
And I've been learning this all-year long: the Son brights me joy, it brings light upon everything. In contrast to what is already bright, it outshines the rest. There is no other source of energy quite like it. When it is cloudy, I feel down in my soul; when it is sunny, I feel God's smile on me.
Watching the Son rise this morning was a pulchritudinous (a big word for "beautiful") moment.
We serve a risen Saviour! He is RISEN indeed! And all that He demands of us is our love and our life. What could be simpler?
We went out to the pier with our cameras. The sky was bright already, but the sun was still behind the curtain of earth. In a few minutes, the sun poked its bald head over the horizon and slowly tugged into the sky.
I was surprised to see how the sun made the sky appear dusty rose, especially since it was pretty bright on its own. But the sun overpowered the other light in the sky with its own intense luminosity.
Throughout this year, a thought has been playing through my head about the sun and the Son. In the English language, is it an accident that Jesus Christ is referred to as the Son, and the brightest source of energy and light is also called the sun? Saying those two words aloud, I cannot hear a difference.
And I've been learning this all-year long: the Son brights me joy, it brings light upon everything. In contrast to what is already bright, it outshines the rest. There is no other source of energy quite like it. When it is cloudy, I feel down in my soul; when it is sunny, I feel God's smile on me.
Watching the Son rise this morning was a pulchritudinous (a big word for "beautiful") moment.
We serve a risen Saviour! He is RISEN indeed! And all that He demands of us is our love and our life. What could be simpler?
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Exams
I've developed a taste for writing exams. It is a cathartic release of everything I've learned and accumulated over the past four or eight months and allows me to leave feeling a sense of accomplishment. (Don't ask about the grades. Numbers don't matter).
Truly, the value of some things are appreciated only when they've been taken away. Last December, I only had one sit-down exam, which was so short I spent a total of an hour and a half in the exam room during the entire exam season. I felt cheated.
I just finished writing the last English exam I'll ever write on this side of the desk, and I think I'll miss it. When else will I get to read stories and be tested on how much I remember? Stories stick. It's easy to remember stories because they leave an emotional thumbprint on your mind. I'm really glad to have selected Canadian Short Stories as my final English course because I've developed such a deep admiration for our Canadian writers. There's something I connect to--perhaps it's the immigrant narrative, the sense of place or lack thereof; the recognition of landscape, and camping, and other Canadian-esque things.
I'm just happy to know there's something in Canada to be proud of: We produce good short stories.
Truly, the value of some things are appreciated only when they've been taken away. Last December, I only had one sit-down exam, which was so short I spent a total of an hour and a half in the exam room during the entire exam season. I felt cheated.
I just finished writing the last English exam I'll ever write on this side of the desk, and I think I'll miss it. When else will I get to read stories and be tested on how much I remember? Stories stick. It's easy to remember stories because they leave an emotional thumbprint on your mind. I'm really glad to have selected Canadian Short Stories as my final English course because I've developed such a deep admiration for our Canadian writers. There's something I connect to--perhaps it's the immigrant narrative, the sense of place or lack thereof; the recognition of landscape, and camping, and other Canadian-esque things.
I'm just happy to know there's something in Canada to be proud of: We produce good short stories.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Thursday April 9
What I have written below was written as a personal journal entry, but a friend bumped into me while I was writing and encouraged me to post it. After all, we write for an audience to read. I have made some omissions to protect privacy, but here are some of my raw thoughts (almost) uncensored.
Today has been one of those days that must be recorded before it goes down in history. It is a day where everything is pregnant with meaning: each encounter is fore-ordained, each thought is predestined.
I woke up before 7:30am, despite not having set my alarm clock the night before. I woke up knowing that today would be the day that my thesis is handed in. I had some final edits to make and I had to see what my thesis supervisor had sent me the night before. He made some very informative suggestions and additions, and I brought my laptop to Ban Righ to work. Over breakfast, I realized that something I had to clarify came from a print journal in the library, so I headed over to Stauffer to finalize my edits. I had forgotten to bring a pen or pencil as I had intended to return home after breakfast, but a kind, fellow student lent his to me. I stayed until lunch, when I returned to Ban Righ and could only feed upon a salad.
I ate with some frosh girls in my buildings. One of them mentioned that I knew a lot of people, and I didn’t deny it. I’ve built up a huge web of connection over the years. I had an enjoyable time eating with them, and found out that I can attend the BFA graduates’ art exhibit from April 20th to 25th. What a pleasant surprise to know because it was my last wish to visit the studio of Ontario Hall before I graduated, and now it appears that I can! What a pleasure.
At 1:30pm, I went to visit my supervisor, but he wasn’t in from lunch yet. I headed over to Dupuis 217 where my English 284 study session was being held. I was early, so I took a look at my essay. I received another 78%. Therefore, I have never been able to break beyond an 80% on an English essay at Queen’s. I understand. However, one of the comments my TA made was very encouraging: “You are a very good writer and a fine critic of literature. All the best for the future.” My supervisor also recently told me that I am a good writer. I feel very happy, because becoming a good writer was something I always wanted to attain before I graduated.
At 2:30pm, I swung by my supervisor's office and he OK’d my final draft for the thesis. I went home to print it out. While I was home, I realized that my stapler wasn’t large enough to contain all 35 pages, so I tried calling the Department of Psychology to see if I could use their stapler. I only reached answering machines because everyone had left early for the long weekend. But while I was on the website, which has since changed after 3 years of being “in the process of updating,” I read from the main page that the work of the first graduate student I volunteered for has since been published and the professor from the lab was quoted in the article. It’s really cool to see that the volunteer work I did has translated into someone’s success. When I entered Craine Hall, I bumped into another graduate student I had met in the same lab, who has since transferred to the lab where I volunteered in the year after. Oh how I love the Department of Psychology. I really don’t know where I belong next, but it seems like things are wrapping up and closing down.
After I submitted my thesis, I hurried back to the English study session that I had left to run my thesis errands. Upon leaving Dupuis for a second time, I caught a glimpse of a woman with long, red hair, and a man with a baby in a baby carrier. She looked awfully familiar, but since they were walking ahead of me, I didn’t want to run up to them only to find out they were strangers. Fortunately, they stopped before Union St. and I had time to catch up. I said to their backs, “Excuse me, Ma’am. Were you in my Canadian history class last semester?” She was indeed the same woman and I was introduced to baby Nora. I said, “Congratulations, she’s beautiful.” She told me that the baby arrived a day and a half after our Canadian history final exam, and I smiled and told her that I remembered that she had wished on the first day of class for the baby to come after our course had finished. How wonderful.
Right now I see two of my friends outside. It makes me happy because I know their friendship has been rocky. They look happy. Friendships heal.
They are now sitting next to me. Talking about exams and loving April.
Even though I have mostly attained my undergraduate goals of becoming an effective writer and a critical thinker, I still have trouble in the global structuring of my ideas. That is something I will go to graduate school and work on.
Today has been one of those days that must be recorded before it goes down in history. It is a day where everything is pregnant with meaning: each encounter is fore-ordained, each thought is predestined.
I woke up before 7:30am, despite not having set my alarm clock the night before. I woke up knowing that today would be the day that my thesis is handed in. I had some final edits to make and I had to see what my thesis supervisor had sent me the night before. He made some very informative suggestions and additions, and I brought my laptop to Ban Righ to work. Over breakfast, I realized that something I had to clarify came from a print journal in the library, so I headed over to Stauffer to finalize my edits. I had forgotten to bring a pen or pencil as I had intended to return home after breakfast, but a kind, fellow student lent his to me. I stayed until lunch, when I returned to Ban Righ and could only feed upon a salad.
I ate with some frosh girls in my buildings. One of them mentioned that I knew a lot of people, and I didn’t deny it. I’ve built up a huge web of connection over the years. I had an enjoyable time eating with them, and found out that I can attend the BFA graduates’ art exhibit from April 20th to 25th. What a pleasant surprise to know because it was my last wish to visit the studio of Ontario Hall before I graduated, and now it appears that I can! What a pleasure.
At 1:30pm, I went to visit my supervisor, but he wasn’t in from lunch yet. I headed over to Dupuis 217 where my English 284 study session was being held. I was early, so I took a look at my essay. I received another 78%. Therefore, I have never been able to break beyond an 80% on an English essay at Queen’s. I understand. However, one of the comments my TA made was very encouraging: “You are a very good writer and a fine critic of literature. All the best for the future.” My supervisor also recently told me that I am a good writer. I feel very happy, because becoming a good writer was something I always wanted to attain before I graduated.
At 2:30pm, I swung by my supervisor's office and he OK’d my final draft for the thesis. I went home to print it out. While I was home, I realized that my stapler wasn’t large enough to contain all 35 pages, so I tried calling the Department of Psychology to see if I could use their stapler. I only reached answering machines because everyone had left early for the long weekend. But while I was on the website, which has since changed after 3 years of being “in the process of updating,” I read from the main page that the work of the first graduate student I volunteered for has since been published and the professor from the lab was quoted in the article. It’s really cool to see that the volunteer work I did has translated into someone’s success. When I entered Craine Hall, I bumped into another graduate student I had met in the same lab, who has since transferred to the lab where I volunteered in the year after. Oh how I love the Department of Psychology. I really don’t know where I belong next, but it seems like things are wrapping up and closing down.
After I submitted my thesis, I hurried back to the English study session that I had left to run my thesis errands. Upon leaving Dupuis for a second time, I caught a glimpse of a woman with long, red hair, and a man with a baby in a baby carrier. She looked awfully familiar, but since they were walking ahead of me, I didn’t want to run up to them only to find out they were strangers. Fortunately, they stopped before Union St. and I had time to catch up. I said to their backs, “Excuse me, Ma’am. Were you in my Canadian history class last semester?” She was indeed the same woman and I was introduced to baby Nora. I said, “Congratulations, she’s beautiful.” She told me that the baby arrived a day and a half after our Canadian history final exam, and I smiled and told her that I remembered that she had wished on the first day of class for the baby to come after our course had finished. How wonderful.
Right now I see two of my friends outside. It makes me happy because I know their friendship has been rocky. They look happy. Friendships heal.
They are now sitting next to me. Talking about exams and loving April.
Even though I have mostly attained my undergraduate goals of becoming an effective writer and a critical thinker, I still have trouble in the global structuring of my ideas. That is something I will go to graduate school and work on.
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