F*** Goodbyes

Who does this guy think he is? See you soon friend.

One of our community members left today. As of today I have known Kevin for 323 days. How do I say goodbye to a friend who I've grown to admire and respect through our year of hardships, struggles, and triumphs? It's simple.

I don't.

People write. People read. People laugh. People cry. People talk. People listen. People paint. People study. People die. People live.

People do things and are around all the time, but how often do we slow down to really see people? How often do we say goodbye and not realize what we're saying?

I've been obsessed with the idea of time and transience for a while now. It's partly to do with my transient residence in Detroit, but mostly it has to do with my experience with people. People are transient in our lives. We leave and go home. We make and break friendships. We fall in and out of love. We hold on and let go. We live and die. The amount of time we spend in each others' lives is just a small grain of sand in the hourglass of our existence. To be specific, Kevin stands as parts of 323 grains out of my 8808 so far on this Earth: 3.6 % of my time. That has only made me reflect more on all the other people that flow in and out of my life.

I'm sitting with one fact now: some of the people I've known, I will never ever see again. I have been blessed to meet my fellow JVs, the Detroit JVC staff, the Detroit friends I've made, the colleagues I have at MPCC, the patients I've interacted with, the beautiful lovers in my life, the hilarious friends over the years, and the supporting family I have. Some will stay in my life. Some will fade into memories. Some may even fade completely like stars snuffed out in the night sky. But, does that mean goodbye for all those that have left?

Just with people in our lives, goodbyes are transient. It's the hello's that stick to us.The second we say hello, they become a thread in the tapestry of our lives. It can be a thread spanning one second or a thread spanning decades. Regardless, once we've said a meaningful hello, we can never say a real goodbye. Think of how many times you've said goodbye to the same person, but they return either as reminders, memories, phantoms, or as themselves. Meaningful hello's can never be taken back.

For me, a lot of things are reminders of the people I thought I've said goodbye to. Rain reminds me of my father and all the complications that come with it. Videogames remind me of some of my oldest friends that I haven't seen since I was 10. Random texts from the same bunch of guys since high school make me chuckle every time. A letter in my wallet that I've kept for 6 years remind me of my senior homecoming date. An email from an old friend I haven't spoken to in 5 years out of anger brings a smile to my face. I have several paintings hanging in my room that remind me of my best friend in the world who I can hold no ill-will against no matter how she's broken my heart. I have wanted to say my last goodbye to some of these people. But, they always return in whatever capacity and goodbyes are thrown to the wind. Due to love, hello's touch us.

These are some of the threads that I acknowledge; there are many more that I am not aware of how they have shaped me. That's the tricky thing about memory. Things just fade. But, that's the funny thing about personalities. As the grains slip through the hourglass, they build us into sand castles of intricate forms and dispositions. We won't even know where most of the grains come from. But, then that's another problem. I'm transient. All the grains that build up who I am will be blown away by the unrelenting wind and washed off by the merciless tide. Time laughs at our little pleasantries and victories. Well, I laugh back because I am happy and filled with love. Isn't that what matters?

This morning as Kevin was about to drive off, none of us could say goodbye. Sadness and gratitude filled the room, but we couldn't say goodbye. At least I couldn't. I believe that our greatest gift is our mind. If I know one thing, I know that meeting Kevin has expanded my mind into a world of greater inclusion.

I had no inkling of Liberation Theology in relation to incarcerated youths. Heck, I didn't know much about Liberation Theology. I've lived in an isolated social circle. I've had the same friends from highschool and through college I've had the same group of chemists and premed students. We tend to surround ourselves with people who think the same way we do. So Kevin was different. Theology was never a huge part of my life. Artistry and its synthesis with spirituality sure, but not a formal frame of study. I will never understand how his mind works, but I appreciate the perspective he has to offer and the love that he has given to his kids at work.

Of course I will always remember the laughter and the stories. I will remember the time we devoured 3/4 of a pan of monkey bread. I will remember falling asleep to the Olympics after eating Chinese food for Valentine's with Jonathan. I will remember the night we watched the Conjuring and Elizabeth scared the life out of us. I will remember us getting away from the girls to watch Game of Thrones or Captain America. I will remember the times he bought bacon so that we can have our meat fix. I will remember when we were the Olympic team of two representing Vatican City. I will remember the afternoon our community spent at Belle Isle reminiscing over these same memories. I will remember these tears.

F transience and f goodbyes. There were a lot of tears this weekend because I think it's all starting to hit us: this part of our lives is about to close. But, the fact that we cry means the world. We did something right. We took our time seriously and we have changed because of it. To have a "sad goodbye" is a blessing. The tears, like grains of sand in our hourglasses and in our sand castles, build us up and make what little time we have here and together worth it all.

Silence Will Fall

Colors!

 I didn't find myself on the fields of Tranzalore or writing tick marks on my arm this weekend. I found myself in a particularly ordinary plot of land just north of Detroit...in silence...voluntarily. Kind of. There was a lot of music in my room: classical (Bach, Beethoven, Mozart), synth pop (Phantogram, Chvrches), and folk (Swell Season). There was also a lot of chatter: the chipmunks, birds, fish, and squirrels that frittered about, the water trickling from the fountain outside my window or rushing from the creek across the way, and the half chuckles that were squeezed out among family at the dinner table. There was also a lot of words: Boyle's testimony of kinship, Keegan's stories from the dead, and my own in letters written (6272 words so far in my laptop and many more in my journal).

I was coming into this weekend in contrasts. I spent the weekend before in noise. I met with mentors, co-workers, friends from middle school, high school, and college, a fellow JV, and family:  the connections that I have forged. Kind of all over the place though. So I consciously went into this weekend of silence trying to make sense of it all.

Meditation chair.

I don't have any amazing story of revelation. I don't have a funny mishap in silence like running across some deer. In fact, all I have is hours upon hours of sleep, a few tears shed while reading some stories, appreciation over the fullness that music can bring, meditation in a patch of trees, and writing either in my journal or on my laptop. (Oh, I do have one stupid story. I rolled my left ankle while I was running on the nature trail. Of course I decided to climb a tree after. Natural progression right? I've never climbed trees. I always thought it would be cool. I did. I fell. I rolled my ankle. Not my proudest or most silent moment. For the past 24 hours I've been hobbling along on a bad ankle. What does that teach me? Screw trees and don't fucking climb them). Simple little things that I would do anyway outside of this retreat.

Nothing special here.

Coming in, I didn't really expect anything to happen. I didn't expect a sudden fullness of being. I didn't expect an outburst of artistic creativity. I didn't expect to suddenly be in touch with the sublime. So far I haven't. Or maybe I have?

A few years back, I took a class called Aesthetics by Dr. Vaillancourt. I only remember a few things. We read Plato's Symposium and essays from Philippa Foot and Teilhard de Chardin. In my essays discussing themes, I found myself writing about the unity of love. I was an undergraduate student. I had to write SOMETHING down. I wasn't entirely sure if I understood or felt what I was writing. In hindsight that undergraduate class should've been called “Love 101.” Well, if that was my undergraduate introduction class, I think JVC has been my graduate level current concepts class and silent retreat is my dissertation.

No deer. Just chipmunks and squirrels and sun.

See, when I read Plato or Foot or de Chardin, I kept reading about love as a unifying force. I had a hard time wrapping my mind around loving existence. How is that possible when there's so much ego, selfishness, suffering, and disconnect in human interactions? Wasn't love supposed to be rare and reserved for specific people? If that's the case, I think we screwed up somewhere.

I just got lost.

I spent a lot of time this weekend doing what I said above, but I spent all of it thinking about people. I was thinking of the people that have left my life, of the

people that have yet to come into my life, and of the people that are in my life. I have shed tears over and with them. I have shared and cooked meals with and for them. I have laughed and danced because of them. I have held anger against them.

Back in middle school, my friend Casey used to get annoyed at me when I would use the word hate. I didn't really get it because it was just a word. Like any other word, its power is what we will it to be. At least I thought so. But, I don't think I realized how that word willed itself into me. It's parasitic. Using the word perpetuated a belief that is hard to shake. Casey was right! There should be no space in our vocabulary for the word “hate.” It's a waste of energy and time.

Better yet, the silence has taught me how beautiful inclusion can be. In the noise, I only had space for people that made me smile. I ignored the people that I criticized or judged, but that's because the noise only allows us to focus on easy joys. In the silence, I was forced to think of why I held anger towards some people. No answer came. Then I started to think of the stories that they carry and their suffering. See, I think all anybody is looking for is love. Along the way, it just got confused and muddled. Who am I to add to that confusion? 

I end the retreat with writing and green tea.

The better thing to do is to cut through the noise and listen.

Maybe that's what “spirituality” is about. Maybe the reason I'm so uncomfortable with using a god or God language is because I had such narrow preconceived notions of that language. Maybe I'm looking for something more infinite and inclusive. Maybe I'm learning how to put love to practice.  

Let's Listen to the Noise: Day 3 & 4

I don't have any other picture.

Technically, day 3 started when I got back to Nikki and Andrew's with a 12-pack of 312. As per anytime I drink with Nikki and Andrew, I pulled up my laptop to chat with old friends, kicked back and talked to Nikki and Andrew about random crap, and put Netflix on to watch something. That something happened to be Adventure Time. Yeah, we're growing up right?

Sidenote: I ended up Facebook chatting with an old friend of mine about transience and how much it sucks. More on that another time.

Well, I ended up watching a few more shows and just went to bed.

Did I ever mention how much I love Chicago? I met up with my friend Marie and had my favorite burger in the world: Butcher and the Burger's house blend patty mixed with curry-coconut spice in a butter-topped bun with lettuce, onion, tomato, wasabi mayo, and blue cheese. We took the brown line to downtown because I could never get enough of the Chicago skyline. We walked past the Art Institute, through Millennium Park, across the Chicago River, and settled at Argo tea. As I sat sipping my Matcha bubble tea, Marie and I talked about our futures and our stories of laughter. Chicago is the kind of city that you just find yourself walking around in and feeling its energy. It's surprising the kinds of friendships you build without realizing it.

That evening I ended up going back to the suburbs. I caught up with my mom, had dinner, argued with the internet for an hour, then went over to Cat's house. Cat has probably been my most trusted friend over the past 10+ years. If you want dirt on me, go ask her because she knows it all. We ended up meeting some of our other middle school friends (Sarah and Adam) and chatting through the night over memories and people from the past. It's interesting how you forget the amount of people that walk in and out of your life.

Sunday was more chaos. As with any gathering that my mom plans, a small barbecue became a party of 18. It was nice to be enveloped by family again. From aunts, uncles, cousins, nieces and nephews (yeah, they're my cousins once removed, but nieces and nephews are quicker to type), I felt at home. Of course home is chaos because I was grilling 18 steaks, nursing a beer while I chat with my cousins, trying to get baby Amelia to acknowledge me for once, playing soccer with Joe, and trying to enjoy the weather. Family's grand isn't it? It's always a good reminder of where you're from.

Same with the previous night, after spending time with my biological family, I went ahead and met up with my other family. Joe was probably my first friend when I moved to the United States. So of course we had a lot of shared stories. We reminisced about that one stupid AP Physics problem, that time we got a C on a project but ended up at the state science fair, the night his dad accidentally drank one of his contacts, the time we stole clay from a church, and the random stories of our friends doing stupid shit when we were young. Then we talked about the stories we didn't share together. The stories of drunken mishaps in college or the stressful stories of work. We eventually talked about our hopes for our future and where we think we might be going. Oh, Cat was there the entire time. It's funny how friendships can be so easy to pick back up.

As with every “last night” I have in the suburbs, it ended with a case of beer and the same group of friends on Vlad's deck. We always end up drinking at Vlad's. I think Vlad is our go-to guy when we all just want to relax. He's just THAT guy that every group of friends need. Will told us the true story of the morning after one of our parties. Let's just say Will stands as our lovable friend that does the most ridiculous things and who owes his sister a lifetime of favors as an apology. Then there's Marcky Marc with his jokes and his “voice.” Whether it be with song or with nerdy Geekdom over GoT or just a funny story, Marc always makes us laugh. I've known these guys since freshman year of high school and things haven't changed much even if we have. That's good. These are three of the guys that I know will always have my back or at least a good story to tell and a cold beer to offer.

So what are all these stories about? The hustle and bustle of my beloved city, the laughter and the camaraderie of friends, and the chaos and the sharing of family reminded of one thing: there's a home in the noise. I get too caught up sometimes in thinking of the big picture. I get obsessed with leaving a legacy or falling in love with someone that I forget that I already have a legacy and that my life is filled with love. My legacy is sharing a beer with Marc, Vlad, Nikki, Will, and Andrew, walking the streets of Chicago with Marie, reminiscing about the past with Cat, Joe, Sarah, and Adam, and sharing a meal with my family. All these fleeting moments are like flickering fireflies of love in the vastness of my life. Maybe that's the value of noise. They are flickers of life that force us to look deeper and smile.