Goodbye, America.

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Thursday, Oct 26th 11:50p.
The first time I heard Bayo share that quote in our online course We Will Dance With Mountain, my heart skipped a beat. He went on to talk about losing his father due to a sudden health condition when he was seven.
I almost teared up. It felt like someone just told me a truth almost too large for me to handle. I went to sleep that night, letting that troubling line work its way into my dream. What do I love, what will I lose?
I invite you to meditate on it with me. Close your eyes. Take a deep breath, and whisper that line to yourself.

What you love, you will lose.
What you love, you will lose.
What you love, you will lose.

What came up for you?

Friday, Oct 27th 5:15p.
An email came. "Denial Letter". From the US Immigration Office. My work visa application post-graduation was rejected. Which means that I'll leave this dear place soon.

My first response was a sudden drop in my stomach. Then I took a deep breath in and somewhat laughed: how amazingly co-incidental that the I heard the quote the very night before. What you love, you will lose.

There are many ways to respond to an unwanted situation. Most self-help will tell you to stop blaming yourself ("I could have checked earlier"), to be grateful that it wasn't worse ("Thanks goodness it wasn't something with mom") and to think about the positive side ("Where should I go next?") These are all good advice, and I certainty went through all of those responses.

There is another possible response though, as I hinted earlier: Wonder. Isn't it so interesting that I heard the quote just the night before and had an uneasy feeling in my stomach? Not too spiritualize the whole thing, but as Mary Catherine Bateson said in an On Being interview about "spiritual but not religious" (SBNR) people: it all starts with wonder.


Often when this kind of big news happened, I'm almost too quick to process and look on the brighter side. It took me almost the entire Saturday to sit and process my emotions via writing. In that journal, there was detailed analysis of how it's not good to blame myself, what does this whole thing mean, of what I should do next, etc.. But this enzyme is not a therapy room, and I'll spare you the details.

But as I wrote in the last newsletter, grief is a beautiful thing to cherish too. It didn't hit me until a few days later when I was at a regular improv meetup that I loved and helped grow. Having to leave the beautiful budding thing was a bit sad. On the way home, I let myself feel the sadness, and it was just so nice. Grief, when you are fully here, you will be welcomed :-)

The last 40 days here will be beautiful, and I will have a lot to share about this transitioning experience. And America, you will be missed. I will be back.

On a usual good news, I will be in Medellin, Colombia at least for the first half of 2018. How that came about will be story for another time soon (the 6-word clinger, Hemingway-style is "It's a woman. We met online" 😜) I CAN'T WAIT TO GET AWAY FROM THE BOSTON WINTERRRR!

p/s:
Meditation on impermanence, particularly Death, has been an effective practice used by many Buddhists to help us cherish the world. I do it every birthday since 4 years ago, and I recommend you doing it regularly, not so much to sensitize yourself when the Great Ending eventually comes, but to redefine the relationship we have with what we often push away as "undesirable" like sorrow, loss or death. We can choose to face the morbidity not with fear, but with acceptance and curiosity and most of all appreciation. Life becomes more poignant and beautiful that way.

To the young ones

This week, I wrote a piece about imagining our future generations. It is very easy to look up to those older than us for guidance, especially as a twenty-something who haven’t figured out life (as if anyone has 😶). I certainly fall into that pattern, and I try to “live my life in widening circles” as the poet Rilke once said. Enjoy.

Haunting questions

Let’s take a moment to imagine 20 or 40 years from now. We are meeting with a group of young people a third or half of our age. The world then would be a very different place, wilder, more beautiful and perhaps more horrifying too. They are looking straight at us in the eye, asking: “What have you done to and for this world?”

No single answer then is ever sufficient for that moment. Only the totality of our lives thus far matters, as the Quaker saying “Let your life speak”.

When I imagine that scene, I feel a vital sense of purpose. I must help co-cultivate a future where we, particularly you dear young ones, can thrive. How do I help with that? What can I best give, and to where?

I don’t know the answer to those questions. But I want you to know that I’ve been asking them.

And you will too. Sooner or later, you will face with the existential questions of who you are, what your purpose in life is.

Please know that you are not alone.

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See the full post here on Medium.

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