Beauty

Life is beautiful, beautiful even in the midst of pain and confusion and uncertainty.

Today was mostly a good day, not because of grand or exciting things that happened but because of simple interaction. The ‘day’ kind of began last night around 11:30 when two acquaintances from ABU (and RHS actually), who I believe I can now comfortably call friends, pulled into the bus station where I was waiting in my city. We headed out to a restaurant/bar where there was a goodbye party going on for Becky (my coworker). I found out she accepted a new job and is not returning to my school as anticipated (I don’t know that repercussions that will have in school) but I’m very happy for her.

Becky and the people I know aren’t there but I spot the band I’ve never spoken too, but I know that they’re the ones throwing the after-party. I go over, they invite us to sit down, are extremely friendly and shortly after they’ve gone on stage for their next set (which was great!). Becky and her friends arrive, it’s a good time all around and a couple of hours later we head to the band’s house (6 Phillipinos all living in a rather small apartment) where we chill out and get served loads of food by some of the most hospitable people I’ve ever met. We leave early in the morning to awake around 9 the next day. It has a wonderful . . . continuance, because I'm greeted in the morning with a phone call from my verty best friend in the world, whose birthday it is (I know, kind of reversed that she was calling me). My guest and I don’t do anything too eventful during the day but it’s good. Very good. Ryan and Krista are both great people. I learn something though that tainted (perhaps forever) an uncharacteristic, wonderful, and painful experience I’ve had. I went through the day, trying to will my mind to let it go, let it drift away from thought until perhaps I could be granted clarity and understanding. Sticky, sweaty, somewhat tired we say our goodbyes and I head to the next event – a Galbi b-day party dinner for a guy from church, one of Leona’s good friends. A nice time (mostly Koreans there) but I know I’m not the greatest company. I’m too much in my own head. We head to a Norabang (after having a really good meal for 11 people that came to about $40 – unbelieveable) and I have my first Korean “karaoke” experience in a little room with disco lights, four tvs for reading lyrics, and a painting of a naked woman on the wall. It’s hard to explain. The ethnic mix in itself is fun – though not so unusual for me since I grew up in Toronto. There’s me – a mutt of course, then Leona – the white South African, Elias – an American of Mexican descent who gets mistaken for a native in whatever Asian country he visits, a Chinese British English teacher (who had a lot of trouble getting a job here because he didn’t look like a “Westerner” whatever that means, and three Korean guys. They get sooo into these songs – soulful, drag queen style, disco – Leona and I are cajoled into doing a duet – All Star from Shrek and the guys LOVE it. For those of you who don’t know, I’m often ridiculously tone death – this was one of those moments. But it was fun. I also ate the most amazing cake of my life (cheescake excluded - that's in its own category) with chopsticks! Nearing the end I sit and listen to Won sing ‘All by myself, I don’t want to be all by myself’ wondering if he understands the words and again trying to will myself not to let these words seep inside of me. I comment to Leona ‘how depressing’ the song is to here the reply – ‘he (the singer) needs to get over himself’. But the words smack the workings of my mind. I need to get over myself. But how, how does one do that when one doesn’t know the right way to proceed. I could close a part of me off – that would be easy. And weak – I don’t want to be weak – take the road of least resistance because eventually that will make you cold – perhaps bitter – empty, hollow. A vessel that never sails away from the safe harbour but stays in a calm bay, peaceful – at times beautiful. But stagnant.

Again I sit on the bus trying, trying to focus on the words before me – to wrap my mind around the words - this lecture on the mythic labyrinthe as presented by Northrop Frye.

But it’s too much, so difficult. Concepts, ideas sometimes hard to grasp in the best of circumstances are nearly beyond me at the moment. Trying to make my mind sink into it – let it transform my thought so thought doesn’t endlessly circle and roam around questions, queries that can not be answered right now – that may never be. That make me feel stupid, and naïve, and lied to and cause me to potentially harbour negative or painful feelings that I have no need of. Then the girl beside me stands up. A beautiful young girl – early 20’s perhaps – who has a face that makes one believe in primal innocence. She motions to an elderly, refined, but approachable man with a cane who stands in the aisle. I watch their soft spoken interchange (a rare sight in Daegu). I imagine he tells her, ‘no, it’s fine.’ She replies, ‘I know it’s fine. Sit’ – nonetheless – ‘sit’. He smiles gently. Concedes. Bows slightly. She smiles once more and turns to her friends. Frye lectures forgotten, I watch as he cautiously and almost regally lowers himself into the seat beside me. He smiles, I smile back as he fiddles with cards and his wallet. In that gentle kindhearted voice he speaks to me. I want to understand. But I can’t. “Moo-lie-o” (I don’t understand) “English”. I think maybe he was commenting about his bus card – he seems to have trouble sliding it into a slot in his wallet. Mine’s like that too. I smile. He nods again. Closing his eyes, he leans his head back. An expression of such contentment washes over his face. Relief, joy at finally being able to take the weight off of his weary legs, to rest his body against the cushioned seat. (I imagine). In a flash the scene re-enters my mind and I think – ‘life is beautiful’. I scrounge around in my bag for a pen, a memo pad. I begin to write these words and as they’re coming out of me I think of another day, of the untimely death of a friendly acquaintance, pulling my car over on the side of the road, crying out to God, or the universe, or myself, gazing at the painfully beautiful sunset over lake Petticodiac that I miss soooo much. I think of my thoughts at that time, how when I finally pulled my clunker into the driveway and entered my room the words that came out – ‘Beauty in the midst of pain is the most precious beauty of all.’

We have to learn lessons over and over again. That day was full of such beauty, lying in the sun on my favorite hill at ABU having the heart of my soul be warmed, my introduction to the rich and poignant words of Anne Micheals, how my thoughts were brought to life, and my eyes watered at the intricacies of her lines. How I felt so alive. Hannah who mourned and mourned for years – cried out to God, broken. Then had her mourning turned into dancing.

Walking the dark street back to my apartment I know I most likely would not have appreciated that scene to the extent that I did if I had not been hurting and confused. And those moments are immense. Without pain, confusion, the sorrow of miscommunications and hurt we place on the world because of our sin would we really know, really appreciate beauty? Peace? Serenity? Understanding? Love? The small things that make each day worth living?

Perhaps sin and the results of it aren’t as bad and horrible as we so often think it is. Perhaps in a way pain is a blessing. If we let it, it opens our eyes to all the millions of ways that we are blessed but never seem to notice when our world is ‘simply wonderful’.