and now...

Back in Israel.

A part of me is already missing Taiwan, another part of me is very happy to be back. Life in Israel now is my family's "real life" -- although one never really gets a break as a parent of very young children, Taiwan still had a vacation-esque feel to it the whole time I was there because of the convenience and family support. I never cooked a single meal in the entire two months we were there. I washed utensils, like, four times.

We are in our new apartment, which is now the archetype of my Perfect Family Apartment. It's the perfect size, the perfect layout, the perfect view... I need to organize and unpack everything still, but once I can, I'll include some pictures here for posterity.

Now, to unpack. Petra's been sick for quite a while now, and so as long as she's awake, I get very little done aside from holding her so she wouldn't wail and/or scream angrily at my neglectful agenda of, say, feeding myself, among other things. She just took two fussy hours to go down for a nap that she sorely needs, and I must seize this momentary freedom.

state of my soul (if i have one)

So these couple of days have been pretty tumultuous for me, psychological/mentally. I guess that's what happens when one struggles with the metaphysics of reality. At a bit of a logical impasse, thinking so much and hard that my reasoning was undergoing that phenomenon of when one stares at a word for too long that the word disintegrates into weird squiggles, I posed a query on FB. It does more good for me to sift through the reasoning of others when I know how consistently it fits with how they really live their lives.

Here are a few new thoughts that've surfaced which I don't want to forget:

1. I used to nod in agreement at the account of Peter replying Jesus after the latter asked if Peter was going to turn away from him too, as the first large batch of hangers-on took off upon Jesus' first difficult-to-swallow preaching (according to the New Testament). Peter replied, "Where else are we to go?" Basically saying there is nothing else worth living for or gives hope in life other than Jesus (or religion, for people who I feel are more ensconced in church culture than actual worship of Jesus as their messiah). Actually, once I'm willing to risk being egregiously and nauseatingly rude to a Creator that I doubt exists, I can think of a lot of things outside of religion that make life worth living. Things like the joy of self-awareness, of knowing one is alive which no other animal seems to be able to appreciate. Things like art, music, and the ability to be amazed by different cultures and caring for other people. If the truth is that we are all just super-evolved animals who have achieved abstract thought as the advantage we have over all other species right now, and after we die, there truly is nothing but decay and from dust to dust -- I am really quite all right with that. Better a short life lived in clarity and truth and acceptance--perhaps deeper cherished appreciation due to its fleeting nature--of such mortality than a...still short life lived with the illusion/false promise of something more--at best, and worse, choices made based on that imagination which called for unnecessary sacrifices.

The question, of course, remains: which is real?

2. I used to discount emotions and personal experiences as potential evidence for the existence (or lack thereof) of a good God. I want to follow God because he actually exists, not because it "makes me feel better"... and yet, I'm starting to see how any claims to historical record seem complete contestable. If the Israeli-Palestinian conflict has taught me nothing else, it has shown me how vehemently people argue over history that happened a mere 60 or 70 years ago (if not closer to present-day) with wildly different accounts. How could anyone then say that things that had happened 2000 years ago were somehow more accurately relayed? This is not to say that history is unimportant--it absolutely is our best hope at arriving at objective truth. But even the accounting and remembrance/retelling of history is easily distorted, so after all is said and done, emotions and personal experiences could be just as important, as clues to the truth.

3. There's very little point in bashing/looking down on anybody's basis for faith or interpretations of emotions and personal experiences for why they do or don't believe. A lot of my friends who bothered to reply my FB query mostly provided evidence in the categories of (a) personal life history, (b) fulfillment of prophecies, (c) how nature works, (d) the accuracy of the Bible. The implication of thought #2 is that, for whatever reasons, some of us are more "blessed" with the right data/life circumstance or line of thinking towards the objective truth. In that case, it's more luck than a will of critical thinking or intellectual prowess. Therefore, there might be worth in sharing your personal data/logic but there's very little point in banging people over the head with it since that betrays a belief that somehow the other person just doesn't get the right answer like you have. Because you're so much smarter/purer at heart/more homey with God, right?

4. At the same time, it *is* important to settle this question of whether God exists or not in order to live accordingly because (a) if God doesn't exist, but I keep talking with him, waiting for him to respond, and make life decisions based on what I think he thinks--what a waste of my time and life! and (b) if God does exist, but I go on my merry way day-to-day with no acknowledgment or appreciation of him, it doesn't matter how good I try to live my life, in the end I remain an ungrateful beast who thinks less of my maker than dirt. So there's that...

5. At this point in my wrestling, I am of the mind that God might/most likely exist (because of the wonderful, amazing, beautiful way nature works). In which case, I need to figure out my relationship to him. But something I've noticed in these few days of my not praying during a momentary crisis but bucking down and relying on the resources already at my disposal is a sense of freedom. I was less frustrated because I wasn't praying and waiting for rescue or an answer that's less obvious than to my liking. It was a bit scary to feel like everything's on me and whatever happens depends on what I make of it, but it's empowering too and made me do things (like taking the kids on a long, convoluted trip to the harbor, or sucking out thick mucous from a very unhappy/fighting mad Petra's sinus without flinching) that I normally just prayed hard about and then delegated for Daniel to handle. Daniel pointed out that maybe this shows that, despite my heretical mindset, my current modus operandi is actually a lot closer to the truth of how God (if he exists) wants me to live my life. And I wonder if more Christians would be less apathetic/complacent about the injustices and suffering in the world if they "trust" God a little less. I've also stopped fantasizing about killing myself, because it's very possible that this life is the only existence I've got. Chances are God (if he exists) would not be displeased by this, my new desire to keep living.

Clearly thought #5 needs a lot more reflection and further development. This is just where I am now, right now.

breaking up with the flying spaghetti monster

As of today, if anyone asks me: "Are you a Christian?" My answer would be: "No."

Three people asked me today if I were going to church in the morning. I said no.

I wouldn't consider myself an atheist, nor an agnostic. If we must label things, I guess you could call me a skeptic. I find atheism to be just a flip side of organized religiosity, full of smug certainty over things that are only attainable through totally subjectively determined faith. I find agnosticism too intellectually and morally lazy, like choosing non-movement as a motion.

But to then say, based on my choices, that I'll go with the most optimistic, fun-loving, Pollyanna option just because I'm culturally inclined to do so seems a bit disingenuous too.

If I believe God exists, I would be a Christian out of all the religions. The problem now is: I no longer believe.

I might suspect, from time to time, out of habit. When the baby started wracking up thick phlegmy coughs and cried out in pain in between these fits today, I caught myself starting to pray. Habits, empty habits.

And I'm starting to understand other people's annoyance with religious people's attempts to convert/interest them. In parts manipulative, in parts poorly reasoned. Lots of false dichotomies.

boooooks (for children)

Following some extended research on the Internet, I jotted down a few places around the city that I can take Declan (and Petra) to on the weekdays that will hopefully put more distance between him and the ever-entertaining TV. Today, it was to a small independent bookstore that's really a residential two-storied apartment converted into the first floor being the shop part that supports local artists/illustrators/children's book authors and the second floor being an open space to read and hold storytelling hours.

One of the best parts of having very young children is the renewed (and very relevant) interest I get to foster in children's books, especially the ones with fantastic illustrations. This little store that we went to today had so many great children's books. This is not always the case, as some people seem to think--judging from books I've stumbled across--that any bounded papers with scribbles or simply dumbed-down letters put together equals children's lit. Declan's childhood is too short and I am too elitist to linger over these, even though the international moves up to now have made quality English (and Chinese) books difficult to acquire without spending a fortune.

So today was a real treat, when after the crowded (the storekeeper said today was the most well-attended reading she's ever witnessed in her three years of working there) storytelling hour, the reader left her box of books there for parents and their respective kids to partake. Declan sat on my lap and listened attentively as I read out loud by his ear (it was really loud with all the kids). He only suspended his focus at the end of each storybook to run to the book box, returning the already-read book, and flipping through several more before picking out another book and running back to sit on my lap. Every single book he picked out was a winner--enjoyed by him, fun for me. I was so thankful that Petra could be held by my mom for a time to make that possible. With enough good books (and someone else to hold Petra), I could be content with reading books to Declan all day long.

There was one child who kept coming over to try to sit down by us and listen in on the story. I would have been fine with that; sadly, Declan wasn't. He grabbed the book away from the child and yelled, "No, mine! My book!" the two or three times the boy attempted to join us, shortly before the poor boy's mother yanked him away and hissed for him to stop misbehaving. (I felt so bad about that. I wanted to say something to the mom, but she seemed angry enough as it was. A part of me hoped she wasn't so harsh with her son due to embarrassment at having "troubled" us. Another part of me hoped that's the case so that it wasn't the usual way she treats her son. But then that would mean Declan and I were responsible for the boy being manhandled. Oy.)

I think I'm finally getting the hang of how to expose Declan to more Chinese while keeping his interest with his inherent love of reading. The key is to choose not-so-wordy Chinese children's books--read the words and quickly repeat the story behind the words in English, switching back and forth between the two languages depending on Declan's receptiveness. When he's more rested and willing to stay still, I would push my luck with going all Chinese. As his fidgeting increases, I increase my on-the-spot English translations so that sometimes we end up reading together for 20 minutes with pure English. Oh well, any kind of reading is good anyways. Detailed and beautiful illustrations help to prolong his patience, as I suspect he keeps himself occupied in examining the drawings while humoring his mother's at-times incoherent recitations.

There was this one book called "I really want to eat durian" (my translation) by a local author. I was doing a lot of on-the-spot Chinese-to-English translation while reading through it, and then at the end of the story, I discovered an English version in more compact layout at the back of the book. This version was almost word-for-word how I translated the story as Declan and I read along! It made me feel an affinity with the book...and I'm probably going to buy it the next time we visit the bookstore.

and what about now?

When the weather is this hot and muggy all day and night long, it really slows everything down. The few times when I decided to mind-over-matter, one or the other of the children would spike a temperature and vomit from the heat. Their less mature internal temperature monitors are just no match for this climate. I looked up the forecast for Haifa this past week; The highs are actually about five degrees lower than in Kaohsiung right now. Joke's on us for thinking we'd be escaping the Israeli summer by visiting Taiwan right about now. I went running in the best conditions the other day: It was low 90s, about 80% humidity, at 5:30pm. Best conditions for real compared with every other day so far.

Is it good to be back for a visit? I love the food. It's just ridiculously perfect to my taste. Little soy sauce-marinated raw clams, meat sauce over the chewiest white rice, perfectly firm noodles in rich beef stock, real spinach. Etc, etc, etc....

But it's not real life, where I have friends to call up and hang out with (hence why living in Israel doesn't really feel like real life either), where I know the public amenities of the city and the bus routes to get there... This is my home but it's still pretty lonely, which makes it more lonely in a way.

I don't mean to be complaining again. I do love that there are these new bike paths and parks along the paths that are perfect for running as well, that go all the way to the harbor or Lotus Lake or Cheng Ching Lake or the Love River Promenade... If I didn't have children who need me to hold them (literally) within 30 minutes to an hour's break, I think I would just run all night, every night, enjoying seeing the many little shops, neighborhoods, and street names that make me feel a part of this land. I love that there're large shopping centers like Costco, Carrefour, Dollars, Geant, which have everything one could desire. Such a nice change from the many places I must trek to for each individual item in Israel.

After much searching, I discovered a children's library in a park yesterday. My heart almost melted into a happy goo in my thoracic cavity when I spotted Declan--shortly after I'd made the executive decision for us to leave due to his rowdiness in the reading room--sitting on a library bench with some books he'd selected from a nearby bookshelf, quietly flipping through the pages. When I told him we'll take some of the books to read at home, he got up and methodically put the rest of the books back onto the bookshelf without my prompting. All this was after our lunch a few blocks away at 牛乳大王, a restaurant I'd eaten at a few times myself as a child (read: very old establishment). There're cow statues in the restaurant. During the wait for our food, Declan ran to each of the statues and loudly counted the number of nipples after pointing at their giant sculpted udders and saying "Num num!" (Our term for breastfeeding.)

I love being able to read and understand everything everywhere I go, and comprehend everyone (as I eavesdrop blissfully and without any shame on random conversations). I love being able to strike up a conversation with strangers and discuss the many options with cashiers without feeling like a nonlocal-language-speaking jerk.  I love that Declan's starting to say Chinese phrases every now and then, and is finally becoming open/patient enough to continue sitting with me as I read books with him in Chinese.

And there's still a few places I want to show Declan, like the Science Museum, the Eslite headquarter in Kaohsiung, and the indoor gym at Central Park. There's always a bit of a lethargic "Now what?" when we arrive at a new place, even if the place is technically home. It is a sad potential fact that the same wish I've felt several times when we'd just came back--that I wish we could have stayed in Israel to continue the routine we'd set there--would resurface about Taiwan when we're due to leave again.

these are some of the usual things

This past Monday, Daniel and I spent the whole day tying up loose ends, packing up the apartment we are vacating forever, and sweeping/cleaning before the original tenants return. I was looking at pictures just two days later (yesterday) of our time this past year in Israel, and already feeling nostalgia for that ugly orangish-yellow couch that was the dominant furniture in our living room. I slept on that couch with Petra on my chest for the night through the newborn days. That kind of time logged with postnatal hormone inevitably creates a nostalgic bond.

Now we're back in the land of warm sauna-like humidity and delicious dumplings. Jet lag means that the kids and the parents all go to bed around 1am and wake around noon. Except I went to bed "last night" around 3am because of a running book by Scott Jurek. Petra's fever, which developed on the flight between Israel and Hong Kong, finally seems to have broken last night... She was required by quarantine guidelines to visit a doctor before 24 hours upon arrival to make sure that we didn't carry the Middle East Respiratory Syndrome into the country. They gave her a suppository to bring down her fever. Now she's at the apartment complex swimming pool.

It's been kind of a crazy two or three days. I should go join them at the pool now. I hear Petra crying.

language obstacle

There is something a bit demoralizing about really wanting to read an interesting-looking book but being totally unable to comprehend anything about it even as I flip the pages and admire the typography and book binding, the illustrations and the random letters I can pronounce individually. Such is my experience every single time I walk past a bookstore here. What was once a momentary burst of joy when I go walking through shopping malls had become a sad, sad reminder that I am in a foreign land and am just as good as, intellectually-speaking, an illiterate toddler or very drunk man.

My birthdays always end with me in a deep funk. I'm not upset at becoming one year older. I'm upset at how childish I still remain apart from my physical state. I am going to try cleaning up the living room to try to snap out of this negative paralysis before Petra wakes up from her nap, during which she is emitting the saddest cries and whimpers every now and then while still remaining asleep. What cruel incubus is bothering her? Maybe flipping through cloth books of animal pictures and frustratingly pondering what it all means?