Pandemics, Pain, and Perspectives

I admittedly have a lot of pent-up frustrations and concerns from the pain of the past couple of weeks. I'm bringing back this blog as my coping tool.

"I can't breathe" is a cry heard 'round the world. These national and international protests in the aftermath of George Floyd's murder have cast the eyes of the world on our nation. In the midst of the COVID-19 pandemic, this national movement for America's black communities has certainly made 2020 a turbulent year.

Living here in Chicago, it was almost inevitable that mass protests would be organized here. Not too long ago, Laquan Mcdonald was repeatedly shot to death by a police officer, and it caused citywide protests (including one I witnessed from afar at my own university). Again, protests from the Black Lives Matter movement have resurged in the Windy City, face-to-face with a police force that many of them seek to reform or abolish.

Reading up a bit on Chicago's history--I recommend A Political Education by Elizabeth Todd-Breland; it's an infuriating read that does leave some room for hope--I have become slightly more aware of the legacy of racial segregation in our own city. I've also been forced to check my own biases (even the inherent racial ones that I thought I managed to completely suppress), and learned to listen to other perspectives. Protesting isn't quite my lane, and I admittedly still profess some attachment to CPD officers (the ones that I know, at least), but the nationwide significance of the George Floyd protests has shaken a lot of my preconceived notions about American society.

But I'm not here to write on proposals to reform or abolish institutions. This here is an individual's thoughts, and these are not to be taken as an official endorsement of any side of this issue.

I'm exhausted from sharing resources and listening to people over DMs and phone calls. I'm human too, so I get fatigued and I need breaks. But my heart still aches for our nation, our city, and any remnants of humanity that are left amidst the brutality and the rioting. I want to keep being optimistic and friendly, even as I acknowledge the ugliness of this issue, but I fear my optimism will be shot down as toxic positivity.

I may not see the end of this issue. In fact, many of us may not see it end completely. But, what I think does matter is our faithfulness to nourish and sustain humanity for the next generation. We might not resolve all the issues, but at least we can make this world better for our children to manage and continue the work.

Do I have disagreements with friends? Of course I do. But I won't let such disagreements dehumanize the people I love; in the end, we grow and learn from each other, and we pass on the lessons. Does it hurt? Of course it does. But it guarantees a stronger platform for us and the next generations to thrive.

We are all carrying a heavy cross up the hill, but the cross is not the final reality. There is a moment of resurrection and renewal, and the cycle begins again. It does seem repetitive, but I think this cycle continuously allows us to maintain a mature outlook on the harshness of the world. This dynamic of positive and negative, I believe, is what gives us the opportunity to express the selfless aspects of humanity.

I might write more on this, but I'll conclude my thoughts here. Thanks for stopping by.

My Own Place, My Own Pace

Well, another semester begins. Having technically been a student at my university since 2013, it almost feels routine. The anxiety and the excitement that used to come with every year of undergrad is slowly withering away as I do my degree plan at my own pace.

Suddenly, I don't feel an urge to graduate "on time". There's really no one that I'm looking forward to graduating with (to all my friends and colleagues reading this, I mean no offense). I've walked the stage before, and it seems all good and done from that point onward. After getting my bachelor's degree, it's basically been a free-fall through my goals and career aspirations.

It's been a rough transition, though. In my humble, little free-fall, I crashed into several branches and other obstacles. I entered graduate school with my old undergrad mentality of finishing the degree within the societal expectation of two years. Unfortunately, my rush led to one of the worst burnouts I experienced in my academic life. I wound up seeing my old family psychiatrist for some input and advice.

It turned out that I let myself conform to the inhuman machinery of societal pressure:

Don't you dare slow down or fall out.

Finish within the track that's posted on the degree plan.

No one wants the stragglers.

When I let those voices get to my head, I unfortunately paid the price with regard to self-care and sleep. A lot raced through my head, way more than it should have been. By the end of the year, I was mentally unfit to continue on the rush track.

I have to personally give my utmost gratitude to my psychiatrist and friend for waking me up to the reality of my situation. Truth is, I have a unique story that shouldn't be confined to mere societal expectations of a graduate student's track. I run at my own pace, and I fall where I will. A graduation year is but a number, but self-care is priceless. Who cares if it takes me an additional year or two? I have my own story to write, and my chapters can be as long as I want them to be.

Human growth is not a race, and it shouldn't be. The only person you need to worry about surpassing is yourself. Be better than your yesterday, and the results will come at a natural time for you and no one else.

Falling Roses

I woke up this morning and checked my news feed. First item I see is a post about a mass shooting at a Jason Aldean concert at Las Vegas. At work, I watch news coverage about this tragedy; it pained my heart seeing the footage of gunfire erupting onto the crowds. With more than fifty dead and hundreds more wounded, today has shaken me to the core.

I mourn those lost, and I extend my sympathy and prayers to their loved ones. To save a portion of your life to be with those you love only to witness them being taken away is senseless and outrageous. It is absolutely unfair for that joy to be taken away.

As I sit in my room writing in silence, I reflect on the movement of the souls present on that day. Joyful souls celebrating with those they loved. A disturbed soul moved to inflict death and sorrow. The joyful souls turning to fear and anxiety when the pain is wrought. And brave souls pouring in to protect the helpless.

In the midst of sorrow and rage in the aftermath of the attack, I stress that we do not forget the love pouring in that night. I want to extend thanks to the first responders who came in to provide safety and security for the victims; these are people to look to as inspiration. In spite of the darkness covering that event, there were people who came to serve as beacons of love showering hope upon everyone. From first responders to those calling in and praying to ensure their loved ones' safety, many acts of love were committed that day in response to the gunman's singular act of hatred.

I'm not writing to debate gun control or any issue related to this. I reflect on the trial of human suffering; in spite of the worst that can be brought out of humanity, it can never truly quench the good that can come out of those willing to sacrifice for others. In the midst of tragedy and suffering exemplified by the recent hurricanes and last night's attack, never lose your focus on the good, little as it may seem.

"I will spend my heaven doing good on earth. I will let fall a shower of roses." --St. Therese of Lisieux

I found it fitting to use this quote from St. Therese, as her feast day was just yesterday. In her short life, she committed numerous little acts of love that nonetheless impacted her family, her congregation, and ultimately, the Church. Her "Little Way" serves as a model for those who might think their little good cannot overcome the evils in this world. As long as there is commitment to Love, hatred and evil cannot conquer us. In the midst of evil, let fall your roses.

Thank You, Chester.

I was driving back home, with my phone hooked via AUX cord, and this song started playing:

I haven't delved deep enough into Linkin Park's music enough to consider myself a fan, but, in light of Chester Bennington's passing (as late as this post may be), I wanted to share how this particular song brought closure to one of the darkest chapters in my life.

Waiting for the end to come
Wishing I had strength to stand
This is not what I had planned
It's out of my control

A year prior to the release of Linkin Park's A Thousand Suns (the album in which this song is found), I was facing multiple struggles in my first semester of high school. I couldn't maintain consistency in my studies, and I was struggling to make passing grades in a couple of my classes. To make matters worse, I let myself become the victim of bullying and harassment; I was making an idiotic spectacle of myself in front of my peers, no matter how many times I tried to stand up for myself. It was only the first semester of my freshman year, and I was already being caught up in the storm of high school drama.

What was left when that fire was gone?
I thought it felt right but that right was wrong
All caught up in the eye of the storm
And trying to figure out what it's like moving on
And I don't even know what kind of things I said
My mouth kept moving and my mind went dead

The breaking point came towards the end of that semester. I had been chatting with a classmate on Facebook regarding one of the students who had been bullying me, but misunderstandings led to argument, and it escalated to the point where I, in a fit of uncontrolled rage, sent online threats to peers who I suspected of sympathizing with the bullies. At that point, I felt like the world was falling apart and collapsing on me, and that decision threw me into confusion and self-doubt. I regretted my decision and deleted the filth I had posted up, but the deed had been done.

Soon after, the incident had been reported to the school, and I was subsequently withdrawn from the student roll, a de facto expulsion. The story spread to the other schools in the area; I had to move to a new district, as my family feared backlash from students who heard about this. In addition, I had to be placed in psych rehab for about a month before I was considered fit to go back to school.

I was completely shattered by what I had done, mentally and spiritually. I quietly contemplated suicide while I languished in a sea of regret and helplessness. I didn't see any reason to keep going in life; I felt forever marked by this sin I had committed.

So I'm picking up the pieces, now where to begin
The hardest part of ending is starting again

Thank God for a wonderful family I was born into. My parents, in spite of the gravity of the situation, never gave up on me. They worked their butts off finding a new school for me and constantly kept me in their prayers, taking me to see Jesus Himself in the Adoration chapel at St. Catherine's in Glenview. Whatever friends I had left after the incident encouraged me to move on, maintaining my resolve to reform and strengthen myself.


Of all the regret and despair that had flooded my mind during my freshman year, I still had some residue of in spite of successfully finding a new environment to thrive in. "What if it happens again next year? What would I do then?" I still had more questions even after that issue had been resolved (on the surface, at least).

It was then that I stumbled onto this song while I was watching a couple of music videos on TV. The message from Waiting For The End struck deep into my heart. I wasn't alone in struggles such as what I went through. There is hope even in the deepest pitfalls of life. Life in general will be hard and trying, but you can push through, with the added bonus of a support group.

It's been almost eight years since that life event, and I still feel the effects, though in a different light. Though I had been broken down to the core, I found an opportunity to grow and learn from my mistakes. I have a more positive outlook on life; I carry my crosses, but I know it doesn't end on Calvary. Am I still struggling? Of course I am, and life will drag on with such, but at least I know I'm not alone and that I can always reach out for even the tiniest spark of hope.

For those of you who may be struggling right now, I hope this little piece of mine helps, shoddy as it is. If you or someone you know may be contemplating taking your own life, please call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255; that one call could turn the tide of your life.

To conclude this post: Thank you, Chester. Your music saved this life and countless others; may your work continue to impact lives around the world.

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Pascha and the Lenten Fast I Didn't Even Know I Was Doing

Christ is Risen! Alleluia! Familiar words for faithful Christians after a laborious observance of Lent. Through forty days of prayer, fasting, and alms-giving, and then the culmination of the Triduum, we arrive once more at the joyous holy day of Pascha/Easter!

This Lent was very challenging for me this year. I faced several difficulties and temptations which often threw me off my intended path. I often forgot that we were in Lent and I found myself falling into old habits which I believed to have discarded long ago. My prayer time became a roller-coaster of talking to God vs. mumbling a few Jesus Prayers without really paying attention to my own words. I became doubtful and questioned my commitment not only to this year's Lent, but to my faith in general.

But this questioning and doubt was in itself a wake-up call for me, a sort of subconscious Lenten sacrifice. I may have had numerous failings during the season, but I'm very glad to have noticed the issues. It is this self-assessment which assisted me as I explained my Lenten situation to the priests in the confessionals and allowed me to better shape my outlook on where God was leading me. I felt affirmed by the various friends I turned to for guidance and accountability. Visiting Christ Himself in the Eucharist bathed me in a sea of assurance and hope that my questions and doubts would be answered at the proper time.

It was in this Holy Week that I saw everything fall into place; I witnessed it in a way larger than I had expected. There was a warmth in my soul that I had not felt since I left for basic training in August, and there was also a greater pull--an acceleration in movement towards where God was leading me. I think I know where to go further at this point, though, of course, there is quite some uncharted territory left to go. Something to pray for more ardently as the years come and go.

It's key that we check ourselves once in a while. Perhaps there may be something we may have overlooked in the questions we ask ourselves daily. Not only can we find a potential answer, but also potential new questions to help better understand where God is leading us. As questions and answers come and go, we discover hidden treasures within ourselves which God has laid out.

What roads and treasures do you think God has laid out for you?

"Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, before you were born I set you apart." --Jeremiah 1:5a

A Spark of Conversion

Not too long ago, I found an advertisement on Facebook for a web series entitled "City of Saints". I was interested and signed up to receive updates on new episodes. Yesterday, I received an email informing me of the new episode, which you can view yourself in the link provided.

City of Saints Episode 1: The Good Thief

After having viewed this, I was exceptionally touched by Alex's conversion story. I, along with many others, can relate to the struggles, both external and internal, that he had faced in life. Many times, I often felt that I had no one to turn to for guidance, no matter where I looked.

It took various personal struggles in high school and college for me to realize that God the Father is always watching over me, even when I feel like He's not there. Every fall I have experienced has led to a greater rise; and it will only become greater in the years to come, in spite of the trials yet to come, as long as I keep my desires fixed on Christ, the Summit of my life.

Faith has always been important. With the recent troubles going on in our communities, we need to keep our focus on hope and strive to repair and build up those who cannot sustain themselves. We all have a calling to change at least one person's life and potentially start a chain reaction of change; question is, are we going to answer it?

I highly recommend that you sign up to subscribe to the City of Saints series. There are more inspirational stories to come! Also, please like my Facebook page and follow me on Instagram for blog updates! Thanks for stopping by!

Break from the Break

Life can get pretty hectic, even when you think you're in a break period.

Today, I went on a men's retreat at St. John Cantius in Chicago (aka America's Most Beautiful Church). Figured I needed to reflect a little more on where I've gone in life and to discern a little more where God wanted to take me.

There was a lot of material given during the retreat talks relating to faith and theology, but what really struck me was the prayer involved. Undergoing the Sacrament of Penance, attending Holy Mass, and praying the Rosary and the Stations of the Cross became a revitalization for me who hadn't done most of these things in quite some time. I began to rethink the status of my faith and I realized I needed to be a bit more upfront and honest with myself.

Too long have I been stagnant waiting for God to drop answers from the sky; I know He has the answers, but I need to act if I truly wish to participate in His will. God's not a vending machine through which a certain number of prayers will get me the things I need, much less the things I want. I need to give myself to the One who gave Himself for me. That's how you get personal with God.

Digging Through the Dark and Dirty

"They have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb." --Revelation 7:14c

Today, I went down to St. Peter's in the Loop. Walking inside the church, I saw one of the confessionals with the light on--indicating the presence of a priest--and went inside.

The Sacrament of Penance may seem intimidating to many. For some, it can be very uncomfortable revealing certain life aspects that seem best kept to oneself. "What if the priest chews me out for doing this?" and "I can't be telling anyone about that" are a couple of the thoughts I've had pertaining to confession during my initial years of my formation as a Catholic--and sometimes, I admit, still have occasionally. Confession, to many, puts one on the hot seat.

Coming out of the confessional today had my thoughts racing about my faith formation. I had doubts about the genuineness of my personal prayer time, and wondered whether or not I was truly having a relationship with God through this. I felt I was reverting back to that phase in my life where I thought saying certain words in a set sequence would fulfill that relationship. Everything felt cold and isolated. I kept bringing this up with many priests as I opened up in the confessional for several years.

It was after today's confession that I realized the answer had been in front of me the whole time. The Sacrament of Penance in itself is a prayer, a communication with the divine. It was a way to open up about my personal life and the struggles that came along. It was personal as I admitted my sin through my own words as I dug deep into the darkest chambers of my heart. With these chambers exposed, the priest, an instrument of God's peace, reminded me of the Father's loving mercy which no sin can surpass. What was exposed was not merely a dirty soul, but an open path to renewal.

I have realized that this Sacrament has been my most personal means of prayer, and I hope to continue to utilize it in my formation and discernment. Catholics, do not fear the confessional; it is there to heal, not to punish. Take it as an opportunity to get personal with Christ, who forgave even those who crucified Him. The churches are not simply museums of saints come and gone, but hospitals for sinners (or saints in the making, I should say.)