The Light

I didn’t plan to spend my Friday night working on this article. But the words of this article have been boiling and brewing in my mind for so long to a point where I am almost incapable of doing anything else. I really hope you will keep an open mind while reading this, and you will read it till the very end. I am hoping that as a result, it will change your perspective and even your life.

I am working at a rehab hospital for people with spinal cord injuries. In a lot of cases, people’s injuries were so severe that they had a near death experience. You might have heard of it before, their “soul” left their body and they saw the “light” or even spoke to God. Skeptics argued that it was just a delusion or imagination. Well, this week, I had two very interesting encounters with two ladies at my work place and their stories prompted me to write this article.

Krista Burling is a friend of mine. She is an outpatient. Her injury happened many years ago. She came this Tuesday for her doctor’s appointment. We were chatting in the lobby area.“I have to tell you something.” She said, “September 25^th of last year, I had a really bad lung infection, I fainted and when my parents came to my rescue they could feel that my heart was beating slower and weaker. I think I died at that moment.”

She said that within a second, she was brought to Heaven, it was a beautiful world with vivid colors and magnificent view. Krista became a Christian at a very young age. She was once again in her youthful body and at the corner of her eye, she could still see her earthly body lying there. Then she saw a waterfall, it was shining like diamonds and the water droplets were in the shapes of snowflakes. She saw a light coming from behind the waterfall, a blinding light, yet her eyes were not hurt. She heard the voice of God. I stopped her and asked, “Do you think it was God the Father or Jesus.” “I believe it was the Father.” The voice said to her, “Krista, today is not your day.” Krista didn’t want to leave heaven and go back to her body of pain. She bargained with God for a while, until God said, “I will come back soon for my church.” Then she found herself in a hospital room and stayed there for the next 3 weeks before she was discharged. It took a few more weeks for her to recover fully. She was forever changed. She said that she doubted God and yelled at Him many many times in her life. But this time she was given the assurance that God is real and Heaven is real. She tells her experience to almost everyone she knows, some believed and cried with her, some brushed her off.

I had reservation when I first heard of her story, Oh, I believed in it whole heartedly. However, I wasn’t sure if I should share it, or how to share it in an effective and convincing way. I didn’t go outside of my comfort zone, I only told a few friends and family members who are already Christians. I thought, okay, let Krista tell the story in her own words. I am good, I already told a few people. BUT, today, I was talking to another lady and this time, I realize that I am the only person who can effectively share this story, I have to get this out.

This lady is an inpatient, she had her injury only a few weeks ago. She is a new comer from China, she doesn’t speak a lot of English. My colleague Ivan asked me to translate for him and become her peer support. I will call her Lee.

Lee told me that she was hit by a car while crossing the street. She had a head injury, a spinal cord injury, a wrecked shoulder and a broken pelvis. The doctor didn’t think she would make it and asked her husband to fly to Canada to prepare for her funeral. Her husband took the very next flight and didn’t even pack a luggage. As she was describing the chaos, I asked her, “did you see a light when you were in the coma?” Her eyes were wide open, “Yes! I remember, for a very long time, I saw this blinding light above my head, I was in this place that was just so, so, so bright, to a point where my eyes were hurt.”

“Did you see a colorful world?”

“No, it was just a place that was really bright.”

I asked again, “did you see a man?”

“I saw a figure wrapped in light. I think it was a woman.” 

“You sure it wasn't a man?”

“It was a woman.” (My Catholic friend told me that it was Mary)

“Were you at peace?”

“I had no fear, I just felt normal.”

What amazed her was, for days, she had been telling people about this experience, which she could not explain it either. Everyone around her kept on telling her that she was in a confused mental state. I was the first person who told her what she had experienced before she even brought it up.

“Did you believe in God?”

“My landlord became a Christian all of the sudden, and she dragged me to church twice. I really didn’t learn much from it.”
“Do you know the story of Jesus?”

“Not really.”

“I think you went to heaven, or a taste of what it was like.”

She nodded and wanted me to tell her more about God next week. Before we parted, she asked, “Did you see the light?”

I never really died, my injury was never life-threatening. I didn’t see the light. But I didn’t need to see it to believe in it.I always want to write an article about heaven, but I didn’t have enough materials to make my case. What these two women told me this week gave me the courage to share my faith more boldly and shamelessly, and most importantly, it affected me. It radicalized me. The reality of Heaven, the anticipation of Christ’s return makes everything on earth matters less, it makes everything glorious.  

Lastly, I just want to say, if Heaven is real, you really cannot afford not to believe in it. On the other hand, if it's not, then people like me are fools, stupid, naive, happy fools. But we cannot find out for sure until the day we die.

Lastly, here is an interview I really like, it’s done by ABC’s 20/20. Please watch it!

The Lioness in Lamb’s Clothing

If I could use an animal to describe who I am, I’d say “a lamb” --- soft spoken, slow to anger, blah blah blah. . . But I am totally aware of the fact that there is another personality lurking behind that supposed gentleness. The claws had come out a couple times in the past and many times they took place in a public washroom. Yes, I think you know where this is going. It was when people abuse the only accessible stall in a half-empty washroom. 

It all started when I was still a student in University. The accessible stalls in my school were particularly luxurious with its own sink and vanity. One fateful afternoon, I was quietly waiting for the stall to free up. According to my observation under the door, the occupant was someone who managed to walk comfortably in high heels. I was losing patience when my class had already started. Though I was mad as hell, the little lamb was silent under the knife of the slaughter. Then, another girl came out of her stall and noticed the situation. “Is someone in there?” She asked. “Yes.” She knocked the door with fierce passion: “Excuse me, someone needs to use this.” Within 10 seconds, the door was open. The person came out, she said “sorry”, but not to me, to the other girl. Though I really appreciated the help, I decided that I would never again let another person stand up for me. I have a voice of my own and sometimes I have to roar. 

I became increasingly confident and unapologetic when confronting people in similar situations.  The most memorable encounter took place when I was watching Les Miserable in the Princess of Wales Theater. During intermission, I went to the ground level where the designated accessible washroom was located. This washroom had a wheelchair sign on the door. There was absolutely no excuse. As soon as I exited the elevator, I saw a nicely-dressed lady left her line and walked toward “my washroom”. I gave myself some gas and attempted to reach it before she did. Too late, she shut the door right before my face. Everyone (all women) lining up outside of the washroom were staring at me. They were expecting a scene. All of the sudden, waiting in line with a full bladder became entertaining. On the other hand, while waiting in my line, I was thinking hard about various ways of making her the most miserable character of the play. Finally, she came out, there was this “uh-oh” expression on her face. “Sorry.” She said it sheepishly. To be fair, she meant it. I said nothing but slammed the door really, really hard in a theatrical style. So much drama, it was sassy and classy at the same time. . . 

Two weeks ago, I had a conversation with my girlfriend. She told me about her recent controversy over an accessible stall. She said that this lady came from behind and got into the accessible stall right in front of her eyes, as if she was completely transparent. “WHAT!!” Immediately, I had an image of this lousy piece of work --- high maintenance, lots of makeup, repelling amount of perfume . . . “How does she look like?” I wanted to confirm. “She is middle-age, South-Asian, probably new to the country.” It shattered my expectation. For some reason, I found myself less mad. It got me thinking, could it be possible that some people had no idea what or whom an accessible stall is actually for? Thinking back, prior to my injury, did I ever abuse an accessible stall? I used to be very ignorant about people living with disabilities and I didn’t know how much of a deal those extra spaces meant for someone who uses a wheelchair. Also, judging by the fact that I was an apathetic little bitch toward the disability community, I would say, I probably abused and misused the accessible stall without even remembering it. I was just lucky that I didn’t bump into a grudge-faced lioness waiting to tear up my day.  

Yesterday at the gym, while taking off my contacts, a woman was about to get into the accessible stall. I said: “Oh, can I use. . . I need to use it soon.” She didn’t get it right at that instant, but 3 seconds later: “Ohhh, yes, of course.” She gladly went to the stall next to it. I was more positive that most people did not intentionally want to misuse an accessible stall. Perhaps a gentle reminder of what an accessible stall is for would be equally educational and memorable.  Perhaps a lioness could settle with eating hays and grass because she’s a little lamb at heart.

Sigh, silent night

December 21st, 2013, the spirit of the ancient Mayans came back to announce that we had miscalculated the year and misinterpreted the so-called doomsday prophecy. In fact, all along they were talking about the beginning of a disastrous Christmas holiday.

For some of you who are sitting in your cozy living room, commenting on the beauty of crystal branches and watching local news of other people's misery with a little psychotic bliss, you have no idea how it is like for me to sit in pitch darkness and being engulfed by a neighbourhood of light. For some bizarre reason, my building is still in the shadow of pre-historical era while power is being restored one after another in nearby buildings and houses. This is a rare occasion when I'd raise my fist toward the sky and ask the rhetorical "why me?" question. It's so hard to feel grateful. Even my prayer sounds more secular than ever:". . . please restore the power, I really need a shower. . ."

Fortunately, my building was running on a generator, there was warm coffee and cookies in the lobby. Many people went down to spend the long dreadful night. For the first time in a decade, our conversation with neighbours went beyond "morning" and "how are you". As people were mingling, tensions began to melt, bonds started to fuse. There was a newborn sense of being in a community. Who would have thought on the second day before Christmas, the most celebrated person was Thomas Edison, and what he had done for humanity.

In dim candle light, I saw that my fishes had stopped bullying one another. They were struggling in a tank of dead water as if they were about to drown. My dog, willed himself to be the flesh furnace, obediently being passed from one person to another.

It was a quiet night, minus the filter system, the lousy TV, the barking, the sound of the world. . . All I could hear was the mechanical clock ticking in orbit. It was romantic, impossible not to let your mind wonder and your heart glow. . .

Tips from a Dedicated Pet Owner

The other day, a computer geek came to my home to fix my computer. The first thing he said as he walked into the door was: "this must be an old dog." How dare him saying my dog is old, saying anything bad about my dog is equally offensive as saying I am fat. Through my rosy glasses, everything about him is beautiful. I am one of those dog owners that is as crazy as a "cat lady". This year, Heihei is turning 10 years old, times by 7, he is a young senior. Objectively speaking, he is a fairly healthy dog. The only time he needed medical attention was when he had a pimple in a very sensitive area. I guess the only obvious sign of aging is his grey hair and his lack of interest toward a food-less stranger.

Yes, I think my dog is a healthy senior. I am writing this entry because I just had an epiphany these past few days. You see, we feed him human food all the way along. We also buy dog chow, but only if he still feels hungry. When I closely examined the dog chow, I saw no resemblance of its original ingredient. I went as far and as dedicated as tasting them. They had the texture and taste of a crunchy Cheetos went South. If you look at their expiration date, you will find that they can last for as long as two years. There must be tons of preservatives in them. It is akin to us eating canned or frozen food every day. Still not convincecd? Just look at the poop they make, the dryness, the gray color, the ashy texture, does that look like a healthy, juicy piece of shit to you?  I think the fact that they claim dogs should eat chows only is because it is a very profitable industry. On the other hand, when we feed our dog our food, we always give him lots of vegetable and fruit. I am now confirmed that dogs are omnivore?! He goes banana over cucumbers. However, my dog was raised this way since the beginning. Many dogs cannot digest fresh food because their body is used to chows.

Just a little thought that I think is interesting to put up here. Here is a recent shot of my Heihei. Tell me he ain't an old fart.

My Name is . . .

Notice I have a different profile name. Aside from maintaining my anonymity in cyber space, I want to choose a nickname that somehow remotely relates to my identity --- of course, it requires some explanation here. Growing up in my family, I have never been given a sweet nickname by my parents or grandparents. They are not romantic people. My parents call me Xia Xi all the way through. This name in Chinese sounds shamefully masculine. In history, a military leader who happens to be a sociopath has the exact name. He succumbed to drowning after none of his subordinates wanted to rescue him. Somehow, the only nickname I had was given by a bully in elementary school. I was referred to as a “pig” due to my chubbiness in Asian folk’s distorted standard. Back then, everyone’s nickname was associated with some kind of animal. Fat kids are pigs, skinny ones are monkeys, near-sighted are frogs, people who cheat by elongating their neck and peaking at their neighbor’s exam paper are giraffes. Ungraciously, Pig Xi was my name all the way from grade 1 to grade 6.  I used to be mad as hell when my classmates made fun of me. Now I am in a different country and culture, I feel like pigs are not that inferior, in a sense that this animal is not the meanest metaphor you could use to offend someone (surprisingly, people use “bitch” more). Furthermore, there are those little dwarf pigs that people adore as pet; in a TV commercial, a woman would use a container of bacon to propose to her boyfriend; Miss Piggy from the Muppets totally redeems me, and that’s why I use this name on my profile. 

i .... i .... i don't Have One

iPad 3 has already been designed and created. It contains 2560x1920 pixels, which is 5 to 6 times more refined than iPad 2.

At this point, where at the same time iPhone 5 is allegedly coming on its way, it's an embarrassment to say that i do not really have an i-product. Never touched an iTouch, touched iPhones a couple of times, even iPod seems distant to me. Oh yeah, i won a iPod Shuffle as a prize, but that's not really an "i", it's more like a "Mini-mee". Hmmm, i use iTune quite often, but it's a software installed in my PC by nature.

No, i have not bit that apple yet. There are a few reasons. First, i am a loyal PC (so lame, i know); second, i am not technologically advanced, a phone is a phone, texting is what i do maximally with it; third, i was waiting for "i" to finally settle down for good. When will these numbers reach their ceiling? It will not be eco-friendly to toss away an iPhone 1 for its latest generation, but can we still take bragging rights for being a savvy if "i" is a great-great-great grandpa? My ultimate plan is to wait passively for a hybridized creation. When a pad can be used as a phone, or when a phone becomes a bigger pad. That's when "i" and i will become as one.

My Little Pine Nut

I am thinking: what should I write for my very first article? Of course, nothing is more worthy than this little fluffy stuffed animal of mine.

This is an old picture of my dog when he was young. At the time, we thought we should just love him for how God has created him. He is who he is. There was never a thought of trimming his hair. He walked by faith, not by sight. As you can see, he already reached his full size in this picture, never had a hair cut.

Then, one day, I saw pictures of Shih-Tzu beauty queens looking as fancy and fabulous as the following:

We started to search for his eyes with a pair of scissor. Then BANG! We saw the most beautiful pair of crystal eyes in all the universe. Along the way, we found a nose too. It looks like a prune.

From that to this, you must give credit to the hands that make miracles. woo-hoo!

When you live with someone for eight years, you can finally make some kinda of realization. According to my daily observation by looking into the soul of these eyes, I begin to wonder, maybe, maybe this thing is a human trapped in a dog's body, or a genetically mutated human. He thinks the same, because he lives in the household like no body owns him.

For other narcissistic dog owners like me, maybe we should all embrace the idea that our dog is beyond a dog. Yes, totally. In this context, I refuse to call him "HeiHei". This name is too "petty". From now on, I will refer him by his officially registered name --- Hense Xia.

Oh for sure, there are more stories of Hense in the future. Come back!