l'arbre de Vie

It's interesting for me to see where my impulses lead me from day to day, week to week. I am in an extrodinarily "musical" mode right now. To the right of me is a pile of my favorite recordings: Brahms sonatas, Beethoven Quartets, Saint-Saens concerti, Mozart piano music, and the like. For me listening to these recordings is like dropping in with old friends. So many places and people are associated with these pieces, not to mention the emotions which come back to me. Through it all, I am never surprised at what happens to be when I listen to Bach.

Bach, that grandaddy of us all. For the longest time it was he alone that I thought was worthy to carry the title "composer". His works in the minor key have a certain weightiness and depth to them. If somebody were to ask me what my single favorite piece of music is I would hesitate a bit, then answer: Bach's "Double" violin concerto in d minor BWV 1043, for two violins and orchestra. It's a pretty famous piece in three unique movements of vivace, largo ma non tanto, and allegro. I grew up listening to the now famous Itzhak Perlman and Isaac Stern recording, and in due time I learned the piece myself measure by measure, line by line, movement by movement. Unlike most people I learned the middle movement first, then the third, and finally, the first. I couldn't understand why. The first seemed to be technically the easiest of the three movements. It was mostly in odd positions with that monstrosity near the middle which could only be done in second position. But heck I didn't question. It was a privilege playing that thing and I remember coming home from lessons excited to practice until I was half deaf in my left ear.

In 2007 I was blessed to give a concert of this concerto with one of my friends in three public performances. The experience was cathartic. I had so much energy invested in the concerto that the performances left me really tired. After all, how is one to express one's interest for a piece that has been such an integral part of one's life for so long? How could one do justice to the music of Bach? Somehow we did it. We practiced weekly like crazy, coming up with common fingerings and bowings. The other violinist played the second violin part, which is traditionally known as the test of bow arm agility. I played the first which has been regarded as one of the more challenging pieces in baroque repretoire because of its seemingly mild pyrotechnics which require great precision if the line is to stand out. Somehow we had to bring those two elements together without saying a word to one another.

I remember very clearly our rehearsals. We practiced in the chapel at school. It's a rather large round building with a piano to the left next to the altar. Looking straight ahead we could see just about half of Diamond head through these huge sliding glass doors. We'd agree to meet when I got out of meetings, more or less at 5PM. We'd practice til 9. Those four hours flew by like no other. We played our selves out and disagreed a great deal. The other violinist and I seemed to have fundamental disagreements on the nature of baroque music: she claimed that the line should increase in volume proportionate to higher pitches while I maintained the opposite. She had no problem using vibrato in her solo sections while I decided to be a bit more spare with ornamentation. I began my trills on the note above the written one while she began as written. Most of all we had a different sense of timing. Being the romantic she is she'd slow down at the end of phrases which drove me insane. We sometimes relied on the metronome but that would never work out. It was a fun and frustrating experience. Near the end the discussions were tiring, so I just went along with what she wanted. I didn't care any more. To my surprise she took notice of this, backed down, and was adamant that my viewpoint was the right one. Now that is something I couldn't have planned.

After we worked out our issues I informed the conductor and his assistant that we would be ready to practice with the full orchestra. I suggested that only the principals meet for the first time so there would be greater transparency of thought and playing. He utterly rejected my thesis. That's not the kind of situation you can argue in. So we showed up one night, stood up there between the concertmaster and the conductor and had a go. It was pretty awful. As first violinist I technically had more control over the speed and pacing than the conductor, which in principle was anachronistic to the Bach we were performing. Things weren't working out at all. The concertmaster (my teacher) even went as far as to suggest that he and I write a jazz percussion part out for the concerto. He said it was creative. I knew he knew we had some serious tempo issues as a group.

After a month the whole thing began coming together. We all learned to communicate with one another. The bass lines finally figured out that they were the steam behind this huge locomotive, something which I thought was evident from the very get go. Two weeks before the first performance we gave it a run through. It was pretty damn good if I can say so myself. There were some intonation issues between me and the rest of the first violinists. Later we found out that I sounded a bit sharper when I turned my back to them. It was an illusion of their highly gifted ears. They had to somehow ignore my sound yet be aware of what I was doing. And with that we were ready to hit the road.

As I mentioned, there were three performances. The first was at this retirement home in Punahou. We had played there before. The audience there is always appreciative especially if they know the musician is young. So here it was, my solo debut. No friends were there, neither was my family. It was strangely lonely that night. My mother had called me about a half hour before the concert and began to argue with me over something about my father. I told her that what ever was going on it wasn't my fault and that I can't be the vent for her right now - I'm about to play a freaking solo against an orchestra. She didn't know what that meant and went on anyway. I turned off my phone, threw it in the case, and let go of that. I remember sitting in the musician's area quickly converted from a chapel. For some reason I am beginning to realize I remember what I see at moments like these. But in any case, I could see the side of Maryknoll school. I could see gray lockers and ti leaves and torch gingers. Before I knew it they announced my name. I grabbed my partner by the hand and came out of the door, took a bow, and put the bow to the string. The rest happened so quickly after that. I can hardly remember what it was like. I do remember standing there awkwardly as the second violins began their ascending scale which sounds much like the beginning of that old cartoon "Inspector Gadget". After I began I remember feeling abnormally powerful. I had stepped into the "zone".

The very last few measures of the concerto is this descending scale in thirds down to the D above middle C. We held that note longer than I would've ever dreamed of doing it, but hey, people expect that kind of ending. Somebody presented me with a lei and a bouquet. Instead of walking back through the doors I came from, I walked straight out the doors. Something said to me, "just walk and keep walking." And there I was, out in Honolulu traffic with a plumeria lei, a black aloha shirt and slacks, violin in hand. What the hell was I doing? It beat the shit out of me. A walk around the block was in order. I didn't want anyone to steal my instrument so I unbuttoned the top three buttons of my shirt and slid my instrument in there. I held the bow against the back of my arm. The moon was out that night. I could see Tantalus in the distance bathed with a soft glow. The walk toward Makiki was a bit of a victory lap - again, a lonely one.

Somebody had sent me a youtube clip of the performance the following week. I sent it to my mother so she could see what was going on. We had another performance coming up in a few days. And wouldn't you know it, she and a few family members said they'd be there. This venue was perhaps the most impressive. It is Paliku theatre in Kaneohe. The acoustics there are pretty spectacular. The soloists had their own dressing room. I could see and hear what was going on on the stage via closed circuit TV in my room. At the prearranged time the same process: I took my partner by the hand, bowed, and played. This time I was nervous. I actually knew people there. Two friends had come, one of whom meant a lot to me. Well, they both did but the girl even moreso. And no, it wasn't because she was a girl. My mother, her sister and husband, and another relative came too. I was shocked that they would fly to Oahu just for this.

Halfway through the middle movement I began to lose feeling in my left hand. The fingers kinda flopped there like fish out of water. I was still playing in tune and with good tone but the tactile experience was weird. During my rests I stopped and massaged my hands. The conductor gave me this really concerned look but I smiled. I couldn't figure out what was going on. Fatigue? No way. My hands knew this piece inside and out. Nervousness? I wasn't shaking any more. But as I continued to rub my hands I found that the warmth was helping. Between the second and third movements I whispered to the other violinist, "Is it me or is it super cold in here?" She said she was losing feeling too. Nevertheless we plowed through. What a relief.

And so what's the overarching theme here? I miss the music scene. A prodigy or well known professional I am most definately not. Am I good? Meh. I think I kinda suck. But apparently good enough to others. I miss that rush of performing. I miss putting on concert clothes, getting into my car, and driving to the venue. Most of all, I miss mingling with the audience when its all over. They'll tell you all sorts of stories, what the piece said to them, and sometimes but not very often they'll ask your age and side you a small envelope with a decent amount of cash in it. Gigging life was pretty similar, minus the mingling. We'd play at events and had to provide atmosphere. We were paid with bank checks. And for the polar opposite of these two venues, Mariachi was perhaps the most fun of all. We carried the life of the party, made fools of ourselves, and took requests - all in Spanish. We had to sing although I can't carry a tune if my life depended on it. We did our best and ended quite successfully almost 100% of the time. Oh gosh, except this one gig at a nightclub in Aiea. That was a disaster.

I miss my musician friends. They were neat people with interesting stories. Come to think about it, I miss music, period. Luckily life comes in full circle. Again, though thousands of miles away from my musical community I am brought back to those faces and notes through my recordings. I feel closer to them somehow. It is one big musical communion.

Youtube has an audio-only clip of the concerto I played. It is that recording which I know so well played by Perlman and Stern.

Here is the first movement. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vesrqFeq9rU
Just listen to how heavy that sounds. You can hear the basses bouncing up and down in the foundation. It's just...heavy. I'm not talking about emotionally taxing. I'm talking about the creation of a physical weightiness, like Atlas or seeing a huge machine slowly coming to life. When the solo violins enter they do so in a mock canon fashion. Their melodies interweave creating a tension resolved only at the very end.

Here is the second movement. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=axFUvA_he-o
Absolutely stunning. The melodies arch and embrace. At once the voices are separated yet comingled. At any one time one violin tries to move beyond the single line, only to be pulled back by the other. As the movement develops it seems as if the two violins realize that their strength lies in their relation to each other. Out of everything Bach wrote I think this really is the pinnacle of his art. No joke. It is my favorite movement to play, hands down.

And here is the third movement. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x6gOeE5QTXk
This one is such a rollercoaster. The two violins chase each other in an almost exact fuge only a half bar long. They never quite catch up to each other except in the final tutti. Of the three movements this is the most difficult to get in sych with the orchestra. The bass is playing this syncopated obbligato and the higher strings' beats fall on those penultimate to mine. There is so much complexity here. I am positive that one could spent at least five years analyzing this one movement.

And there it is. The source and summit of my life in three movements.

cont'd.

So I gave in and replaced the Obligatos with Dominants - Silver wound G, aluminum wound D and A. I vaguely remember using a silver wound D a long time ago and felt that the aluminum was just as good if not better for a lower price. The cost of today's musical homecoming: only about $43, taxes included.

I just strung them up about twenty minutes ago. And let them settle for a second or two before playing them. They sound great. The response is immediate and I feel much better about the whole thing.

So there's this girl that works at the shop. I don't know her name, but she's this petite, quiet, and kind girl. She's got this plain jane thing going on for her and it fits her perfectly. I approached the counter and said, "Hey, long time no see. The obligatos aren't cutting it for me." She looked so shocked. I know it's a popular string but it was true. After looking over their price list I decided to be conservative and stick with the Dominant choice although it was tempting to try the Visions. She probably thinks I have issues, especially for a switch from Obligatos to Dominants, from silver wound strings to aluminum ones. She probably thinks I am a crazy person. Poor girl.

picky picky

So here's a post solely for myself and the extremely curious. Although there are some people who read this and don't post replies (lurkers), this one should be even more incomprehensible to others than previous posts.

I'm traditionally a Pirastro guy. I use their Eudoxa strings for the G, D, and A strings. They're made with braided sheep intestine wound with silver and aluminum. For the E string I use either a Pirastro gold label (medium, loop end) or a Goldbrokat 26 gauge. This violin is pretty sensitive to the tension on the E string. It does not tolerate excessive tension nor does it speak properly with too loose a string. I am currently finding that the Goldbrokat is giving me the best sound. It is a neutral yet sweet string - not too bright and with just enough edge to make the sound interesting, especially in first position. Higher positions require less bow pressure otherwise I can star to hear the high partials and harmonics distort. What I like about the Goldbrokat is how it sounds when open. It's got that nutty and dry sound like a gut one.

But anyway, as I said, I am a Pirastro guy. I absolutely love the Olivs but they're expensive. The Evah Pirazzis seem to be extremely popular but their high tension doesn't mesh with my violin. The Eudoxas offer a compromise: medium tension, medium voice. However, I am hesitant to use them at this time of the year given the humidity fluctuation. Gut is still an organic material which expands and contracts when it absorbs ambient moisture in the room. Consider the fact that the player breathes close to the strings, adding a constant variable source of less dissipated moisture. I suppose one could hold his or her breath while playing gut strings but that would be no fun.

My instrument isn't a particularly valuable one nor is it cheap. The guy who made it is currently selling his other violins for $15,000. I play on a bow I bought myself for graduation for about $4,000. Together these two things are the most valuable things I own and will own for a long time. They were big investments and I trust that they will be lifelong friends. To be technical about it, the violin was gifted to me by somebody who believed in my musical abilities in 2003. I was intending to purchase a violin by a contemporary maker and had plans to pay him bit by bit over a few years. Luckily I met the right person at the right time and it was mine to own without having spent a single penny. The bow is a different story on the other hand. That put a hole in my bank account but I needed it. All that to say that the instrument isn't some cheapie that doesn't notice changes in strings. Not to brag about it, but my instrument pretty much rocks. If it could speak it would say, "Excuse me, I'm kind of a big deal!"

I sent it through FedEx about ten months ago for its yearly checkup with its maker. I had Pirastro Obligato strings on it at the time. When I got it back the same Obligatos were on the violin and still sounded decent. At the same time I had received a free set of Evah Pirazzi strings compliments of the manufacturer in thanks for a review I wrote for them. I don't know why I took off the Obligatos and put the Pirazzis on, but I did. It was terrible. I didn't want to buy new strings so I just dealt with it until summer, when I had the cash to buy the much cheaper Thomastik Dominant strings in Hawaii. They were purchased as an interim set as the humidity of Hawaii both tarnishes the strings as well as makes me sweat, which corrodes the windings and causes string failure. I had planned to buy a new set of Obligatos when I reached Berkeley.

Three weeks ago I bought a new set of Obligatos and kept my Goldbrokat E. As soon as I put them on I realized how much better I liked the Dominants. My complaint about the Dominants was that they sounded too bright to the point of sounding superficial and "edgy". The A was fine and had a beautiful bel canto quality in the upper positions - fifth and above. The D was pretty excellent too and held up to heavy bow pressure. But the G was just awful. It never developed a full voice and sounded like a raspy whisper. At the time I changed the strings I had been preparing a Mozart duo in G Major. The strings fit the piece well. The sound was bright, cheery, accessible and golden. When I try to play the Mozart with the Obligatos I don't get that effect unless I push down hard. This causes all sorts of tension in my left forearm so my articulation suffers. When I think about it its clear that my bowing is compensating by using the upper half of the bow with plenty of pressure on the side of the forefinger. I can tell these accomodations don't work for the violin because many passages sound "choked". Indeed, I am not pleased with the sound. I haven't been excited to practice since the new strings and things must sound awful.

So the point? I am interested in going back to the Dominants but spending $60 on the Obligatos makes me want to give them even more of a chance. I can't waste that much money. On the other hand, I am very unhappy with the current playing arrangement. These strings would work well for stuff like Brahms or Beethoven or perhaps second fiddle in French impressionistic quartets. Problem is, that's not what I am doing right now. I am playing for myself, for fun, pieces of the high classical period. Haydn through Mozart. It is so difficult to get a lightness of tone with strings that demand heavy bow pressure. On top of that, the strings seem to want to play in notes by themselves. I mean that the difference between a G and a G# is pretty drastic. In the style of Mozart the leading tone is always played a bit sharp. For example, the Duo is in G Major. The leading tone is F# when in the major key. I haven't been able to raise that F# high enough to make my cadences more musical. It sounds like I am in D major or something which is so annoying. Again, maybe that would fly for Romantic literature but for Classical and Baroque (the mood I am currently in) that will not do.

The point: Man, remember that Dominants work for Mozart, Obligatos for post 1800. Obligato response is slow, Dominant is quick. Obligato has depth, Dominant has joy. Obligato is expensive, Dominant is cheap. Obligato bad, Dominant good. Simple as that, right? The interesting insight is that the Obligatos sound decent when the humidity goes below 70%. Otherwise the violin sounds like it's being played underwater. It's got no zest. It just sounds tired.

I guess it'll just have to be a snap decision: either keep the Obligatos because it is economically prudent or change to Dominants and preserve my love for the art. We shall see. I am more than willing to not eat through the weekend just so I can sound good again. Maybe I'll want to practice things other than scales at five minute intervals. Maybe I'll be able to go and start playing pieces all the way through again instead if "scrippa scrippa, screech screech, woo woo." I am sure that my neighbors will appreciate that most of all.

I'll be gone in a day or two

Well, I just turned in my transcript requests on campus. We'll see how long it takes for them to get around to it. Quite frankly I am surprised about one or two of the places I decided to apply to. We'll see what happens. I need to finish my statement of purpose tonight. Speaking of which, something really interesting has happened. One of my former professors has asked me to write a letter of reference/recommendation on his behalf to the Rank and Tenure Committee at the school. His instructions were simple: let them know what I have done for you. At first it seemed simple enough but on second or third thought it was clear to me that this would take some time. It isn't that he hasn't done a lot for me. Quite the opposite. The letter that I would want to send to the Committee would show them very concisely that this guy cares about his kids. After all he has done for me I don't want to let him down. If the Rank and Tenure Committee has half a brain they'd let this guy in. I can't think of anybody more worthy of tenure. But still, what a trip. Talk about role reversal. I guess today is the day to write both the statement of purpose and this tenure letter. Gosh. It reminds me of that one song currently popular on KCCN FM 100 in Hawaii: write me a letter and put your picture in it too.

A former classmate sent me an email last night that I wasn't quite prepared to read. She and her partner are considering adopting. I didn't know how to react: it was the greatest idea I've ever heard anybody say regarding children. I can't believe it. I honestly back her up 100%. For some reason it just "clicked" in my mind. Now she and I aren't close friends but I we're pretty familiar with one another. Her aptitude in interpersonal relationships is unmatched. Let me put it this way: I would want her to adopt me. She has a heart of gold. I am praying that this works out for her and her partner. That child will be blessed beyond measure. I think I feel this way because I trust her sense of love. She is so grounded, so real. She isn't exactly quixotic but her personality lends to a general feeling of optimism. In short: I am terribly excited for her and her partner. Words cannot begin to express the joy within me right now. These women have my unconditional support. They will love the child with an even greater love than they have already given to me.

On another subject, it's been rather cold in Berkeley recently. I wake up at 7 in the morning shivering. It's exactly the opposite of my one and a half years in the dorms. We were way up the hill in the Kaimuki campus (or St. Louis heights if you want to be technical). The view from my room was spectacular. It was of the end of Waikiki. To the far right I could see the dome of the Stan Sheriff center, aka Mecca. Mind you, these were the days where I'd wear green even if I wasn't able to go to the UH Wahine Volleyball games myself. Anyway, to the far left I could see Diamond Head. The view, of course, came with a price. There were few windows that opened. It would get super hot during the day. Nobody seemed to have enough fans to keep cool. It just so happened that the other side of the dorm was very cold. We'd make friends with the person across the hallway and have them keep their door open so the breeze would come through. In exchange they saw out of our window and got a bit of our view.

One of the girls who lived across from me was this girl from Michigan. She was rather...well endowed. She knew it but she didn't show it off. One day I was sitting at my desk reading. I look to the left and see her putting her laundry away while standing in her underwear. I said, "Hey man, why is your door open?" She replied, "Ah, fuck it. I don't mind you seeing me like this" and continued folding her laundry. I kinda sat there stunned and started to zone out while still looking at her. After a few moments I noticed that she was looking at me back. "See? My side has a different kind if view", she joked. I think I blushed and went over and sat on her bed and talked to her. It was one of those awkward bonding experiences. After all, here I was wearing my scapular and there she was half naked. It's funny how the Berkeley cold will remind me of things like this. But I think I'd rather be sweating than shivering. I never thought I'd say that.

Last night my mother and I had a talk about my return home in December. I think I am leaving Oakland on December 22nd. I'll be spending all of my time on Kauai and probably leave on the second week of January. It's time to start thinking about what I'm gonna be doing while at home. One thing is for sure: I plan to be pretty inconspicuous. No doubt I'll be fishing, planting, cooking, swimming, eating, talking, laughing, drinking, sleeping, reading, wii-ing, so on and so forth. I just don't know what I'll do with my time. After losing eight friends to Holiday season car accidents I think I'll stay away from the road as much as possible.

So what is there to look forward to? I want to see my nieces and nephews. Mass at 6:45AM. Sunday brunches. Family dinners in the garage by the grill. Beers and fishing. Going to my grandparents grave. Being in the mountains, smelling Koke'e. Running into old friends. Hiding from relatives. Early sunrise over the ocean horizon. Still, dewy nights. The rain. Dancing. Cleaning the yard. Being on the ocean from sunrise to sunset. Eating at Sueoka's. Eating at Hamura's. Eating at Ishihara's. Eating everywhere, actually. Waimea river. Nawiliwili Borders. Da Imu Hut teri burgers. Wailua river valley. Old orchestra friends. Kilauea lighthouse. Kalalau hike. Freshly pounded poi. Kalua. Poipu. Waialeale. KULOLO. E nani Kaua'i - ka i'ini pau'ole. Ai, a ka makemake.

Outside one of our windows there is a BIG pua kenikeni tree. Now if you know me you know that I love that flower. It is beautiful and smells heavenly. I planted that tree a few years ago. After the first two years it wasn't giving any flower so my mother wanted to cut it down. I of course refused, but she did anyway. I came home one day and the little shrub was gone. Heartbroken doesn't even begin to describe it. Perhaps she didn't pull out the roots because a few months after that it grew back. She wanted to cut it down again but I made sure she didn't get her hands on it. The same thing happened. No flowers. I told her to just be patient, to trust that tree is waiting to bloom at just the right time. My mother is notoriously impatient with things she can't understand. By the time I knew it I had to go to college. I made my mom promise she wouldn't touch the tree otherwise I'd be pretty upset. She held through. For the three years I was in college I'd come home and inspect the plant. It grew alright but still no flower. In 2007 I made the move to Berkeley. It wasn't until 2008 that I got a phone call from my mom - the tree had bloomed. I was ecstatic.

I couldn't understand why that tree waited for me to leave before it bloomed. Maybe it was shy. Maybe it knew that I'd appreciate it all the more when I did come back home. If that is the case that tree is wise indeed. I came home for Christmas and saw all of these little white and yellow flowers everywhere. I picked them and brought them into the house. They were as fragrant as ever. The tree seems to operate on its own time too. Traditionally the flowers open in the very early morning at night when the dew is thick. At this point they are a very pure white and tight flower. As the sun rises the flowers incrementally turn a shade of yellow, then to a dark orange at the end of the day. The weird thing about our tree is that the buds seem to open in the evening. They stay open all night and remain white until sunrise. In this way they either open extremely open or extremely late depending on how you look at it. The result is the same though: these flowers maintain their whiteness longer and thus last longer when made into lei or left around. Even as it blooms in success it does so on its own terms. All for the better.

Maybe that's how some people are, too. Right now I am thinking of two guy friends. One of them is in Japan, the other is somewhere on the East coast. It took me to be away them only to come back and find them in full bloom. They're still blooming on their own terms even against conventional wisdom. What is more, I am glad that I had enough patience not to cut them down before they had the chance. I am glad that I stayed the course with them when nobody else would. They are taking off in their personal and professional lives. One of them has just begun his own family. He has a beautiful daughter. The other, well, is living his dream of being a computer nerd. In both instances I am constantly reminded of the power of the human spirit to overcome early disasters and disappointments only to arise again fuller and stronger than ever before. I am so proud of them.

Rahner

Karl Rahner has a beautiful image for the end of life. He speaks about the freedom of trusting in the mystery. We will plunge into the unknown. Then, "out of the darkness the face of Christ will appear."

That moment of trust in providence is central for Rahner's eschatology. Even more interestingly, I am now confronted with a similar opportunity. All I can do is trust, fully and completely. I am somehow reminded of the peace prayer of St. Francis.

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace
Where there is hatred, let me sow love
where there is injury, pardon
where there is doubt, faith
where there is despair, hope
where there is darkness, light
where there is sadness, joy

O Divine Master,
grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console
to be understood as to understand
to be loved as to love.

For it is in giving that we receive
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life

the lean, mean, green string bean.

Last night after the fifth round of drinks at Jupiter the waitress told us that they were closing up. We had a really good time last night. Lots of laugh with plenty of singing. Toward the end we started singing Catholic hymns like "One bread, one body", "Pan de Vida", "On Eagle's Wings", "Though the Mountains May Fall", and of course, "Hail Holy Queen" - Sister Act style. At first it was pretty awkward but we really got into it. Earlier three of us had been singing the chorus from Beethoven's symphony 9, but more than half couldn't join us because they knew the melody and not the German lyrics. But most of all I had a good conversation with a friend I haven't seen in forever. We exchanged some thoughts, shared ideas, and thought about a friend that just left for heaven. I am happy to be closer to her again.

Anyway, as we all went out separate ways one of my friends who lives a couple of doors up the street from me and I continued to hang out. First we spoke on my porch but soon moved to his place when he said he was cold. He wanted to continue drinking - who am I to refuse? At that point I was getting pretty tired so I drank a little more than half of the li hing mui daquiri he had made for me. I sat there in the common dining area and could see his housemates in the other room through the french doors. I asked him, "How are your housemates? Cool or what?" He replied, "Yeah, they're pretty cool. Sometimes I see them do really jacked up things but I have to stop and remember: they're still kids. So when I see them as kids they do some pretty amazing things." Somehow I was blown away by that.

Just then a whole line of them came into the dining area to meet me. I stood up and shook their hands and tried to remember their names. One of them told my friend, "I wasn't feeling what you cooked for dinner tonight. It was funky." My friend just laughed and told her that he appreciates her honesty. All I could do was smile at that potentially awkward but real conversation. The other people there was asking me what I do, what I study, where I am from. Now, my friend likes to point things up a bit. He made it sound as if I was somebody important but I quickly dispelled that with a veritable cornucopia of swear words. They got the picture. I learned that two of them are roughly my age. After what must've been ten minutes of talking they all retired to their rooms for the night.

That experience shook me up. I was confronted with the thought of being "old". Looking at those guys I saw peers, not kids. Granted, my friend is a bit older than me. I mentioned this to him very briefly - that is, how awkward it is to feel old. He said, "You're not chronologically much older than they are. You need to understand that you have a maturity they don't have just yet." I couldn't think of a reply at the time. He was right. I knew it. Hearing him say that made me want to fight it. I'm 23 - still a kid. I don't think I have come to terms with the fact that people are younger than me in a role I still feel like I occupy. It's been such a wake up call. Nor has this been the first time this has come up.

So I just kinda sat there, speechless. It's so hard to think about growing up. Wait, actually no. It's easy to grow up but it's hard for me to accept the fact that others think that I am "old". In this way alone I never want to grow up. Here I was, sitting at this gigantic table with my daquiri, while the others were in the living room playing. I wanted to play too. But it wasn't my place to do that. Instead I had a formal relationship to them as if I was alien to my own kind. Here I was, wanting to be with my peers. And for the first time I saw who my peer was: the other graduate student. How unfair. I'm not trying to say that I am eons ahead of them. No. Quite the contrary. I have plenty of respect for those undergraduates, which is precisely why I wanted to talk to them. At the same time that sort of dynamic was really interesting. I didn't have to want to get to know them. It just happened, albeit on a superficial level. Yikes.

I don't know if I'll ever get used to this sort of thing. That scares me.

ringrazia tutti degli auguri fatti in questa giornata

Now that the emotionalism of last night has passed, I think I can look at things a bit more objectively. Not to say that I recant everything that has been said. On the contrary, I can only affirm what is written below with perhaps now more a nuanced reasoning.

For my reflection today I'd like to call to mind two things: silver and gold and the death of a bird.

One of the things the Sacred Hearts Nuns (SS.CC.) would tell the small children when I went to visit them was a short rhyme that could be sung: Make new friends and keep the old; one is silver and the other gold. At first I was struck by how simplistic that sounded even for a child. I think I've come to a greater appreciation of that a few years after I've heard it. If we are to take it seriously the little rhyme offers really good advice. So often we're tempted to move on too quickly for newer and bluer waters that we forget where we have come from. In these instances we forget that those who have loved us to that point still stand on the seashore of destiny awaiting our return one day.

Am I wrong to assume that in some deep way we miss other people even if we forget about them? Am I delusional? Evidence suggests that I am. It is easy to forget and move on. I can't tell you the names of every friend I've had in my lifetime. Indeed, it seems that we know people for a short time then move on in the beautiful pilgrimage of life. But deep in the depths of our heart are we to deny that we could have carried on so far without the love and aid of others to whom we owe a certain debt of gratitude? Would a simple memory be too much a price to ask of those who opened themselves to us in friendship? Certainly not.

I suppose the real question is how we are to remember them. While clinging to people never dones anybody good - unless this is a life partner - what is the appropriate response to friendship? Alas, it isn't as if there were some chart somewhere which correlates the quality of friendship to the quantity of adherance. I think this is really the crux of the matter. Having established that it is good, beneficial, and right to think about them after they've left our lives, perhaps the question becomes: what does this imply? What does this look like? And how are we to place judgments on something which exists between two people at the same time though neither will probably feel quite exactly the same way about the other? Is it simply enough to think about this person from time to time? Maybe it is. After all, that is what pictures on desks are for. But there's something really shallow about that.

Maybe friendship has meant to me something quite simple: no matter where you are, if you remember me or not, or even if you don't want to have anything to do with me, I am thinking of you always and want the best for you. I might choose to express this through an email, a facebook post, or I might even keep it to myself. Something can remain firm though: that people may come and go but the love will remain. In this way, friendship remains forever.

Of course I won't tell any of my friends that to their face. I'd like to think they'd know what it means for me to call them friend. Some will be oblivious. That's ok. The plurality of the meanings of "friendship" only show the remarkable layers of human consciousness.

At this moment I am thinking of my dear, dear friend in Amsterdam - Marie Louise. Talk about a person grounded in herself. She was so confident, so svelte. Her sense of curiousity is something I miss.

Second, about a bird dying.

In my last semester of studies at Chaminade University, I would often leave campus for lunch somewhere. Sometimes I'd head to Zippy's or Likelike. This way was a particularly good day. I don't remember why, but I felt the need to celebrate alone. I pulled out of Chaminade's driveway onto Waialae, then down Kapiolani. Little Village was my designated celebration spot. The waitresses there know me quite well. It was as if I needed to be known by somebody but not take a friend with me. But anyway, I remember sitting in traffic at the intersection of Kapiolani and Ward, right next to the Blaisedell center on the right. I could see the marquis for upcoming events. To my left a new building was being constructed. The minutes passed and I withdrew into my own world. The song "Trate Olvidarte" was playing on my ipod broadcasting to my car's radio. Suddenly I saw a small group of birds fly from the right to the left. They passed pretty close to the road face. Just then traffic started to flow. All of them made it except one - he had been clipped in the wing by a motorcycle. He laid there with his wings outstretched on the road.

Now, I began to feel pity and wanted to get out and help it. But what was I to do? My light could've turned green at any time. Instead I sat there looking at it. It tried to get up but it couldn't. It rested its beak on the pavement, blinked, then turned its head to the side. I saw that cars were coming and I couldn't watch so I turned away. Forgive me for anthromorphizing but I thought I saw the little bird give up. It pained me for the remainder of the week. I couldn't eat any orange chicken. I had just seen a little bird die. Here he was, flying along with his friends, and wham. Death. I don't think I've ever recovered from seeing that. Yes, I have seen actual people die. But I don't think I've experienced that sense of resign that I saw in that bird that day.

All sorts of problems have been plaguing me with regards to PhD applications. I don't really feel that I am altogether qualified for doctoral work. Then again, I don't know what a really qualified person would look like. Many of the PhD students I meet here are pretty flighty and quite frankly not that bright. I mean they're bright but not in the way that I thought PhD students were to be. I am not putting down my colleagues. Rather, I am beginning to attack my assumptions of what the doctoral level is all about.

As I might've mentioned somewhere, education wasn't a top priority in my household. A simple high school diploma was enough. Every once in a while I met people with a BA or BS and held them in very high regard. It wasn't until I was 17 that I met an academic PhD. Jimmy Christiana. He blew my mind. He had done graduate work at Columbia and Harvard terminating with a PhD at Cal under Robert Bellah, the now famous sociologist. For as long as I've known him, Jimmy has always amazed me with the breadth of his knowledge of just about everything. It surprised me to see how much faith he had in me even if he gave me a super hard time about everything all the time. Most of all Jimmy instilled within me a love of knowing. As my sociology and philosophy professor, he taught me how to make key distinctions in arguments. And what is more, he was always careful to remind me that there are always different levels to thought which don't all converge on the same strata. In short, the man taught me how to think more efficiently. After reading my posts that's hard to tell right? It comes out when it wants to come out. Soon after that I met other key figures. Two of my theology professors guided me into the tradition. They introduced me to the major concepts that I had known about only superficially prior to that. I think their contribution to my life is a love of the tradition itself. I am happy to call these two men my friends today. I couldn't thank them enough.

The point? I've felt like that bird on the roadway recently. I was resigned. I was injured and inert. It was time to give up because there was no hope. But I can imagine seeing me from the outside - would I not be troubled to see "me" give up? Of course. After all they've invested in me, I owe it to both them and myself to try. So I might fail. So what? I am no stranger to failure.

And so, I've formally resumed my application process. I have three distinguished faculty who are willing to write letters on my behalf. Two of them are well established in their fields - one in theological ethics and the other in systematic theology. The third is still establishing her place in the community. She is astronomical and it'll happen soon. I am confident in my letter writers. They are seasoned academics who give a lot of thought to everything. All I should do is trust that they know what they're doing because they have chosen to put their names behind mine. And you know what? To have six people behind me on this pursuit is amazing. That is over 100 years of combined theological experience. Who am I to disagree, the lowly thinker that I am?