Pride and Prejudice

Here he came, walking straight toward me on the narrow pathway between cubicles. The annoyance instantly emerged at the sight of him. I looked about and there was no way of avoiding or skirting away. I could sense my facial muscle stiffened up and worse than probably self-evident enough. It was hardly my nature to be rude to anyone, especially when I don’t even know who he is, but this time I had made up my mind: the brute was going to have it. We crossed our path. My face turned aside and I walked pass him without even a grunt or nod.

The irony was that I am well aware this drama had caused no impact of the guy of which I had taken such dislike after the incident, which again, he would have absolutely no recollection of. It was at the coffee lounge a couple of days ago when my coworker and I were making our morning pot of coffee. A young sweet thing of her late 20’s, she is a sight of pleasure for both female and male co-workers with hair thick, makeup perfect and a size 3 figure clad under tight jeans and shirt. On top of a nice package, her nature is even, definitely girlish and properly flirtatious without trying. Even I myself enjoy and admire her assets. For the past 1.5 year, we have developed a more than average colleague relationship as we share our morning coffee and sometimes switch lunch bites together. I am pretty sure she has regarded me as her mother-figure confidant for matters such as marriage and children issues.

So there we were, chatting away with her recent development of life: bargain finds, husband issues and some idle subjects. Most of the time I did the listening while we waited for the coffee maker gurgling on to finish the brew. Then in walked the guy to our cozy girl-talk space with his mug and a face I recognized and name I never knew. He was probably in his early 40’s, medium height and, although no George Clooney, not exactly a pathetic sight to look at. I had bumped into him a few times and courteously said my hi’s as I do with anyone at the same floor. My colleague and I politely paused our conversation for good manner’s sake. With an exchange of “good morning”, the conversation seemed to take its course to evolve from a party of two to three, until I chimed in my first and only one sentence. His back on me, he smiled and flirted on with my young friend as if I had never spoken. Older but not wiser for many things, however, I was quite sure to conclude then that I was as non-existent as the coffee ground spilled on the counter: you see it, you ignore it or pretend you don’t see it.

Never a beauty myself all my life, except to those who love me “just the way I am”, I am none the less proud and vain. I needed no more hint to realize I wasn’t wanted. It wasn’t the first time when it comes to in the company of my young and adorable colleagues. As those two continued on with their exchanges, I took my leave without a word.

Growing up with two beautiful sisters has indeed trained me to accept my less fortune in the beauty department. Small and dark with a stormy temperament, I was never the popular or adorable one. Nevertheless, I prided in the person inside for her thoughts, conviction and even the fact of being “rejected”. I realized in my work environment on top of my “lesser” package I have more years in age, which steer me in the disadvantageous side even further. Still, I am once more amazed how we work or behave in our relationship with others. Youth, beauty and status always dominate at first glance or chance. We couldn’t help our instincts of living by sights. But how far would our eyes take us in any relationship? I have hoped (for my own sake) that time would be my avenger when people see past the insignificant and “worn” exterior and uncover the much more interesting inside. The evidences unfortunately prove otherwise, time after time – including this one.

Perplexed, fuming also, I went around grumbling to myself about the coffee guy and recalled the conversation I had with another male colleague on the similar subject. He replied without an apology for his sex about their preferences on outside rather than inside: “only gays are interested in inner beauty”. As indignant as I was with his straight answer, I couldn’t deny that there is definitely a prejudice or preference for youth and beauty for both sexes. Our eyes cannot help being drawn to the pretty and healthy young things intuitively. Mayhap in time they might see further, but they always start from outside. The truth is: while I may be the casualty of this nature, I am also the instigator or participant like the rest of the world – at least for a little brief moment. Suddenly it dawned on me that as I condemn those brutes’ behavior, I am reminded of my own – how I stormed out, and just now repaid the dude with coldness, and from now on will cut him off for good, as I would do and have done with prior offenders. Indeed they have owned their prejudice, but I too have formed my share and repaid it fast enough. For me, it was not at all about inner essences versus outside beauty; it is all about vanity and pride.

Ah, the classic pride and prejudice…. I started out convicting the world and ended up doing the opposite. What a surprise.

Molly and I

2PM Sunday afternoon, still groggy from the sleeping aid I took the night before, I laid in bed with a house of silence. The sun was still bright behind the bedroom sheer penal after 2 days of dreary rain. The good father had taken off to drop off the college son and a 5-mile hike with the other afterwards. Molly, my dog, was besides the bed, quiet and still as usual. She had been out this morning with daddy for a brief constitutional bathroom walk and was probably in need of another as the backyard sat in an absolute mass (or mess) of water and mud. Both my eye lids and head heavy, I wished nothing but to stay in bed forever. The spring air dancing in that glistening sky, though, persisted on to lure me outside. It was accompanied by a guilt that wouldn’t go away – something that associates with a thing called dogs. I turned my back and rolled away from the temptation outside the window only to face my dog silently lying on the floor, her eyes closed and breathing even. No, the guilt was not going anywhere. I sighed and struggled to get up finally. Yes, Molly, we are going for a walk.

How many trips have we taken together? I was thinking to myself as I strolled out with my 12-year-old black lab. Her tail wagging in glee, she went about the yard in her initial excitement. After almost 10 years of routines, the walk never lost its appeal for my silly dog. It could be as short as just around the end of the cou-de-sec or as extensive as miles. I called for her to put the leash on and there she came, crouching down with ears back and eyes filled with submission and adoration: I am here; do as you wish.

We have found a school yard right behind one of the neighbors’ street. Thus I came all prepared with a ball so that she could have a good run. As we walked into the little trail in the woods leading to the school field, I unleashed her to let her do some exploring before we reached our destination. The air was cool with a scent of rain despite of the filtered yet glorious sunshine. It is indeed March now; Spring is finally approaching after a seemingly stretchy winter loaded with much rain and a few unexpected snowfalls. A neighbor with his dog came into view as they had just finished their fun. Before I had time to call back my dog, she was already greeting them in her usual friendly manners. Both man and dog didn’t seem to mind, so I yielded to their brief meeting. A few more yards down, we were already on the open field, deserted in its solemn peace. The breeze continued to move to and fro. Besides the potent scent of rain fromthe past two day’s rain, I could almost smell Spring. Molly was all ready for actions now, circling about me with tails and ears high, awaiting for me to throw the ball. The pure and simple joy became so infectious that I was instantly awakened to the same excitement myself. We went about our routine as I tossed and she fetched. Occasionally my heart would skip a beat on her relentless leaps for the high-bounced ball. She was not aware of her mortality at 12 years old. Her face spelled trust as she went forth to retrieve the ball and returned to me with the same zeal and faithfulness as if it had been the very first day. How many times have we done this? How many years has it been since the day she came? And then the final, inevitable question always follows: how much more time do we have left?

I couldn’t help recalling the day when she came, how frightened and unsure we all were of this new relationship. She had just moved from NC to their new home with the only 2 owners she ever knew and her companion Golden Retriever. She was 2 and ½ with a body of pups not yet filled up. Her owner had dropped her off and sneaked out, leaving her with me in the middle of our living room. Her initial excitement and curiosity was replaced in no time as she went about the new space and found no Robert. I took her to my kitchen and sat down by the table, hoping to distract her from her uncertainty. Restless and confused, she walked back to the living room and continued her search. No, still no Robert. Finally, she laid herself down by the window, where she looked and waited -- for one whole month, during which she ate 3 or 4 times, grieving for her loss. In contrast, the very same change marked the beginning of our healing as the four tormented souls locked behind the door and banned from a normal world found comfort in a simple animal whole love never strays. Nine years of circling between Virginia and New Hampshire, our life has indeed gone through enough changes in many aspects, but she remains the same; older, but none the less obedient, compliant and faithful.

She came back one last time, finally tired out. Her eyes still glowed from the good and honest workout she had just had. They were saying also how happy she was and whatever it was next she was all ok and ready for it. A simple creature she indeed is, she lives with absolute contentment and trust for life supply of food, shelter, work and love, while we, the intelligent species, eagerly work for the same things with insatiable appetite that can never be satisfied. We worry for tomorrow, next week or next month and she lives one day at a time. She reflects the very two natures of my Savior’s ever-present love and His hope for me in this life. The alarming resemblance is not only in the love of a perfect God but also in the image of a perfect child of God. I stared at her, thinking how anxious I had been about my work project this past week, how the college son had made out with his mid-term and what should happen with the other’s future planning. They all seemed legit, but the truth remained: have I not ever been worrying all the time, all my life??

We took our return on the same trail; Molly ahead of me, bouncy and jolly as usual, while my steps idled and my thoughts somewhat weighted down. The woods were covered with hints of green sprouts here and there which would soon and effortlessly lead into such magnificent bloom that even the most skillful gardeners and talented artists resign at her dare. Somewhere on the tree top, birds were singing away while the squirrels were chasing up and down, celebrating their good fortune of a fine early Spring Sunday. Awe-struck and almost haunted, I stopped and stood there, as the matchless beauty and care-free joy of its inhabitants (my dog included) persisted on with the million-dollar mystery of life: in what way, or any way, are we, human, really the superior?

It's a party!

It happened again. As reluctant as I could be for pride’s sake, I have to conclude it is officially another defeat. My dinner guests from a week ago looked away as we exchanged glances across the room. There was no residue or recollection of the “party” in their eyes or body language. My insecurity increased when none of them stopped to say some polite words about that dinner. It was not at all unexpected, but none the less unbearable.

We have all been there: hosting one of those embarrassing dinner parties when food, conversation or fun just went flat. As any prideful hosts would do, I couldn’t help questioning why and how. Did the food over-bake in the oven just a tap too long? Did we repeat some jokes we might have told already? Or, are we losing the “touch”? Surely we have hosted dinners plenty enough times from Illinois, Virginia, all the way to New Hampshire and now back to Virginia. There definitely have been successes and yet it was always failures that surface up to haunt us.

There is this conflict within me when it comes to interpersonal relationship. My friends laugh when I tell them in simple words: I am very shy. To them, shy and I are as immiscible as oil and water. What they fail to see are the pages under the cover. In any crowded setting, I become so uneasy that I would resolve in hiding myself in excessive words or food. Thus attending or hosting a party is definitely outside of my comfort zone or against my better intuition. Any attempts would be more like embarking on a challenge then fulfilling the basic social desire. It’s logical to think if you practice more you might just get better. To face this particular daemon, I am constantly calculating strategy for win, one of them being the art of mixing, i. e. bringing the right crowd together so that they may play with one another with minimum endeavor or even interference from their brave yet insecure hosts.

With this in mind, guest list was carefully engineered. Menu planned and a trip to the supermarket later, I was all ready to conquer. This time I felt unusually confident with my clever match-making skills in both menu and company selection. Needless to say the irony of life once again came to taunt us: all hope failed to deliver. Despite the hours of cooking, cleaning and organizing, the food was just as bland as the conversation. I was actually feeling sorry for my guests who dutifully sat as good sports would do, engaging with one another pleasantry for two long hours. I wondered if any of them peeked at that wall clock as much as I did. It was one of those surrenders you hate to take for pride’s sake at the same time you wish for its end for deliverance’s sake. And when the end finally came, the relief was always accompanied by shame and the inevitable frustration. We pretended to bury ourselves in the clean-up without exchanging words on the touchy subject. I think we even looked away from each other for fear that our eyes might betray ourselves. It doesn’t matter how many times you have done it, accepting or acknowledging failure never comes easy. Like sweeping the dirt under the rug, you want it out of the way and out of sight. Then again the lonely exile can only go so far when it comes to suffering. As aching as it may be, admission of defeat brings comfort among fellow comrades in a kindred spirit. So with the last dish put away and trash picked up some 15 minutes later, I could no longer continue on with the pretend and asked my partner-in-crime that same old question after every party: “did you have a good time?” His straight-through and not-at-all surprising “NO” brought the anticipated, instant relief and maybe even closure. I felt the burden vaporizing surely and steady. I set the dish washer to go and turned off the kitchen lights. I was ready to retreat. Yes, we have done it: we took on, tried and now it was time to own it – our bitter-sweet end.

Till next time.

And the winner is...

Sunday noon – instead of getting ready to leave the church, we were on the road to a music competition which Luke’s teacher had planned for him since last year. It was but a short 20 minutes drive from home. Traffic was light and the sky was clearing up from the early morning’s dreariness. The young musician next to me, though, was not as jovial as the beautiful sunny day outside. He had dressed himself this morning in his so-called “concert pants”, which means white shirt and black pants. With face shaved and hair newly cut, he was looking mighty handsome and yet somewhat worried. A couple of times he would withdraw his attention from his favorite high way scenes and turn to me to say: it’s going to be hard, but doable, right? I could tell it was probably one of his teacher’s sentences and he was just repeating it to acquire my concurrence. Having been to plenty of competitions all these years, we are realistic enough to know that he is no competition as in no chance to win. We were doing this, hopefully the last time ever, only to make his well-meaning teacher happy, same as we do with his recitals or performances. It pains us to see his heart haunted, thus we had made our best effort to alleviate his apprehension on this matter. Clearly, he was still not quite assured that it would be of no consequences to us one way or another. I would have turned around to go home if it had not been for his teacher’s sake.

So here we were at the Presbyterian church where the competition was held. We went through the registration process and asked for permission to leave for lunch. I was only too happy to take him away from the setting if only for a little bit. No problem, they said, just be sure to be back before his scheduled rehearsal time and performance. An hour later after a bite and a stroll on Target, we came back just in time for his 15-minute warm up. As he dutifully went through a couple of spots, he actually looked more and more relaxed. The usher came to retrieve him to the waiting room with a couple of other contestants waiting for their turn. Their faces were somber and serious. One young man was staring at the score with unwavering attention. Suddenly, it hit me hard and I am ashamed to admit that after all these years’ “training”, I was nervous as if I had been the one going on to the stage. I reached to touch his hand – it was nice and warm. His angelic face revealed a world so untouched and almost sacred. I don’t know if it was that or the pre-competition tension that took me aback, but I almost could not breathe. I took my leave to step out to the lobby to walk off my nerve.

I came back later – there was no sight of him. My eyes went around the room, but it was my ears that found him as the familiar Beethoven streamed out from the stage. My breath went short as I pictured my son steadily playing on despite of a whirlwind of turmoil going on my whole being. His tiny frame was probably bending down a little too much as he concentrated further on every single phrase, line and dynamic that his teacher had taught him. It was déjà vu all over again: while I was down here, he was trying his utmost to speak to our world with the only language he knows best. Surely I knew it was more for my sake that through moments like that this world might see a soul so pure and fine such as his. My heart was pumping in such a craze that I feared it was going to stop. Do you, o world, even come close to catch a glimpse of perfection beyond those resonating notes in that little 5’ 5” frame, his faithfulness, trust and contentment despite of all?

He stopped. I heard the applauses, followed by him walking out in his regular speedy pace, his head slightly slanted with his usual quiet composure. Tears rushed to my eyes like the first time and every time. My heart now pumped with joy as I walked up to embrace him. There is no comfort and peace than this, I whispered to myself, besides in the arms of Jesus. Then again, moments like this lead to that with Jesus too, when I am reminded of the unfailing promises through this shadow-like little person. When I am crushed by the vileness and inconsistency of the world, sometimes myself included, I am always brought back to the essence of my existence, or any existence – His purposes and the most splendid plan to reveal Himself. My Luke has been here for that very reason and we are only too privileged to experience Him through him.

We walked out, now both joyfully and light-heartedly. He was all excited about taking a different route home and the bowling we were going to do afterwards. He had worked hard, come to deliver his best and now ready to move on. The result of whether he won or not mattered not. How immensely shamed I was there and then, but at the same time I was not at all ashamed to be rewarded with this special prize right next to me. God and I both know that I need him to keep me in line. The announcement of the winners would not be ready for a couple of hours, but as we drove off the parking lot I already knew who the winners were…..