Friday, August 28, 2009

graffiti


Graffiti puts up no pretense of lasting forever, as a piece of work to be admired through generations, hung safely in a museum or written down on manuscript paper. It gives into no illusions of eternity, accepting that a sleepless night spent spray-painting may be in vain, only to be painted over the following morning. As a perishable, active art, it exists to call out to the people, expressing resistance peacefully, through both images and words; by avoiding navel-gazing and masturbatory practices of a masterpiece, it actually succeeds in leaving a legacy.

Though not quite revolutionary, seemingly only responding to societal attitudes on high/low art, politics and such, it acts as a much-needed mouthpiece for the voiceless multitudes; if only you would allow yourself to hear, you would find that the people are crying out all over the city of São Paulo, through graffiti in tunnels, alleyways and fences. Visual and verbal themes recur through the streets, wherever you go, from Mundano’s large faces with flaring nostrils & plump lips to Zezão’s blue squigglies, emphasizing “arte para todos” (art for everyone).

I would not have noticed any of this if my friend, Nelson, had not enthusiastically pointed it out, as we roamed around Sampa; until he identified it as art, I did not recognize it as such, perceiving it as some sort of wallpaper for the city.

Then I began to think, what does perishable music look like? Kind of like improvisation? How can something deemed inaccessible, like improvisation, be for everyone, like graffiti? How can I make music like that? Ephemeral but valuable. Perishable but tasty. Like pie.

Use this link to view more photos--> http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2522795&id=1235216&l=63966385f6

Thursday, August 20, 2009

The last few seeds of thought from the Amazon

I have a newfound respect for teachers now that I’ve had to lead my own music class. It was difficult to decide what to teach that would be most useful to them. And what do I do about the slower students that aren’t catching on? Teaching is not easy.

I spent a couple days just peeling and polishing tucúma seeds to make something for my mom. Pastor Kim read my dad’s book and said it was the most well informed book he’s ever read and was great, except that he didn’t mention my mom anywhere in the book, other than the foreword. My mom doesn’t get enough credit. Without her sacrifices for the past couple decades, none of us, my dad, me, my sisters, would have been able to pursue our own dreams. I don’t think that I have a heart big enough to sacrifice the way she did for her family and I am realizing more and more what an amazing person she is. I love her more than she will ever know.

I look at the Amazonian villages and wonder if and how they will ever come out of their poverty. Then I remember that South Korea too was an impoverished nation, following the war on the peninsula in the 1950’s, to the point that Americans viewed and treated Koreans as some kind of animals, to be fed, encouraged into prostitution etc. Only half a century later, Korea was already one of the most modern and advanced nations in the world. Would this be possible in the Amazon?

Modernization without Westernization. É posível?

I am glad I didn’t come to the Amazon as a missionary. The other people that came on missions, sponsored by their church, are pressured to have physical evidence of what they accomplished when they return. That makes sense since the church wants to know what’s happening with their investment but I think it can actually get in the way of missions.

Politics taint everything. Even among missionaries – from the very little that I’ve heard, it seems that different denominations have established rivalries among the villages. The last village we visited was greatly influenced by a particular Baptist missionary who gave them a poor impression of Presbyterian pastor Kim – that may have been part of the reason why they were not as receptive of us, as the other two villages.

The villages are not a unique place in its poverty – There are many impoverished places like India and in cities within close proximity of our homes in the States. I have known this but the statistics are becoming real to me for the first time.

Touch is important to human relationships. I am not a particularly touchy, huggy person and was even less so, in the amazon with smelly, sweaty people. But then they think I don’t like them. And then I don’t like them much. It’s a cycle.

I have never seen such vibrant colors in my life. And stars. You will never see stars like in the Amazon in the states. They are so fantastic that they seem fake.

Can’t just give them the Word – need food, shelter etc. need money for missions

I never understood why foreign missions were necessary. God will judge the people who never had a chance to hear the Gospel accordingly so why missions abroad? Here are 3 reasons Pastor Kim gave me - the Bible says so/ as Christians, we want to be obedient to God’s word/ end of spears and other killing practices.

When I tell you stories about life here, I risk sensationalizing the Amazon. I know that I am giving a narrow interpretation, my own, of a small part of the Amazon (bordering Colombia and Venezuela & near the equator) but hope that it’s not misleading.

Things are not what they seem. I didn’t really understand why Dona Rute & Pastor Kim were so adamant about the male & female students being segregated in the seminary. People create rumors and gossip about inappropriate male-female interactions here. There’s a reason for things, even I may not see it at first.

Sharon & I thought we ate one of the chickens in the coop for lunch but it was from the market. Those were for eggs. We just never know what to think.

The villages are full of paradoxes. I saw one guy with a cell phone (don’t know if it had service though) though they don’t have running water. I saw another with earphones on although they don’t have regular electricity.

What can the village kids aspire to be? What kind of future do they have? And what of the kids of seminary students?

Equality in eating? I didn’t enjoy eating the same thing that all the seminary students ate. Oops, my American, capitalist veins are showing! Ehh…

Perspective - Sungjo JDSN lived for 4 weeks in the village of belem, in a hut infested by gigantic mutant cockroaches, with no clean water (they did bring a generator just for him to have electricity though) and no one to really communicate with. Just a man and his bible. He finished all of their rice while he was there, but still came back thinner & tanner - so tan that you could not see his bug bites. Compared to him, I was living large at IBARNE, at least having clear running water at the outside faucet more often than not and occasionally going out into the city for goods.

One night on the 17-day boat trip, we were having our usual evening service when some other boat stopped us. I was wondering what was happening until Pastor Kim casually told us that sometimes, other people stop our medical mission boat to take medicine and other supplies. That put me at ease for a few seconds. Wait, pirates?!

I saw an indigenous person version of my friend, Lynn in the first village. I wish I would have taken a picture. Just like Lynn, only a different ethnicity. Also, a seminary student, Nunes, looked like Matt Huang, only Amazonian. Have you ever seen that episode of Recess where they go play kickball at another school and that school has the same characters/roles, only different? Do you ever wonder if there’s someone just like you on another planet, country or city? This is beginning to sound like questions out of a workbook for writing assignments.

We shook everyone’s hands in every village. Some of the older men had hands so hard and rough that they were like wood. Hands of wood. Your hands reveal bits of your past.

This lady was on her way to losing her leg but refused to leave her village to go get treated at a hospital in Manaus. She was scared to leave. We won her over with 50 reais (a bit over USD$25). Only 25 dollars to save a life? I guess I better make some money then.

Pastor Kim told me to become rich and famous. I’m not particularly keen on making a lot of money. But he said not for me – to help our indigenous friends! Okay, that sounds like a good reason; I’m down to become rich, God willing. My money, before I’ve even made any, is being stretched to many places already – to the Amazon, to my parents of course, to jazz & improvised music at Berkeley, to arts education, other family members, other people, etc. Money can be useful in helping others.

Saturday, July 25, 2009

A typical day for me at Instituto Bíblico do Alto Rio Negro

5:00am Wake-up bell
5:45am Early Morning Service
7:00am Breakfast – crackers, coffee, gross porridge and/or watery oatmeal
12:00pm Lunch – combination of beans, rice, noodles & some kind of meat
3:00-5:00pm Teach Music Class
6:00pm Dinner - combination of beans, rice, noodles & some kind of meat

In between the scheduled times:
Wait for next meal - next event - next day, wait until I’ve digested food & malaria pill so that I can lie down again, wait for flight out to Manaus – to Sao Paulo – back home!, try to quiet constantly racing mind in an effort to better appreciate life in the rainforest, wonder why God loves me so much, swing on hammock & talk to Sharon, nap until I can nap no more, think about what I’ll write on blog, read bible & journal, go on laptop & listen to music, walk around seminary & look at sky, increase tolerance for bugs, etc.

Tuesday, July 21, 2009

gems scattered abundantly across absolute blackness
outshone only by the occasional flash of lightning
that retreats back into night, before I can capture the sight
and leaves me alone with unbearable beauty
only good to wish on, for neon stars of the city

Friday, July 17, 2009

9.7.2009 quinta

Favorite Scent: Insect Repellent
Favorite Food: Pineapple
Least Favorite Food: Monkey Brain
Hobbies: Scratching my bug bites, scratching my bug bites, napping in my hammock, applying anti-itch spray, and scratching my bug bites
Things I won’t miss from the villages: Piumes (blood suckers that look like fruit flies) and a pervading stench
First thing I’ll do when I’m out: Drink and wash up in clean water, instead of the brown river water.

8.7.2009 quarta

In EBF (Vacation Bible School), we ran out of crackers for the kids. Running out of crackers, that’s a novel concept… I don’t know that I felt sad but I certainly felt something. I come from cracker-land, land of plenty. Here, round tummies protrude from their little bodies of malnutrition. We eat buckets of chicken. We supersize. We throw away leftovers. We have gallons of ice cream!

I don’t think I could ever eat an entire package of crackers in one sitting anymore. The true test will come when I’m home with a box of Wheat Thins, a year or two from now.

People are funny – I am funny. The first night in this village, Castelo Branco, I felt horrible that we were eating a second “real” dinner, after I saw one of the villagers watching us, as he picked up something from the boat. The second day, I gladly ate it. The third day, I expected it. The last day, I didn’t think anything of it.

The food in the villages is limited but they saved up for this bi-annual conference and gave us the best of everything (except for the third and last village, Nazaré do Cubate, who didn’t treat us as well). Breakfast consists of a combination of coffee, a hot chocolate or kool-aid sort of drink, some tapioca, crackers, really hard bread and/or popcorn. Breakfast was my favorite meal of the three because I could just eat some popcorn. For lunch and dinner, every village had fish and sometimes had alligator, monkey, chicken, some kind of rainforest pig, and something like a large rodent, called paca. I tasted everything at least once. Alligator was pretty good. Monkey tasted like dirt in meat form. They also have farinha and bejú, hard flat bread made out of the farinha, at every meal, which is alright. And they often have some combination of rice, beans and noodles.

I stopped getting a cup, because then they would give me their drinks. I tried one of their various types of mingau (porridge) and thought I would throw up. But most others drank the mingau okay. I realized how precious drinking water is. Since we would get sick if we drank the river water, we drank boiled water from a stream, lime juice or coconut water most of the time. Sometimes some of the seminary student sisters made things like avocado shake, which is delicious.

Some people handled the food really well – 목사님 (aka Pastor Kim) of course since he’s eaten this food for nearly 2 decades – as well as others. 10 year-old Daniel ate a whole monkey head by himself, except for the brain, which he shared. Fish was fine but after a few days, I didn’t even want to eat that because I was sick of the smell.

They don’t really have any vegetables here but do have fruits. Their banana is sweeter and smaller than what I usually have in the States and pineapple is great, as it is anywhere. The seminary students regularly cut up sugar cane and coconut for all of us and that’s fun to eat. Other than that, I tried some other Amazonian fruits, which are so-so, and some, extremely sour.

I also tried one very crunchy ant, which is bigger than the ants you usually see. It didn’t really taste like anything and felt sort of like I was eating barley. We watched a video of Sam eating a gigantic live ant at a village from a previous trip – they tear off the head before they eat it. It really was humongous for an ant. I don’t know if I would have the guts to eat a live ant that’s about the size of those giant cockroaches.

Meal times seem to be a communal event, where everyone gathers in one place, with their own cups and buckets. Servers come around and pour a bit of the food in each person’s bowl, which they put on the ground, by their feet. I wish I could have eaten the food more heartily but I kept thinking about how unsanitary the food must be, even if it tasted okay. But I am really thankful that the villagers prepared their best for us – too bad I couldn’t show it in the way I ate.

We were not allowed to leave any food because that would be extremely offensive, in a place where food is so precious.

I would post some pictures but the internet here is extremely slow so I can’t. Later, when I’m in Sao Paulo, I’ll put up photos.

Poems from the boat

사모님 (aka Dona Rute) kept saying she wonders how a daughter like me came from my 얌전한, 평범한 and seemingly average parents. I wrote a poem called “1+1=Me” in response. I miss my parents and Jelly, back in LA. I am realizing more and more what fantastic parents I have. Here’s the poem below.

His nose
Her hair
His peculiarities
Her mentalities
Engrained deeply
In my DNA
Like a stain
That won’t go away
So though you think
That they’re MIA
I am certain they’re in me.
Because of them,
I’m here today.


Then I wrote some more because Nelson wanted to know how to write poems and though I don’t really know either, we had a little writing session. I also wrote 2 songs in Portuguese about the Rio Negro and pineapple, with Nelson’s help – maybe you’ll hear them someday.

I liked to eat chicken taquito
Until I stopped being poquito
Now I’m delicious to mosquito

If I were a carioca,
I’d eat tapioca,
And maybe go louca.


And then I wrote one for each one of my 4 buddies on the boat. Nelson just graduated from high school and came from São Paulo with his mom, 양 집사님. Sam is about the same age and came from New Jersey. Melanie just graduated from college and is from the same church as Sam. And you already know Sharon. I’m so happy that we got to be friends on this boat trip and though we only spent a total of 18 days together, I feel like I’ve known them for years. We made a great team. I fall in love too easily.

Nelson-
Thinking he cannot write,
he dims his own light.
Like the little engine
who said he can,
if only he would understand.
Poetry at its core,
are just thoughts
that won’t leave you,
like pesky moths.

My ham of a friend Sam
has recently gotten a tan
and would like to be a man
and go home when he can

Meh-lah-nie
Needs to be a mommy
So she can make salami
And sing about Bonnie

Not wanting to be barren
She wants to find another missionário
And fly like a heron
To populate the Amazon
Sharon