Show Me Love.

Dear Eden,

Love,
Eden

The huldufólk of Iceland.

Written 11/9/2016 for a travel blog

Folklore tells of an invisible people who populate the Nordic island country. The modern generations of Iceland no longer pay heed to them; however, the "hidden folk" prove time and time again to their visitors they don't need the belief of mere mortals to exist.

In November 2014, I flew to Iceland with four friends to the Iceland Airwaves music festival. After the second worst Halloween ever and a good six months into my first full-time job after graduating, the trip came at the perfect time. The cement walls of the Keflavík airport welcomingly echoed back my footsteps as I sleep-stumbled after my friends whose strides were much longer than mine. Swiftly and silently, the second I left the cold, gray structure and planted my feet into Icelandic soil, the huldufólk grabbed hold of me and I became theirs forever.

Huldufólk roam free and protect their mystical terrain — a lumpy place, as I discovered when I walked through a field of mossy volcanic rock. Their home is a land of fire and ice, of thermal hot springs and glassy glacier lakes, of serpentine lights slithering in the sky and Garðar basalt columns rooted in the black sand of Reynisfjara.

Their magic is strong. It has, admittedly, been two years since I’ve been there, but I have no tainted recollections of my travels there. They’ve taken hold of my imagination, kept my memories from getting dusty, and illuminated even the dark, slippery streets of Reykjavík.

2017 Resolutions.

For starters, I want to blog more. So. Here I am. Doing just that.

Physical health

• Be in bed at 10:15 pm weeknights and before 12:15 am weekends
• Wake up at 5:30 am week mornings and before 8:30 am weekends
• Workout Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday mornings
• Limit sweets. No sugary drinks at all.

Mental health

• Meditate at least 10 minutes a day. Increase to at least 30 minutes by the end of the year.
• Read 2 books a month (24 books/year), and read through books on bookshelf first.
• Journal more.
• Write more.
• Study Chinese.

Spiritual health

• Listen to conference talks/lessons while working out.
• Sit at desk and study scriptures Monday, Wednesday, Friday mornings.
• Go to temple every other Saturday morning.

Social health

• 36 questions.
• Go on at least one friend date a week.
• Be nice to Alison.

Miscellaneous

• Ski, ski, ski.
• Launch Kenji's Quest by March.
• Be happy in the day-to-day.
• Figure out career.

Where are you *really* from?

I was in the fourth or fifth grade when I realized I was different. Being quite the homebody has sheltered me within the predominantly white community I grew up in.

I just remember that one day, some of my classmates suddenly didn't want to play with me at recess. It was as if they woke up that morning and thought, "Eden's weird. Let's not play with her." So I played alone. As we got into our orderly lines to go back into class, one of the girls came up to me and asked, "Why is your face so flat?" I stood there, shocked, blushing furiously. What did that mean? Do I have a flat face? I looked around. I guess the only people with flat faces were people who looked like...looked like me.

"Why is your face so flat?"

I still think about that when I look at myself in the mirror.

(This video includes racial slurs and vulgarities.)

 

#thisis2016: Asian-Americans Respond to Racist Remarks
An editor for The New York Times wrote an open letter to a woman who told him to "go back to China." Asian-Americans responded by sharing their own racist moments using #thisis2016. Here are some of those moments. Warning: This video includes racial slurs and vulgarities.
Posted by The New York Times on Thursday, October 13, 2016

Fortunately, I have never been called a racial slur. In fact, it wasn't till I was a freshman in college when I had to have a friend tell me what the slur was. I'm grateful for that. But, as this video shows and accounts from my Asian American friends, people are still calling us by these vulgarities. People are still ignorant and insensitive, pulling Mickey Rooneys when they impersonate us, using white actors to portray us, using us as the butt of the joke at the Oscars. Because, in the end, I guess we don't belong. I guess my 19 years growing up here doesn't matter. Here's a sampling of what I've heard in my adult life.

Acquaintance at a school gathering: "Ge ga goo blah — hey, it's like I'm speaking Chinese. Eden, what am I saying?" 

Guy in Sunday school, right before he asked me out on a date: "Have you ever had mooncake? I don't speak Chinese, so I haven't." 

Stranger who followed me as I was speed walking to class: "Are you Chinese? You should eat at Chinatown. You'd like it." 

After an interfaith choir concert: "Oh, you grew up here? I was about to say, you don't have an accent." 

Stranger on the train: "Hey, can you help me with my Chinese homework?" 

"Where are you really from?"

This is 2016.

If I hold my breath.

​If I hold my breath, I can hear my heart beat. And it's beating beating beating, the pulse tangible, echoing within the cave of my chest. I breathe, with each shallow inhale; each exhale, I create a syncopation between heart and lungs.

If I hold my breath, I can feel my thoughts slip from the synapses and slither their way down down down my spine, spilling into my stomach, simmering in the acidity, churning up sickness. I breathe, with each shallow inhale; each exhale, I feed the unforgiving flames devouring my fervent feelings.

If I hold my breath, I can smell the ocean as it disposes of its sediment along the contours of my face, waters rolling rolling rolling, and soon, I am drowning. I breathe, with each shallow inhale, the water fills me up; each exhale, bubbling

with the aftertaste of despair that overcomes me, the haze of anguish that blinds me

the symphony of palpitations of chatty voices of harsh tears crescendos into chaos and I am shaking and when the Players decide to stop

and lets me breathe

only then am I free

Tank Man.

While the image of the woman in Baton Rouge standing defiantly in front of police in riot gear is powerful, it is not comparable to the "Tank Man" of Tiananmen Square. Doing so offends the memory of him and all the men, women and children who died during the protests against a Communist government, the men, women and children who had to stand up to as many as 300,000 troops their own government mobilized against them, the men, women and children who have been erased from the history books in China. It offends the memory of the men, women and children, the memory of my family members who disappeared, who were tortured, who died at the hand of their own government's Communist ideals.

In America, we have the right to "peaceably ... assemble, and to petition the government for a redress of grievances" (I want to emphasize "peaceably") as we see this young woman and many others across the nation exercising daily, and even more so (and rightfully so!) these last few weeks. The peaceful "Tank Man" was standing up to a government that did not allow that.

It is a powerful image, but not one to be compared to Tiananmen Square. Different rights, different events, different symbols.

Love me tender.

I took voice lessons this spring. Then my teacher moved to Hawaii.

Hallelujah.

Scripture study was profound this morning.

"They might have guns, but we have flowers."

"All wars are civil wars, because all men are brothers."

-François Fénelon

Jesus, the very thought of thee.

Jesus, the very thought of thee 

With sweetness fills my breast;
But sweeter far thy face to see
And in thy presence rest.

Nor voice can sing, nor heart can frame,
Nor can the mem'ry find
A sweeter sound than thy blest name,
O Savior of mankind!

O hope of ev'ry contrite heart,
O joy of all the meek,
To those who fall, how kind thou art!
How good to those who seek!

Jesus, our only joy be thou,
As thou our prize wilt be;
Jesus, be thou our glory now,
And thru eternity.

Performed October 2013 at the Provo YSA 7th Stake Conference by Camille McAlmont, Nicolle Okoren, and Eden Wen, accompanied by Ammon Chung on the viola. Filmed very sneakily by Derik Flanary.

On Divinity.

I rarely remember my dreams, so it was bizarre that I had such a vivid one while in Iceland (last November), of all places. Perhaps it was the crisp air, or the crystal water, or the fresh music. Perhaps it was because I was surrounded by the raw elements of the earth or immersed in the minerals of the Blue Lagoon. Or perhaps it was simply the trickery of the huldufólk. Whatever or whoever it was, something triggered both my spirit and my imagination.

Jökulsárlón

*insert dream-scape jingle and filter*

It began on a tour bus, which made sense since these things were everywhere in Iceland. My bus stopped in front of a very Asian-esque, very cutesy shopping mall. Like, imagine a Sanrio-themed mall. Hello Kitty, My Melody, Badtz-Maru, etc. everywhere. Every Asian kid's dream...and apparently my dream too.

Our tour guide, a Korean woman in a dress suit and with her hair in a tight bun, welcomed us to the mall. Why a Korean woman? Good question.

"Come, and let me show you around."

12 Steps to Change.

Though the program is not unique to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, the 12 Step Program is a testament to the healing power of the atonement of Jesus Christ, as seen in the lives of those in this series published by Mormon Channel (embedded below). People can conquer and change through Christ.

The wonderful thing about the program is that it is not only applicable to those with addiction. Anyone wanting to change for the better through the atonement of Christ will find this program rewarding. It will only build us up as individuals and bring us closer to our Savior.

Through the healing, enabling, redeeming power of atonement in my own life, I've found peace in pain, forgiveness in sin, and so much more goodness. I invite anyone who may be struggling with anything—addiction, sorrow, sin, loneliness, pain—to turn to Christ, for His yoke is easy and His burden is light. He will bear the burdens of life with us.

 

More from Mormon Channel.

Untitled.

Written 5/29/14 for Neighborhood Watch, local podcast

So I was asked to write a thing for this thing, but the thing is, I haven't written in a while because it takes feeling and emotion for me to write and I haven't felt in so long. I've found each waking moment is filled with an emptiness that frightens me. Each motion I go through is void of emotion. Every tear I shed has no reason. And when I meet smiling faces in the hallway, part of me just wants to walk past them with my chin resting on my chest.

But it’s easier to meet them with a smile. And that’s why you don’t know.

You don’t know that every now and then, when I'm pensive, I take a solitary midnight bike ride to a parking lot with street lamps burnt out like me. Sometimes the asphalt hurts to sit on. Sometime a drunk stumbles across. But here, no one sees me. No different than during the day anyway, and it's how I like it too. No one is around to hear my attempts to feel, my dry sobs and my desperate pleadings with God.

But there's another façade, that I don't need Him and that I don’t need you. In reality, I wouldn't mind if someone sat with me and listened. Not necessarily just to me. I wouldn't mind if someone sat and listened to the rustling of the summer wind through the leaves of the trees above me, above us, unchained from time and obligations. There is a beauty in silence and in removing yourself from the world.

In that silence, I wouldn't mind if you asked me how I was and waited on me until I told you how far I am from "doing good." I wish you'd do that instead of run off with your studies, your pills, your work, or your lovers. Maybe you'd know how much I am also struggling if you stayed up with me a while. 

They say that man is not meant to be alone. But here I am, in the middle of an empty lot. Even the drunk has his alcohol to warm his heart. And I'm just shivering from the cold in mine. Shivering from the suppressed emotions of my present. And I'm afraid I've forgotten how to release them, because writing was how I did that.

And now you’re reading this. I'm afraid they'll only get worse…my lack of words, my emptiness.

So I’m here again, on a midnight bike ride, shivering, pleading, writing, waiting in a parking lot with street lamps burnt out like me, trying to figure out how to light up again.

Snapchat Stories—Season 1.

My friends are great. They support/tolerate my bizarre ideas, even when it puts them in interesting situations.

This is one of those situations, starring the stunning Camille. (She doesn't even get a last name—she's just that amazing. The Camille.)

If you were my Snapchat friend from, like, the beginning of last summer till about Halloween time, you've seen these. Feel free to relive them, if you so wish.

To those who haven't seen them, episode 3 got the most, um, disturbed responses out of season (aptly named "Murder"). Consider this your only warning.

Guys, I'm twisted...

Hi, I made a playlist for you.

Panda Bear. (Aside (already?): For some reason, I so badly want to compare him to Sin Fang. They're similar, but very different in other ways. I don't know. I feel like I'm setting myself up to talk more about this, but I really haven't put more thought into it beyond that.) In my opinion, Panda Bear translates better recorded, but when I experienced Sin Fang in Iceland (hey, I should write about Iceland on this here blog), I was mesmerized by everything that was happening on stage and in my ears.

"Boys Latin" has the same effect on me. The music video, while bizarre and frightening at first, is incredibly beautiful. I have to admit, it brought me to tears.

Life is full of hard things, but as human beings learning to connect in an increasingly disconnected world, part of overcoming the murky times is helping people currently in the same situation you were in. Sometimes that means helping them to accept their circumstances, just as you have.

Plug for Panda Bear's Panda Bear Meets The Grim Reaper.

Moving on to the actual topic of this post.

It's a new year.

Do you remember when this blog used to be clever and fun, and not saturated with depressing issues I have?

Yeah, I almost forgot too.

Here's to a new year.

I hope you're ready. I'm bringing back my blog.

Eternal Sadness.

It's been real bummy lately.

I'm crying for no reason.

And even when there seems to be a reason,

it seems trivial 

because,

at the root of it,

there is actually no reason at all.

Huggity Hug Hug.

I've been having a bummy time lately with feelings of not living up to my potential and blah blah blah, and how my laziness and fear of change keeps me from doing anything about it. I also feel that since graduating, I've become socially dumber, seeing as how I don't really talk to people throughout the 9 hour workday. Oftentimes, I go straight home and I sit in more silence. Day after day, week after week, I started feeling more and more isolated from everyone. I told my younger sister Illia this in an email. (She's currently serving a mission for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.)

I wrote:

Apparently, one of the ingredients to happiness or fulfillment or whatever is 11 positive touches a day. Some days, I don't even get one. I know Heavenly Father is there and that Christ understands what I've been through, but I don't like this feeling at all. It was kind of like in June when I was feeling like extra sad because Po Po passed away. I cried in front of my friend, but she patted my back and then she left for three days. I was in my apartment alone, grieving alone. And now I'm just feeling alone, though my friends are all around me. Part of me wants to move away and part of me wants to stay because it's comfortable here. But I know I won't progress anymore.  

I got a letter from Illia today. It was three pages long, front and back. Along the margins, every point or thought she had, she numbered them up to 10.

I thought she was just super organized or something.

At the end of the letter, though, she wrote:

So, I'm sure you noticed all the numbers in dis letter. You said that one of the ingredients to happiness is 11 positive touches a day. So I've provided you with 10 for today. Now go and look for that 11th positive touch.

And even thought I got that number not necessarily right (family therapist Virginia Satir says, “We need 4 hugs a day for survival. We need 8 hugs a day for maintenance. We need 12 hugs a day for growth.”), the fact that Illia did that means so much to me. She did something for me and she's not even a phone call away.

I'm sorry I'm being selfish and all "Woe is me!" on you. That's the thing. I'm surrounded by people who care about me, but...I don't know. I don't know what I am feeling. I'm still processing feelings. I'm sorry.

(I took a personality test yesterday and it all boiled down to me being the ultimate contradiction. I don't trust people, but I am loyal to those who've gained my trust, even through the point where the relationship is destructive. I value security, but I am very insecure. etc. etc. It also said that it takes me a while to pinpoint my emotions...so...give me time ha.)

All I know is that sadness and loneliness runs rampant these days. But if we can at least make people feel ok in the moment with just a hug, why don't we do just that?

*insert conclusion that ties thoughts all together here.*

Hugs and One Direction will make things better, I feel. 

 

UPDATE—Oct 12

Tender mercies, man. God hears and answers our prayers. He is there to comfort us. I'm silly to have been mopey. Today in Church, I had friends skip their ward to come listen to my lesson in Relief Society. One great friend linked arms with me randomly during Sunday School, and it was as if God was saying, "Hey, you've got good people here who care." And I fell asleep to the sound of good friends singing along to "Muppet Treasure Island." Count your blessings, Eden.

This.

mhmm.

i've nothing to say.

Chat adventures.

Sometimes a chat conversation at work gets...dramatic.

Space Adventure with Wes and Eden

Wes: r u excited about your space adventure tomorrow?

Eden: i am very excited!!!!!
           are you excited to pew pew aliens and enemy spacecraft?

W: yah
      also nervous
      what if i fail at my job?
      and the mission explodes...
      *console me*

E: we picked you because you are a capable, strong man.
     you scored the highest at the academy and we wouldn't allow anyone but the best

W: but i also scored highest in eccentricity and insecurity
      the scores don't lie eden
      ill never be normal/confident enough to lead a mission
      no matter how wise and mysterious of a mentor you are
      *sob*

E:  that only means you're teachable, young one
      as we accomplish smaller missions, your confidence will grow
      and in several years, you will be the captain of your own space crew
      and you find a boy at the academy who was just like you and you will make him a man like i will make you