Can the World Race really change your life? If you allow it.
(At Taj Mahal with Mykal and Heather)
If you are reading this, you are probably either someone who is thrilled by the idea of the World Race, an alumni, a current Racer, my FB/real life friend, or a random person who probably clicked on my blog cuz you thought my profile picture was cute (just kidding!). All jokes aside, I am writing this blog not only because AIM invited us alums to do so, but really because I have been MIA since my last blog (back in April) and I really do want to share with you how the World Race has changed my life now that I’ve been back for over 3 months.
Now, as cliché as it sounds, it’s really not the World Race itself that changes you, but your willingness and faith in allowing aspects of this trip to stretch and mold you, and of course allowing God to speak and work in you, as a person. So before I move on, check your heart and examine what it is that you want out of this blog, or any other blog you’re reading on the WR website. Is it to find packing and travel tips (I certainly did!), heart-warming stories around the world (guilty!), or the potential in how different of a person you can be at the end of the trip? Whatever the reason is, I prayerfully invite you to step out of your shoes and read the stories with my set of eyes, from my perspective, and take whatever you like, or not, and hopefully my stories will bring hope, perspectives, encouragement, and truths into your life.
If you’re an alumni Racer, um, Hi I love you!
Oh-kay…let’s get back on track.
Grief & Loss
Didn’t think I was going to start on such a heavy note didn’t you? Don’t worry, it has a happy ending.
In April of 2015, five months before I left for the Race, my family and I found out that my grandpa (I call him Ah-gong) on my mother’s side was diagnosed with three different cancers, all at stage four, so I had anticipated his passing since day 1 of the Race. If you didn’t know me, know that my ah-gong was one of my closest family; he was someone who showed way more paternal love to me than my own father, took me all around the world with him, and lived his life like it was the biggest, grandest broadway show ever and he was the main man of it all. His show finally came to an end a year after the diagnosis, in April of 2016, when the Lord took him Home. At that time I was with my second team in Cambodia, at an orphanage called A Greater Hope Orphanage in Takeo. Within the first week of arriving at the orphanage, I went from booking a plane ticket to see ah-gong for the very last time to crying my eyes out every day and night because I couldn’t catch up with the Lord’s timing. If bittersweet were an animal, my bittersweet was an angry tyrannosaurus running around at full speed. I was so angry at God for taking my, MY, ah-gong away while I was on the trip. And of course, my heart was shattered into pieces because I would not see ah-gong ever again until Heaven.
(Baby Jess and her ah-gong)
I stopped talking to God. I purposely numbed my heart so that I would not lash out at Him and damage our relationship. Instead, I sought comfort and joy from the children we were ministering to at the orphanage. I poured my love on them so much that I became attached to them. I wept for three days when we had to leave, you can ask any of my teammates and they’ll testify about my puffy eyes.
(After Sunday service in Cambodia, with Mykal and Chantrea)
Seeing me in pain, my team stood faithfully and lovingly beside me. They prayed for me and tried to cheer me up despite my somber responses a lot of the times. Mykal, one of my beloved friends and teammates, came to me on a day I was definitely a t-rex (or a wreck) and said this to me, “dude, you need time to grieve, and you need to let Him do it with you.” In that moment I repented in my heart. I went outside to the back of a far building and started weeping. Even in my denial and childish rebellion again Him, I knew clearly that I needed Him. As I cried, I repented and asked God questions like ‘why now’ and ‘why Cambodia’? (My first time prior to the WR visiting Cambodia was on a trip with my ah-going). Then, in a peaceful and loving voice, I heard Him say, “he is with me.” Immediately following the voice was a vision. I saw my grandpa, being around 16-22 years-old, standing right next to God and seeing me. To this day I believe that that day, God brought my ah-gong alongside him to come to Cambodia and see me.
This was my first time ever to experience a loss of a family, someone who was very close to me. And I am thankful that because of this pain that still revisit every once in a while (i.e. right now), I am able to sit in grief with others who were or are going through similar things. I am grateful that through this month of pain I learned and came to love a different side of God–the side where Jesus came for, to sit with his loved ones in suffering. If anything, this period of time brought me to the deepest intimacy I’ve ever had with God in my life because in joy I praised him, in trouble I called onto him, in brokenness I was healed, and now, in grief and anger I allowed Him to be with me and comfort me. I was at my most vulnerable and He touched my burnt and hurt heart and he didn’t have to do anything but simply sit in sorrow with me.
This is the part of life I now know.
Homeless Family
(Met a beggar who was such a joy to be have a conversation with)
Poverty became a norm to me on the Race. It wasn’t just beggars on the street, but the mere sight of the conditions that people live in everywhere really brought me low. Normally I am someone who does not complain, but seeing how shaggy people’s ‘houses’ were or how difficult it is to survive off of a few bucks ached my heart. Learning that my mere presence and simple prayers were a blessing to the poor humbled me and took entitlement out of me. Maybe because I met way too many poor peeps in Asia that when I got back, seeing homeless men and women on the side of the road made me feel surprisingly at ease. Before the Race, I would’ve been willing but timid to give, but now I would go out of my way to bless them in any way I can.
My change of attitude surprised me one time as I was driving home from work, weeks after I got back from Asia. As I approached a man with a sign that read, ‘no family, no friends, homeless, please help,’ I rolled down the window, took out a $20 bill, handed it to the man, and these words escaped my mouth before I realized, “take care of yourself, brother!” I would never say that to a stranger before but now, it’s so easy because of the overflowing love I encountered from my friends who always steward a humbled and grateful heart.
(Our last home visit to Srey’s house)
I believe that my job as Christian is not to take out every bill I have whenever I see someone in need, but to genuinely take a minute and let them know that they are loved, in whatever way. I don’t know what your view is towards the homeless, but if you are usually the hesitant or the avoid-eye-contact type, I challenge you to stop whenever you do see a homeless person, whether on the streets or in between stop lights, to really acknowledge him or her as if you would a friend. Every single homeless person that I’ve come across in the States was humble, friendly, and extremely grateful. One time, I gave a $5 bill to a man and as he took the money, he sang a joyous shout to me saying that he’ll have dinner that night. It made my heart glad knowing that a bill in my hand was able to feed someone. (Hey, World Racers lived on a $5 daily budget too!)
Give. Push yourself to be selfless. Trust me, seeing the smile on others’ faces when they are blessed by your initiating of a conversation or a $5 bill is really rewarding. The Scripture tells us, “Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world” (James 1:27). Aren’t the homeless orphans? Aren’t they lost and in distress? Look around, there are so many widows and orphans around us, literally and figuratively, if you will, let go of that pride or judgment or whatever it is that’s holding you back from giving, and love on them as Jesus would.
My (Racial) Identity
Finally, last but definitely not least, the World Race has taught me where to find and how to refine my identity.
(After the premiere of Dilwale in Nepal, with Allana, Shelby, and Niki)
Our route was an all-Asia route and as you can tell from my profile pic, I am an Asian American. Right off the bat, one can probably foresee some confusion or frustration being in this position. My calling for Asia for the World Race has nothing to do with me being Asian–okay, maybe a little. You see, I was born and raised in Taipei, Taiwan (a country not on the route but should definitely be) and my whole family moved to the States when I was 11. Having lived the first half of my life laid a foundation in my Mandarin as well as knowledge in the overall Asian cultural norms. However, having lived my latter half of my life in the States helped me excel in being bilingual and adapt Western thinking and culture as well. Overall, I am a fairly culturally blended person.
However, for the exact advantage of having a hold of both cultures, I struggled TONS with my racial identity when I was on the Race. Why? You may ask. Wasn’t it cool when people think of you as their own? NO–or it can be sometimes, but most of the time I really struggled with being mistaken as a local. My whole squad knows.
(With my E-club friends in Vietnam)
In our first country, China, I started noticing how people would treat me differently because of my looks as supposed to my teammates’. Even though my Chinese skills came into play for good, I became tired of constantly translating between our host, local friends, and my teammates–even though people knew how to speak English they just didn’t want to. So many times people would ask me to translate for them in order to talk to my teammates and not ever bother to ask me for my opinions or try to get to know me. Luckily, I shared this struggle with my team early on and they took it really well and supported me all they could to take the load off of me. But the struggle didn’t stop there.
In Japan, I also noticed a great deal of fascination and curiosity over my pale-skinned and tall-nosed teammates, leaving me sometimes seriously wishing I was at least half white just so I could get some attention. But that’s petty, no one likes a petty person, don’t be petty, I’d tell myself.
(Celebrating Pocky Day (11/11) in Japan)
So if you have no idea what I’m talking about, just imagine you being the odd one out of your group, but then instantly get lost in a sea of people in a foreign place because your group stood out and you didn’t. At the beginning of the trip, I warned some people on my squad to try not to lose me in Asia and then literally in the different countries, my squadmates would mistaken a Filipino woman or a Japanese lady for me and not knowing where I was. Or people flocking around your squadmates and you’re the only person they will eventually resort to because oh, they thought you could translate for them. If you still can’t get the picture, that’s totally understandable because I didn’t know what it feels like to be a minority (I live in San Jose where there’s a ton of Asians) until I was in Asia with my squad, how ironic!
Do you feel hopeless with my rants yet? But wait, there’s more!
Just kidding, I’m going to spare you the details and tell you what I learned from all this. I learned that 1) people aren’t always shallow, even though they might make the mistake of making an impression or assumption on you based on your looks, once your personality starts to show, they will quickly forget that impression and really come to know and love who you are. 2) I learned how to stand up for myself and for my race. At first, I got so tired of hearing people asking if I was a ____ (usually a wrong guess) I would just cut them off saying no, I’m Chinese/Taiwanese American and I live in California. Rude, right? But once I’m tipped over I became impatient and entitled, and I learned that about myself through this experience. So towards the end of the Race, whenever people assumed that I speak Hokkien (a popular Chinese dialect in Malaysia) or Tagalog (language spoken in the Philippines), I just smile and said I don’t understand and explained to them that I am an Asian American, I don’t know how to speak____. And sometimes, before some of my squadmates understood my frustration towards racial comments, they would sometimes make racial comments themselves towards the culture or other Asian tourists. Then, I would have to speak up, which I normally don’t, and let my squadmates know better to respect differences or quirks in Asian cultures and to keep demeaning comments to themselves. And 3) I gained a greater appreciation and confidence in my own experience, rather than just my race. Like I mentioned earlier, I was born in Taiwan and then lived in the States. And to make things more complicated, my grandparents and ancestors were from China, making me ethnically a Chinese person but culturally and experientially a Taiwanese American. Now I don’t mind if people mistake me for something I’m not because I know myself better and I’m more confident in who I am better than ever.
(With my sisters Monica, Angel, and Carla in the Philippines)
I can go on and on about this topic and tell you all the thoughts and emotions that go through my mind when I am faced with a confused local, but this blog is already long enough.
Last thing, I love my squad for being so mature about my frustration, they all took it really well and so many times when I was asked if I was a certain local race, one of my squadmates would jump out and defend for me. They tried really hard to make it known to others that I was one of them which really warmed my heart. Their response to my vents and struggle in this area proved to me how much they loved and cared for me.
