Matt here.
Sometimes I think we, gay people, are like little little children. We get our fingers pinched or go in for our shots and scream like we've been set on fire.
From time to time I hear an argument, usually in the comments sections of articles but occasionally from dear dear friends, that God would not let people be born gay and then expect them to live celibate lives. I understand the appeal of the argument, of course; if God wouldn't command us to be celibate, then we're good to go on the sex thing. Hallelujah!
The problem is that this argument isn't actually an argument—it's just a denial. It's sticking your head in the sand, thinking that if you can't see the consequences, they can't bite you in the butt.
In fact, it's worse than a flat denial. If you say "Gay sex is a sin" and I say "No it isn't," we can argue all day about who has the authority to declare what's sinful and what's not. But if you say "Gay sex is a sin" and I say "God wouldn't let me be born gay if gay sex were a sin," the argument now becomes about what God would not allow, and that list appears to be remarkably short.
Assuming God exists, he either causes or allows an amazing range of horrific events. I flatter myself I needn't list them, though I'm thinking of one particular thing. I was in Hiroshima last week, at the Atomic Bomb Museum, where I was perfectly fine until I saw a mannequin wearing a torn, burned boy's junior high school uniform and I involuntarily pictured my favorite student's face. I was not fine after that.
God lets little children burn to death. Every awful thing that has ever happened, God let it happen. How presumptuous, to say that because God allows a thing it's not a tragedy, and the consequences can't hurt. How ridiculous, for grown men and women to caterwaul that the pain the church asks them to suffer is more than God would ask.
Bitch, please.
Tonight is my last night in Japan. By the time you read this, I should be back in good ole California.
Showing posts with label Japan. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Japan. Show all posts
Saturday, April 6, 2013
Saturday, March 9, 2013
The Brightness of Today
Matt here.
My friends! My dear friends. Most of us have never met, but I’ve been writing to you for years from various places. Those of you who’ve been around the ‘sphere long enough have seen me grow from a dark, sad sixteen year old to a bright, happy twenty-four year old. And today, I’m so very thankful.
I’m thankful for your comments and emails, your Facebook friendships and Skype sessions, our meetups and adventures. I’m thankful that I didn’t have to go through the past eight years surrounded exclusively by straight people, who, while often wonderful, can’t connect with me in the same ways you can.
I’m thankful for my parents, who were devastated when I came out but who pulled themselves together, like me, a bit at a time. I’m thankful that this weekend my dad is flying out to Japan so that we can have a three-week foreign adventure together. I’m thankful that my mom Skypes with me most weeks and my sister, who is an EFY session director, asks about my love life.
My life is filled with cherry blossoms and sunshine, and even my impending unemployment (two weeks!) can’t get me down today.
Without the darker years it would still be bright now, but my joy, my understanding and experience and savor of today’s brightness, would be blander. If your bright time hasn’t come yet, I hope it comes soon. I hope you can make yourself strong, and when you can’t make yourself strong, I hope you can find people who’ll lend you strength. If your bright time hasn’t come, know that someday this pain will be useful to you.
Nature.
Someday This Pain Will Be Useful to You.
My friends! My dear friends. Most of us have never met, but I’ve been writing to you for years from various places. Those of you who’ve been around the ‘sphere long enough have seen me grow from a dark, sad sixteen year old to a bright, happy twenty-four year old. And today, I’m so very thankful.
I’m thankful for your comments and emails, your Facebook friendships and Skype sessions, our meetups and adventures. I’m thankful that I didn’t have to go through the past eight years surrounded exclusively by straight people, who, while often wonderful, can’t connect with me in the same ways you can.
I’m thankful for my parents, who were devastated when I came out but who pulled themselves together, like me, a bit at a time. I’m thankful that this weekend my dad is flying out to Japan so that we can have a three-week foreign adventure together. I’m thankful that my mom Skypes with me most weeks and my sister, who is an EFY session director, asks about my love life.
My life is filled with cherry blossoms and sunshine, and even my impending unemployment (two weeks!) can’t get me down today.
Without the darker years it would still be bright now, but my joy, my understanding and experience and savor of today’s brightness, would be blander. If your bright time hasn’t come yet, I hope it comes soon. I hope you can make yourself strong, and when you can’t make yourself strong, I hope you can find people who’ll lend you strength. If your bright time hasn’t come, know that someday this pain will be useful to you.
Nature.
Someday This Pain Will Be Useful to You.
Saturday, February 23, 2013
What do you trust you'll regret?
Matt here.
I hate feeling stupid. In that sense, moving to Japan was probably the worst thing I could have done two years ago. I didn't understand what it would mean to live in a thoroughly foreign culture (this despite having lived in Europe and South America, which as it turns out are not that different from the states when compared with the difference between the states and Asia), so I hopped in without thinking twice.
When, as occasionally happens, I wonder whether God is real and homosexual action is indeed sinful, I remember the awful, awful times I've had here. That time when I understood just enough Japanese to tell my co-teacher was telling a joke about Americans not bathing and then forty students laughed uproariously The many times when the group conversation was going along at a normal clip (read: too fast for me to follow) when suddenly everyone stops and looks at me expectantly and I have no idea what question was just asked. The times when I've misunderstood the school lunch system and taken someone else's food by accident, and then had to ask the explaining principal to repeat himself three times before I understood. Any time the word 'girlfriend' comes up in conversation.
The thing is, the awful times don't make me regret coming here, being here, and doing what I've done.
I have the feeling that if, at some future time, I come to believe or know that I've been treading the wrong path in regards to homosexuality and religion, I won't regret what I've been doing. I have the feeling that all these experiences shall be for my good even if, in the future, I come to see them as awful sin. I'm willing to trust that the discomfort that might come from action now will be, all things considered, worth it.
What's interesting is that this same mode of thinking works for people who stick with the church. They're willing to trust that the discomfort they feel now will be worth it.
We're all acting on trust; it's just that we have trust in different things.
***
I am in an unpleasant mood this afternoon because tonight I'm going to my last kendo practice in Japan, and I am not very good, and all those smiling, sword-swinging people speak full Japanese vocabularies too fast for me to understand more than one word in five, and I will feel stupid. Still, I'll go. I trust I'd regret it later, not going.
***
I saw this video on TR's blog and immediately wanted to share it with everyone everywhere.
I hate feeling stupid. In that sense, moving to Japan was probably the worst thing I could have done two years ago. I didn't understand what it would mean to live in a thoroughly foreign culture (this despite having lived in Europe and South America, which as it turns out are not that different from the states when compared with the difference between the states and Asia), so I hopped in without thinking twice.
When, as occasionally happens, I wonder whether God is real and homosexual action is indeed sinful, I remember the awful, awful times I've had here. That time when I understood just enough Japanese to tell my co-teacher was telling a joke about Americans not bathing and then forty students laughed uproariously The many times when the group conversation was going along at a normal clip (read: too fast for me to follow) when suddenly everyone stops and looks at me expectantly and I have no idea what question was just asked. The times when I've misunderstood the school lunch system and taken someone else's food by accident, and then had to ask the explaining principal to repeat himself three times before I understood. Any time the word 'girlfriend' comes up in conversation.
The thing is, the awful times don't make me regret coming here, being here, and doing what I've done.
I have the feeling that if, at some future time, I come to believe or know that I've been treading the wrong path in regards to homosexuality and religion, I won't regret what I've been doing. I have the feeling that all these experiences shall be for my good even if, in the future, I come to see them as awful sin. I'm willing to trust that the discomfort that might come from action now will be, all things considered, worth it.
What's interesting is that this same mode of thinking works for people who stick with the church. They're willing to trust that the discomfort they feel now will be worth it.
We're all acting on trust; it's just that we have trust in different things.
***
I am in an unpleasant mood this afternoon because tonight I'm going to my last kendo practice in Japan, and I am not very good, and all those smiling, sword-swinging people speak full Japanese vocabularies too fast for me to understand more than one word in five, and I will feel stupid. Still, I'll go. I trust I'd regret it later, not going.
***
I saw this video on TR's blog and immediately wanted to share it with everyone everywhere.
Saturday, December 29, 2012
Oh yes. 2012
It's the end of the year.
When I'm not organizing my schedule around work, I turn nocturnal. It's always a pain when vacation ends, and I'm trying to head it off early this time. I didn't sleep yesterday in the hope that I'll be able to fall asleep early this evening. That is the state of the brain composing this post. Could be worse.
I've been watching The Pacific this week. War. Sixty-five years ago my ancestors were killing my neighbors' ancestors and vice-versa. There was a scene with a little baby that reminded me of the kindergartners I was Santa for and also the niece I used to babysit. They're so small.
Between episodes I worked on my Navy application. The December selection board had a fifty-one percent pickup rate for my area; the March board, my board, may be a little higher or lower. I still want to go.
***
January
I saw kabuki in Tokyo. It was gorgeous and I understood not one word. We looked at Tokyo from the top of a skyscraper before the show.
February
I spent a nightmare week at home with the flu. If that wasn't the worst week of my life to date, it's right up there. And then girls gave me chocolate.
March
I finished my first full year as a teacher and gave chocolate to girls.
April
Cherry blossom festival down by the river (if I'm lucky I'll be able to see the blossoms one last time this year before I fly home) and . . . True Blood? Something TV bingey. I got my tax and health insurance bills, and I was poor.
May
I went to China. I was swindled out of a moderate amount of money that seemed like a very large amount of money first because it was in Yuan and second because I was still poor from April. I danced with an old friend in a nightclub at two in the morning and walked in empty wide Nanjing streets at three. Later I jumped ticket taking machines with a giant bag full of shoes (not mine) to catch the last train of the night.
June
Nothing happened in June.
July
My parents came to visit for the second time, and I went to the onsen with my dad. My mom went with a teacher friend of mine. We ate soba and tempura. I stopped going to kendo.
August
I climbed Mt. Fuji. I watched handfuls of sunrises, including one at the nature preserve and orchard down the street where I can see clear to the mountains and everything is gold at five a.m.
September
Teaching was fierce that month. So many full schedules.
October
I think . . . there was drinking? Or something? With people? And I distinctly remember this as the last month that I had a clean house.
November
I scored well on the Navy officer test. Kyle came to visit, and we went to Kyoto. After he left I crashed from exhaustion, but it was worth it.
December
I turned twenty-four. There were Thanksgiving and Christmas parties. Santa. The one year anniversary of me giving up porn, and also of my older brother telling me I'm not welcome in his life. On Christmas day I went to the dentist and got good news.
***
This year was satisfying. This next year will be too maybe.
This next week's post will also be satisfying, at least for me. I think it goes back to what I was saying in the muzzle post. When you have something to say, speaking is oh-so-satisfying.
I'll be speaking about / responding to Clive's post, and possibly other posts in that series in the coming weeks. I think he's got an important point in mind, but he's going about it wrong. Like . . . trying to bite open a suitcase, or something.
***
To finish: "She was right in regarding all arguments as nonsense in comparison with that smile." (War and Peace)
When I'm not organizing my schedule around work, I turn nocturnal. It's always a pain when vacation ends, and I'm trying to head it off early this time. I didn't sleep yesterday in the hope that I'll be able to fall asleep early this evening. That is the state of the brain composing this post. Could be worse.
I've been watching The Pacific this week. War. Sixty-five years ago my ancestors were killing my neighbors' ancestors and vice-versa. There was a scene with a little baby that reminded me of the kindergartners I was Santa for and also the niece I used to babysit. They're so small.
Between episodes I worked on my Navy application. The December selection board had a fifty-one percent pickup rate for my area; the March board, my board, may be a little higher or lower. I still want to go.
***
January
I saw kabuki in Tokyo. It was gorgeous and I understood not one word. We looked at Tokyo from the top of a skyscraper before the show.
February
I spent a nightmare week at home with the flu. If that wasn't the worst week of my life to date, it's right up there. And then girls gave me chocolate.
March
I finished my first full year as a teacher and gave chocolate to girls.
April
Cherry blossom festival down by the river (if I'm lucky I'll be able to see the blossoms one last time this year before I fly home) and . . . True Blood? Something TV bingey. I got my tax and health insurance bills, and I was poor.
May
I went to China. I was swindled out of a moderate amount of money that seemed like a very large amount of money first because it was in Yuan and second because I was still poor from April. I danced with an old friend in a nightclub at two in the morning and walked in empty wide Nanjing streets at three. Later I jumped ticket taking machines with a giant bag full of shoes (not mine) to catch the last train of the night.
June
Nothing happened in June.
July
My parents came to visit for the second time, and I went to the onsen with my dad. My mom went with a teacher friend of mine. We ate soba and tempura. I stopped going to kendo.
August
I climbed Mt. Fuji. I watched handfuls of sunrises, including one at the nature preserve and orchard down the street where I can see clear to the mountains and everything is gold at five a.m.
September
Teaching was fierce that month. So many full schedules.
October
I think . . . there was drinking? Or something? With people? And I distinctly remember this as the last month that I had a clean house.
November
I scored well on the Navy officer test. Kyle came to visit, and we went to Kyoto. After he left I crashed from exhaustion, but it was worth it.
December
I turned twenty-four. There were Thanksgiving and Christmas parties. Santa. The one year anniversary of me giving up porn, and also of my older brother telling me I'm not welcome in his life. On Christmas day I went to the dentist and got good news.
***
This year was satisfying. This next year will be too maybe.
This next week's post will also be satisfying, at least for me. I think it goes back to what I was saying in the muzzle post. When you have something to say, speaking is oh-so-satisfying.
I'll be speaking about / responding to Clive's post, and possibly other posts in that series in the coming weeks. I think he's got an important point in mind, but he's going about it wrong. Like . . . trying to bite open a suitcase, or something.
***
To finish: "She was right in regarding all arguments as nonsense in comparison with that smile." (War and Peace)
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