asunada

[asunada]

Artistry

I've always wanted to be an artist. I wanted to be able to create, to paint pictures, take pictures, to draw something, anything really. 

My lines would always bend off and create grotesque formations that would make any drawing look as if it were either done in five minutes or by the hands of an elementary school child. 

I'm not a illustrator. 

After coming to the realization that drawing wasn't my forte, nor would it ever be I remember taking up a brush. Colors always fascinated me and maybe the bristles of a brush would be more forgiving than the pens and markers of my past. 

The paintings that I created were hardly worthy of the designation. I had created splotches that hardly represented anything worth looking at. Even the most eloquent arguments could find very little meaning in what I had created. 

I'm not a painter. 

The delicate and intricate work required of painting and drawing were too much for my fingers and hands. So, I figured the world of photography would be a wise alternative. 

Just point and shoot, right?

Of course, if you've ever picked up a camera you know better. Taking pictures is so much more than pointing and shooting. In a day and age where there a million different photo editing software, the task has become even more difficult. 

Colors and composition. Angles and light. Depth of field. Rule of thirds. 

I'm not a photographer. 

So, where does that leave me?

It leaves me here; writing once in a long while trying my hardest to be some kind of artist, to evoke an emotional response to the things that I can, with some skill, utilize. 

I write. 

I'm not a "writer" by trade. I'm a computer tech, not that I will be forever or particularly hate it. But I write. 

I write hoping that someone, somewhere will appreciate the order in which I've put the words and that maybe, just maybe you'll enjoy what I've written. 

I try my hardest to paint pictures with my words. I want to draw contrasts and subtly shade in the details. 

i remember the first time i had crab. well, not the first time, but the really the only time. i never understood the appeal.

crab had always tasted fishy to me, like the garbage rotting on the beach kind of fishy. it tasted like that smelled, just disgusting. 

this place was supposed to be different. so i ordered it. 

traditionally, i believe, you consume crab with some sort of melted butter, but there was none of that served here. just a large crab looking up at me smelling of a handful of different asian spices. 

the aroma was immediately intoxicating, but didn't deter me from my initial plight of bad crab taste in my mind. 

i had seen friends and family crack up legs enough times to be able to re-create it. the break was sent another scent gently wafting up in to my senses. it was sweet and light. this was new. 

the first pieces of crab lacked the many herbs and spices that could be found on the shell. were these smells just for show? the pristine white meat of the crab touched my tongue for the first time.

magic.

a wonderful mix of sweet, light crab meat danced upon my taste buds saying, "this is what God made me to be."

every aroma somehow came through and then the, once thought absent, butter came through. where had it been hiding?

immediately i broke more and more legs. trying my best, i cracked claw and leg alike trying to pull out more and more meat that resembled my first pristine crack. 

no words were spoken. 

a groan here. i sigh there. 

but no words. 

that's when food hits you. when there are no words, just feelings of ecstasy. when you know you've found something right. 

it doesn't happen often, but when it does you know. 

That's how I art now. With words. 

If you read this in its entirety you just read two posts in one.

Thanks

[asunada]

One of Many Reasons to Hate Hugs

In all honesty they look really similar from behind. 

In order to better understand my story you have to understand where I'm coming from. I've been dating the same girl for five years and she's had to put up with my uneasiness about being touched. Hand holding, hugging, and the like are all things that I don't readily enjoy. She, on the other hand, enjoys them thoroughly. 

While we're not with other people it's easier to succumb. No one is watching and I feel a sense of safety. I don't like bringing attention upon myself and PDA-ing is one of those things that brings a lot of attention. Other couples have made me uncomfortable. Why should I do that to others?

Anyway, top a penchant to not PDA with a room full of people who are iffy, at best, about you and you would probably not want to hug anyone either. 

So, back to my story.

They looked really similar from behind. 

Long dark brown hair cascaded down similar frames. 

She needed it. Her father had been chastising her in front of anyone and she needed some kind of comforting.

I'm a team player and the rarity of an Andrew hug makes it mean that much more when it happens. This was the moment.

No one was watching and I walked slowly behind her as to not tip her off that I was there. The surprise was going to make it that much better.

As I walked closer and closer I felt off. Something was amiss and it didn't make sense. I couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong, but I pressed on.

She's going to be so happy about this hug. Boyfriend points for sure!

I'm now right behind her and I see Christina across the room talking to her aunt. 

Christina? What are you doing over there? We're about to hug over here. Unless...

.

..

...

..

.

Oh. My. God. 

ABORT ANDREW ABORT!

I mustered everything I had ever learned about stealth from my many sessions of Assassin's Creed and tiptoed away. No one had seen me almost hug my girlfriend's cousin, right?

Can you imagine?! I don't give hugs. I didn't even really have a close relationship with Claire at that point (yes, it was Claire. no, she doesn't know and yes, one of you will probably tell her to read this.). Oh my goodness, it would've been bad and creepy and terrible. 

I sat alone for a long time after contemplating the consequences of my all most fail. Christina looked at my concerned and asked if I was okay. I briefly nodded and went back to thinking. 

Later in the car ride home, I told Christina. 

"YOU WHAT?!!?!"

"But I didn't..."

Then it was a continuous laugh for about 15 minutes. She couldn't breath and started coughing she was laughing so hard. 

"I'm glad my pain amuses you..."

"I just can't believe...you almost...HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!"

This is why I don't give hugs. It just gets you into trouble or almost trouble or hypothetical trouble or laughed at by your girlfriend. 

---------------

I wanted to write something tonight and maybe there'll be more posts following this one.

The prompt I followed was, "Tell the story of one of your most embarrassing moments"

. 

[asunada]

How I Met Your Mother

She was uncharacteristically upset. She would march into the living room of her newly rented house and then back into her bedroom. 

"It's not fair!"

The television was non-existent at that point and all that occupied the place along the wall was a lone stand that longed for its purpose to be complete, to hold up something that would get all the attention, while receiving none for itself. 

I just watched as she stormed in and out of the living room. She would look at me and then rush back into her bedroom and let out an exasperated sigh. Maybe the right words lingered in her bedroom, or maybe she left the wrong ones there. I don't know. 

"Are you okay?" I asked as she made her rounds once again. 

"No," she quickly responded as she retreated back to the bedroom. 

"Alright, I'll wait."

And I did.

You see, my girlfriend lost her mother before we met. It was cancer and it left her family more broken than they probably realized at the time. I was never able to meet, because Christina and I wouldn't meet till about 5 months later. 

It's always been something that's bothered her. She would tell me things would be so much easier if her mom was still alive. I can't even count the times Christina has said something like "she would've loved you" or "my mom would've made things so much easier for us". 

To be completely frank, I can't remember exactly how the yelling, stomping around, and frustration started, but it was rooted in my not getting to meet her mom. 

In the midst of waiting for the next tirade in the living room I prayed. 

Hey God, 

It's me again. But you already know what I'm going to ask you for, huh? Well, I'm here. I lack the proper words to speak and give peace to Christina. I don't even know if that's what you want from me. Just help me here, would ya? 

She's right to be frustrated and upset at the fact that I never got to meet the person that has meant the most to her in her life. The catalyst for the greatest growing experience you've put her through and I never met her. 

I don't know what to say here God. In fact, I never know what to say. But you've both silenced me and given me the words to speak in the past. 

I just ask for clarity now. What do I do? What do I say? How should I say it?

I'll follow your lead. 

Amen.

When she returned into the living room she seemed more tired than her previous laps. She slumped down onto the couch next to me and rested her head on my shoulder. 

"I just want you to have met her and know who she was."

"I know."

"It hurts sometimes that you guys never got to meet."

"I know."

"It's not fair."

"I know."

She sighed a deep breath and slowly looked up at me. Her eyes were on the verge of tears and that's when words started pouring out of me. 

"But I have met her," I said. Immediately I wondered where that statement was coming from. Jesus was speaking. It was time for Andrew to get out of the way. 

She looked at me confused and maybe a little annoyed that I might be making a joke out of the whole ordeal. 

"I've met her," I assured her. 

"I look at you and see a woman of God who's been formed through tragedy and pain, a living testament of the grace of God. I see a woman who cares deeply for those that are around her, who seeks to know people for more than superficial characteristics and shallow friendships."

She begins to get up, her head is no longer on my shoulder but looking straight at me.

"I see a woman who stands firm in her convictions, but listens to those that might view things differently. I've come to know a woman who isn't afraid to share how she's feeling at any given moment and expresses her hurts, pains, triumphs, and victories. I've met this woman who cooks, cleans, drives, and does a million other things she doesn't have to for the people that she loves. Does that woman sound familiar to you?"

I take a deep breath because my thoughts are coming to a close.

"I never got to meet your mom or taste her cooking or receive a hug, BUT I have gotten to know one of the people that she cared the most about, one of the people she poured the most into and that tells me more than just meeting her once. Christina, you're a reflection of the woman your mother was, whether or not I got to physically meet her doesn't really matter to me, because she made you, she molded you, she loved you. You're her in so many ways. Your mom she loved Jesus first and foremost, and so yeah, I didn't get to hear your mom's voice or get driven around by her, but the things she did were all rooted in a faith in Jesus Christ. The same faith she had, she passed down to you. I've met your mom, and she did a fantastic job."

My attempts to halt her crying failed. Her face is buried in my shirt and I can feel it dampening. So I hold her till she stops and she can smile. 

"Are you okay now?"

"Yeah, but you made me cry."

"Girls tend to do that when I'm around."

  You say I never write you anything so I wrote you this. Happy 25th Birthday, Christina! 

[asunada]

An Open Letter to My Hero

Dear Grandpa, 

I'm 25 now and with each passing year I'm faced with reality that I, along with those that I love most, am mortal.

I know.

It's kind of morbid to be thinking about the eventual end that we all will face, but because, especially recently, it's been something that I have had to deal with more I wanted to get some things off my chest. 

I'm writing this to open and honest with the one person in the world fully consider to be my hero, you. 

I should have shared these things with you while I was visiting a week ago, but I chickened out. As much as I would like to call myself a man, I'm still far from it. 

So here it goes, these are all the things that I've wanted to tell you, but haven't been able to:

The standard I have always measured myself by is you. 

I know that it doesn't always show in the actions that I carry out, but I have always striven to be a man that resembles, at least in some part, you. 

Don't get me wrong. I love and respect my father greatly, but because I've lived with him for so long I am able to see my father in a different light. 

As far back as I can remember my mom has regaled me with stories of my legendary grandfather and how he was a man among men. 

Mom never talked about your physical strength or even your intelligence as being top notch. It was something deeper, more meaningful. You were always talked about as a man of character, of respectability, of greatness. 

One of mom's favorite stories was when you guys were all coming to the mainland for vacation and mom being the worrier she is was scared about flying. Her mind would go to images of fiery plummeting into the Pacific and you calmed her. 

"Leora, don't you think that if God was ready to bring you home that you would be taken care?"

My mom remembers being both humbled and calmed at the same time. How could she have not trusted in the Lord's plan for her and at the same time how lucky had she been to have her father there to remind her. 

From that point on I knew that faith should play a huge role in my life. I've tried to make sure that I become a man that understands the importance of not only identifying myself as a man of God, but living that way as well.

When I was really little mom would sit me down and tell me these stories of your baseball career. She would talk about how much you loved it and how disappointed you were when Uncle Dean and Dan decided it wasn't for them.

I took it upon myself to be that shining hope for you.

I poured myself into baseball hoping to achieve the things you were able to on the field. I quickly fell in love and took up the mantle of being the grandchild that fell in love with the same things you did. I so wanted to be found in your good graces. 

Grandpa, you've been a shining example for me and just being able to sit and watch the news with every night was worth the entirety of my trip to Hawaii. 

This wasn't as eloquent or well constructed as I would have liked and I'm even hesitant to post this, but if I don't do it now, then I never will. 

Thank you Grandpa for being the standard by which I have measured myself as a man, and for continuing to believe in this constant screw up. 

I love you.

[asunada]

First things first

It was a time before my first name had matured enough to warrant all six of its letters. I was Andy, at least to the girls around me and she, well she was more than I deserved. 

I remember the first time I saw her. She was smiling, always smiling. Her smile had the ability to convince you that everything you hated about yourself were lies. She was clutching her books in both arms and had wrapped herself in her navy crewneck. 

She was quiet and I was shy. It was meant to never be. But it did. 

I spent a year watching her from afar, in the least creepy non-stalker way possible and really afar wasn't that afar. We were in a class of 18 students. 

Aol Instant Messenger was the best way to go about talking to girls. Do people still use that? I guess I should ask some of my high schoolers, but I'm digressing. 

We would talk (err...type) for hours and hours. I was so scared. I'd never approached a girl about my feelings before and had no idea what to do except for what I had seen on television or the movies. 

I think I asked her if she would go out with me and she said yes, and then I got scared and told her that I was just kidding. She was hurt and I was a giant douchebag that toyed with the emotions of an innocent girl. 

Eventually, our middle school banquet came up. We didn't have dances because Jesus doesn't believe in them. Just kidding. About Jesus not liking dances, not about not having dances. 

She was the obvious choice. Again, I asked her while IM-ing. She said yes and I danced around the classroom. That's right, I used a school computer while she was at home. 

My dad drove us to the restaurant the banquet was at. I bought her a rose, because even back then I was a G. And we were dating. 

Thinking about those times I can't help but smile. It was good in a totally innocent we must've been super cute kind of way. Actually she was super cute. I was me. Awkward 7th grade Andrew (Andy to her). 

We "dated" for almost two years before I finally broke up with her during our sophomore year of high school? Freshman year? I can't remember now. 

I was giant jerk and broke up with one of the nicest, warmest, kindest girls I had ever met. She cried. I felt like crying, but held it in. 

So, why have I shared all of this? I don't know. It's 3 am. But mostly because of what happened to us in college. 

Fast forward through high school. She had a couple boyfriends. I had a girlfriend. Both our relationships ended and we were sad together during our first year in college. 

Eventually we both meet someone and we're happy and friends. 

That was a lot of background, but if you still care here's where my point actually comes across. I know, it's not proper construction, but I don't care. I'm on summer break. 

I'm in the middle of closing up another shift at Best Buy when my phone begins to vibrate. I look down and there's her name across the screen. I wonder what she could be calling me about. It wasn't like her to call. Not since she had found her new boyfriend. 

I put my phone back in my pocket saying that once my shift was over I needed to call her back. 

A few minutes later I'm in the parking lot getting ready to finally go home. It's been a long day at work. My pants begin to vibrate again and again I see her name. 

"Andy?"

"Hey. What's up?"

She tells me she's worried. Something has happened and her voice starts to shake. I'm scared. She keeps rambling on about mistakes and having to live with them and not knowing what to do. 

She asks me if I could still love her even if she had done something bad. I reassure her that she could never do anything that would make me look at her differently. She continues to dance around the subject. 

"How are you?"

"Is everything okay?"

"I'm fine. I just want to know how you are."

"Listen. I love you and nothing you do will ever change that. You know that, right?"

She starts crying. Things begin to become clearer. Everything is falling into place. I know what's coming next, but I'm not sure how to handle it. I say a little prayer. 

Give me wisdom, love, and compassion. Use me to speak to her. Empty me LORD. Fill me with your words for her. I've got nothing.

She asks if I know what's coming. I need to make her feel okay. I lie. 

"I'm just really confused as to why you're so upset?"

"Andy, you're smart. I know you've figured it out already."

"Tell me then. Just tell me what's going."

She cries more and then finally she says it. 

"I'm pregnant."

It was like a sword went through my heart. All of a sudden the little innocent girl that I had dated so long ago had to become a woman. My first love was going to be a mom. 

"It's going to be okay."

"I'm scared."

"I know."

I stay on the line as she cries more. Something says not to go. Don't run, Andy. Don't run. 

She is able to compose herself a little more and we begin talking about next steps. He's going to be around. She's not going to be alone. I will be there. 

As the conversation winds to a close I remind her. 

"I love you."

"You sure?"

"Always."

She thanks me for being there and reassures me that though I might not feel like it, the conversation meant a lot. I close my phone and slump to the bumper of my car. 

What just happened?

Nine months later she's officially a mom to a baby boy. He's healthy and cute. She's a mom. 

I had always thought that she would eventually make a fantastic mother, and here she was doing it. He's big now. 

Her and the daddy are engaged. Beautiful ending.

She did all that and still graduated before me because she was always good at school and smarter than me. No matter what she tells other people. 

For a split second as a young college student I was shown what it really meant to love like Jesus, to see someone as He sees them. I still can't believe she's done all that she has. 

She's kind of become my secret hero. My affirmation to keep going forward.

Although life has taken us down different roads with different destinations with different people. She will always be...

My first date. My first kiss. My first love. 

Love, Andy

[asunada]

The Pratfalls of Writing

Currently residing in my drafts folder are numerous posts with topics varying from Avatar: The Last Airbender to my faith and the struggles that I carry on a day-to-day basis.

I hate them. The slightly opaque number that sits next to my "Drafts" button on the right of my tumblr mocks me. It's a number that represents my defeats more than any amount of success. 

That little, seemingly insignificant number speaks volumes about my insecurities. It tells a much deeper story of who I am than I could ever bring myself to actually say, this post being the exception. 

I need validation. I know that. When it comes to writing, something that I may want to do with the rest of my life, I need to know that I'm good or at least competent. 

I'm not trying to pander to anyone that reads this. This is not a desperate attempt to garner attention or win some kind of favor. 

This is an explanation, a giant excuse, as to why posts don't flow freely.

Do you ever feel that way? Like you have something to prove to the rest of the world and that a rejection of those efforts is a rejection of who you are as a person?

Writing has been who i've been for such a long time. I've wanted to be the kind of writer that could move people, make them feel. 

I want to make you forget about everything except the words in front of you. I want you feel and make connections. I want you to know what I know. But that calling, that aspiration, is high and filled with a lot of disappointment, tons of failure. 

I guess I'm just scared. I'm 24 years old and I'm scared that I'm not good enough. 

That maybe my destiny doesn't lie in moving you. That these words are just words to you and they fail, more often than not, to convince you to feel anything of substance. 

I'm scared that who I want to be isn't who I'm supposed to be. 

But this is also me giving this it a shot. Telling you, the reader, straight up how I feel. 

My name is Andrew Sunada and I'm 24 years old and scared out of my mind that I'm not good enough. I'm scared that everything I've been doing for the past 4 years at Long Beach has been all for naught. Forgetting that God delivered the Israelites from enslavement in Egypt only to lead them into the desert, until finally bringing them to His promised land. 

"So, I have come down to deliver them from the power of Egyptians, and to bring them up from that land to a good and spacious land, to a land flowing with milk and honey..." Exodus 3:8 (NASB)

Keep your head up, kid. The journey has just begun. 

[asunada]

A New Day, A New Game

Okay, I'm going to try and play this new game that I've come up with, Get Andrew to Write and Post More. The object of the game is self-explanatory and it's really just an excuse to riddle your feeds with more words and less pictures (i'm not judging). 

I will be given a prompt and then I will write accordingly. I haven't looked at any of the prompts past the first page of the book all of this will come from. It's called 642 Things to Write About. We will see how it goes. That's the end of my story.

1. Write Your Obituary

Andrew Sunada, 24, died early Thursday morning in his sleep. No foul play is said to be involved in his untimely demise. 

Sunada was born on December 1, 1988 in the Little Company of Mary Hospital in Torrance, Calif. His parents, Jerry and Leora, are both devastated by the loss of their first born. Andrew leaves behind a younger brother and sister, both 14, who just started their high school careers. 

Sunada graduated from Valley Christian High School located in Cerritos in 2007. After taking a year to work, Andrew returned to school eventually transferring to California State University, Long Beach in 2010. 

Sunada was the college volleyball beat writer for the Daily 49er, the school newspaper, for the past two years. At the time of his death, Sunada, also worked as custodial staff at Gardena Valley Baptist Church. 

Sunada regularly attended Gardena Valley Baptist Church since his birth and served as a ministry leader for much of his adult life. 

There are no plans for a public service for Sunada, however, family and friends are encouraged to meet at the Sea Empress Chinese Restaurant in Gardena for dim sum in Andrew's honor on Monday at 11 am. 

The Sunada family would like to thank Gardena Valley Baptist Church, the staff of the Daily 49er, and everyone else for helping them through this difficult time. 

[asunada]

Stay classy. #boxfive #12society #finallyagoodbox

[asunada]

Another Sunday, another devotion. #ontheedge # Jesustime # mandates (Taken with Instagram at via de cielo)

[asunada]

Palos Verdes devos. #romanticsunsets #brotherfellowshiptime #manlove (Taken with Instagram at via de cielo)

[asunada]

Hyperdunk Evolution #nike #justdoit #nikebasketball (Taken with Instagram at Gardena Valley Baptist Church)

[asunada]

They're here. #nikeelite #imayhaveaproblem #noitsdefinitelyalreadyaproblem (Taken with Instagram at AACF Girls Apt.)

[asunada]

Re-organizing shirts and finding that neutral colors own my wardrobe. #blueisarealcolor #movingbackin (Taken with Instagram at Home)

[asunada]

Last Greenhouse as a junior high leader. #endofanera #eighthgradefarewell (Taken with Instagram at Gardena Valley Baptist Church)

[asunada]

The lengths leaders go to get some alone time during camp. #campstagram #finallyalone (Taken with Instagram)

[asunada]

Japanese not-fried donuts??? #whatthedonut #redondoadventure #uniquesweets (Taken with Instagram)

[asunada]

Review

Things I've learned in the past year:

Kitten Heels are not made from real kittens, unless otherwise specified on the box

gyoza always tastes better when it's handmade

little brothers and sisters grow up

lebron frickin' james is the best player in the nba...

i'm no good cause i'm so hood

pho is still unsatisfying and unfulfilling

no matter how perfect you think someone is, they're still human and make mistakes (albert pujols)

nike elite socks are the best socks in the world

having multiple pairs of shoes isn't a bad thing

skype makes online gaming even better

brian chan yells, laughs, whispers, moans, screams, and farts in his sleep

it takes a week for sedatives to wear off after dogs get fixed

assassin's creed just gets better and better

you can't play real basketball like you do in 2k (mostly cause you're not 6'9" and 250lbs)

chinese food in the 626 is king

there are two indian guys on 90210

vampire diaries is like twilight only more nauseating

i will be eternall jealous of the giftings of my artistic friends

typography <3

brandon takeuchi is better than me at basketball (pride swallowed)

honor has no place in the game of thrones (ned stark)

spider-man. swoon.

we are called to forgive even the most heinous of villains (sandusky)

i need overcome my fear of talking to famous athletes (misty may 1, andrew 0)

leading the 8th grade class for the past 3 years has been both rewarding and exhausting

men's volleyball is beast

you get used to waking up to a half naked man doing yoga on the balcony

clayton kershaw <3

i can win virtually every argument i get in with christina

though i continually struggle to keep God as the center of everything i do, i am continually encouraged to press on.