#i was like 'we have to leave perfectionism and overthinking at the door' and then literally made a spreadsheet

[vamprisms]

just realised i'm going to have to do two of these posters a week to finish in time for halloween

[nakhiphop]

how john calvin helped me figure out that i have obessive-compulsive disorder

Drowning. Dying alone. Small holes grouped together. We all have a “worst fear.” Mine? Being forsaken by God.

Among the cornerstones of Christian doctrine is the concept of “salvation,” or the state of being pardoned from the consequences of sin- the direst being separation from God. The equation is simple: the saved enjoy Heaven, the unsaved go to Hell. Though the Bible partly alludes to “Hell” as a place, I personally think the essence of Hell is God’s absence. In other words, Hell is where God isn’t (and conversely, Heaven is where God is).

Since the beginning of my faith journey, I’ve always feared that my faith was phony, or I mistakenly equated an emotional spiritual experience as evidence of salvation (it isn’t). Essentially, I was afraid of being unsaved… or worse, forsaken by God due to all my sinning. The sermons I remember most are based on precautionary Bible stories suggesting that God allows the heart to become hardened by habitual and intentional sin (Exod. 7:3, Rom. 1:28)- a habitual and intentional sinning that I believed I was guilty of.

“How could a real believer continue to look at pornography?” “How can a Christian have such cruel intentions?” “How could a regenerate mind still harbor thoughts of unspeakable depravity?” I’ve examined the evidence at every thinkable angle. And the more I assess and reassess the fruits of my living, I notice deeper corruption with every inspection, fortifying my conclusion: despite my many failed attempts at repentance, I’m no Christian. God has forsaken me. I’m damned.

For those of you unfamiliar with the contemporary Christian worship service format, there is often designated periods of time in which the speaker invites the non-believing attendees in the audience to dedicate their lives to Christ. In some churches, the speaker invites the non-believer to physically stand at the foot of the stage, heightening the symbolic impact and solemnity of the moment (there’s a lot of other reasons why we do this, but that’s for later). This “altar call” signifies the moment(s) of transformation. The moment(s) the soul is reborn. The moment(s) of salvation.

A Billy Graham Crusade, Greg Laurie’s Crusades, like two or three different youth summer camps… I can’t tell you how many times I’ve gone up to the altar to dedicate my life to Christ.

Throughout my journey, I have discussed with every spiritual mentor my persistent fears of being unsaved. Though each of them had their unique style about them, every response was sewn with a common thread: I need to accept God’s grace. 

“Grace,” you ask? Christian “grace” is receiving from God any good thing that is undeserved, unearned, and unmerited. For example, the salvation I was speaking of earlier is an act of God’s grace; in other words, being “saved” is a gift of God- no particular action that I can (or cannot) do makes me worthy (or unworthy) of God pardoning my sins (Eph. 2). Through gentle counsel, I gradually discovered that my perception of God might be contorted, and I have adopted illegitimate conditions of salvation contingent upon moral performance (or lack thereof). “Legalism,” they call it. And for Christians, that’s baaaaad.

Though this truth made sense in my head, I still doubted my salvation and continued to reevaluate my life, respond to every altar call, repeat every sinner’s prayer, fast, pray... nothing worked. I often heard that a “peace that surpasses all understanding” is a sign of God’s exploits. I frankly don’t even know what peace means- can’t say I ever felt it. Ever. What’s wrong with me?!

In my mid-20’s, I was introduced to the Reformed Theology of the Protestant Reformation and the writings of John Calvin and his contemporaries. Since sentience, I was inculcated with Christian ideas so though discovering nothing “new” about God through the eyes of the Reformers, I believe I began to see aspects of God more correctly. Aspects such as God’s sovereignty, His elect, His predestination- concepts I previously thought little of. However, in exploring this new perspective, the pivotal realization that God’s absolute sovereignty could mean that God ultimately decides who goes to Heaven or Hell, made me uneasy. I have even heard statements to the effect of: “whoever God saves, He will save, no matter what that man does.” This, in Calvin’s terms, is called “irresistible grace.”

To my devastation, this also implies that whoever God doesn’t choose to save cannot be saved (no matter what he does), like Esau who cried bitterly but was unable to repent (Heb 12:17). I believed that this explained my perpetual feelings of being unsaved: perhaps I was just not destined to be saved. No matter what I did. I can’t be saved. It was God’s plan since the beginning to forsake me.

(Sorry in advance) This skewed interpretation really ****ed me up. My mid and late twenties was the darkest night of my soul, spawning crippling seasons of debilitating paranoia, and brooding creative projects (“I don’t need your help I’ll be okay. You’re too late to save me anyway.”). I pleaded for God while simultaneously believing that His face was turned away. In this perceived absence, I felt I was truly in Hell.

In 2020, I had somewhat of a psychiatric breakdown. The simultaneous resurfacing of past paranoias, the unravelling of new heartbreak, and a looming sentiment of doom created a perfect storm of hopelessness. I began to manifest profound physical symptoms like unilateral weakness, clonus and fasciculations, insomnia, and seemingly progressive loss of muscle function. My knowledge as a nursing instructor abetted catastrophic self-diagnoses and obsessive fixations upon my symptoms, convincing me that I was literally dying in August of 2020. Social media fueled my panic, forcing me to abandon my online networks and isolate from the world. But while I was alone, I did nothing but think and re-think. Examine and re-examine. Assess and re-assess. I didn’t sleep much.

*Takes a deep breath* Let’s skip ahead. Not long ago, I decided to seek therapy. In therapy, I discovered something that would change my life.

I strongly fit the criteria for obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD).

There are different variations (I have specific ones I won’t get into now) but the gist of OCD is the alternation of “obsessions” and “compulsions.” An obsession is a repeated, intrusive thought. A compulsion is performing a certain action in response to the thought. Like many people, when I think of OCD, I think of irrational fears of asymmetry and disorganization, a fear of contamination or uncleanliness, or peculiar habits like checking the stove ten times before leaving the house. Then it hit me…

Wait. That IS me.

But there’s more to it. A compulsion to an obsessive thought doesn’t necessarily mean a physical action. It could be a mental action- in other words, certain thoughts (or “triggers”) invoke certain mental responses. For example, in the “religious” or “moral OCD” subtype, whenever a person commits a morally reprehensible act, their mental response is the crippling fear that they have angered a deity (or questioning their salvation), and their physical response could be persistent, ritualistic behaviors of absolution (like confessing sins to a priest, reciting religious incantations, participating in religious ceremonies [like altar calls]). Then it hit me…

Wait. That IS me.

Suddenly, the agony of being unsaved since a youth, my tireless self-diagnosing and fear of imminent doom, my habit of checking doors, lights, air-conditioners, faucets, and burner controls several times before leaving the house, my meticulous perfectionism and punctuality, my obsession for cleanliness and organization, my strict minimalism, and a slew of other unmentionable problems that causes me to overthink, catastrophize, and agonize… it all makes perfect sense now. I’ve had OCD since I was kid.

With this new discovery, I realize that I am saved. I do believe I am swallowed by God’s grace! But my obsessive-compulsive tendencies have been berating me since the beginning. There’s still a lot I need to figure out. My journey has only begun.

Before I wrap this up, this discovery opens major questions. I would love to hear your opinions:

To what extent (if any) can mental health disorders be categorized as “spiritual warfare?”

Why do some sects of Christianity tend to diminish the plight of mental health disorders?

Why are mental health disorders especially stigmatized among some Asian-American Christians?

Aaaaand that’s how John Calvin exposed my OCD. Now you know the story behind “faith and paranoia.”

nak.

[snacc-noir]

8 and j

8 - “Make me”

j- Canon

Had to make this Ladrien bc they big flirts

-

“Adrien?! What are you doing here?!”

Something Marinette has learnt from panic, pink-cheeks, and her close friend humiliation, is that around Adrien Agreste, there’s a point where her mouth has to shut up.

Except Marinette isn’t Marinette right now.

—Well, she is, obviously, but he doesn’t know that.

Adrien thinks Ladybug is the audacious monster who dares shout, “Get out!” at his undeserving, gorgeous face in the wax storage room of Musée Grévin, seconds after seeing him.

Besides the utter devastation that comes a second after delivering her regret, it doesn’t subtract the bizarreness of her classmate—seemingly just as panicked to see her as she is him—in a pantry of wax on a Sunday afternoon during an akuma activated by wax-sculpting perfectionism.

“Wh-Sorry!” she ‘recovers’, the door slamming shut behind her. The beady light flickers above them and casts a shadow under Adrien’s agape mouth. “You surprised me! That’s all! Not often you see the world famous model Adrien Agreste in a storage room full of wax heads and body parts! Haha! My lucky day! Not that I’m lucky, I mean, oh that’s awkward; I’m Ladybug. But you know that. We’ve met before. We’re friends! Ha! Wait, are we friends? I don’t know. I’m sorry! I’ll just—” ‘shut up shut up shut up’, “Hang on, why are you here?”

Adrien’s jaw is limp. His eyes are majestically pretty but searching as he looks at her. There’s a light flair to the skin of his cheeks as he clears his throat.

“First of all, I’d love to be friends. Second, I was just visiting the museum.”

“Right! Yes, of course.” She nods. Like, five times. It’s very embarrassing. “And, the, uh, room of wax limbs?”

“Oh! That! Yeah,” he also nods, except only twice because he’s much more suave, “Chat Noir told me to hide just a minute ago, actually. He’s super caring like that.”

He must have done that before detransforming, she realises. He was quite close to his last beep last time she saw him, so it was a risk stopping for Adrien. At least both are fine and the former’s identity is safe.

“Right, sorry for yelling.”

He laughs. The nerve of him: does he not know what that sound does to a girl’s heart?

“It’s okay. I didn’t mind.”

She giggles away the blush. “Oh? You didn’t mind a bit of authority, did you?”

Adrien shrugs, a smirk playing at his lips as the awkward tension fizzles away from their sudden comfort with each other. She’s not Marinette right now - this won’t come to bite her back at school tomorrow. Technically, she’s free to say whatever—

“You could say I don’t mind a lady who can kick ass.”

She gasps, inaudibly.

And for a fleeting second, that confident and offly-familiar grin droops with regret before she blurts,

“I can kick your ass any day.”

Adrien gasps, loudly.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

What. Was. Going. On.

Her earrings beep.

Oh!

Oh oh! Akuma attack! Destransforming and meeting Chat back at the entrance for round two! That’s what she should be focusing on!

Not Adrien’s ass!

As his eyes slink to her noisy jewellery, she does the only thing she can. She intrudes their moment confidently with a cocked hip and her next conmand,

“Now get out.”

His grin is derisive and his green eyes are sharp.

He leans in, leaving less room between them.

“Make me.”

He did not just-

Ladybug’s yoyo falls with a clunk, rosebud mouth rounding in the purest of incredulity. A beat passes, a second, and finally a third, before the senses that went for a hike return with a passionate,

“Make you?!”

He seems delighted by her squeak, if anything.

But seeing that pride, that snark, she doesn’t falter. Instead, she rises on the balls of her feet, chin tilting, eyebrows inward, and takes Adrien in by one sweep of a powerful glance.

“Fine.” Another beep. He smirks wider. “If you’re going to be stubborn, Adrien. I’ll ‘make you’.”

She whips her yoyo out, strapping it around him and securing it defiantly. The door is kicked open and the tied teen spins out the threshold by the hand of the yoyo. He catches his balance before meeting her smile with one of his own.

“Go hide somewhere else, friend.”

The door slams.

Light engulfs her.

Marinette breathes heavily with her back moulded with the door.

Now isn’t the time to overthink. After the akuma attack, maybe she’d have some time to dwell:

What on earth was that?!

[amandayuebing]

My Life is Very Shoujo Manga, Chapter 2: Mal, you cheeky little liar...

I’m writing right now from UNSW’s judo dojo, just across the hall from the kendo competition going on right now, as I wait for the competition to wrap up so I can go out on a date with my boyfriend. I’m excited! 

There’s been a bit of a gap between my last post and writing/publishing this one because I need to admit to you guys, I’ve been having my dreaded perfectionism paralysis… And I’ve been procrastinating by watching “Jane the Virgin” on Netflix-- omg it’s such a great show!! If you haven’t watched it yet, you should give it a go.

And ironically, “Jane the Virgin” is also about a writer who sometimes gets perfectionism paralysis (except my story doesn’t involve an accidental artificial insemination or a rich, hot, baby-daddy (yet 😉 oh ho ho...), and I’m writing this story mostly for fun, and not as an aspiring writer.

I just want you guys to be able to see my story the way I see it— how crazy, but amazing it’s been! How so many times I’ve questioned in my life, “is this really happening?! It sounds straight out of the plot of something ridiculously fiction...” Like a… that’s right! Shoujo manga.

But, yes. What better background to write about the memories of when I first started kendo then to be directly opposite a kendo competition? I can literally smell the kendo in the air right now. (Thank god the judo dojo has its windows open, on this hot, stinking day...)

Let’s jump in!

Once my first kendo class finished, I knew it wouldn’t be a week later until I’d see our favourite kendo club president, Tony, again. I was looking forward to that day, but at the same time dreading it because of how terrible I was that first class. Plus I was starting to have doubts. Doubts like:

1) This is silly… How can you be so interested in somebody when you don’t even know them yet…? Like what do you actually like about him?

2) Do you guys even have anything in common…? Like, you’re one of the least athletically gifted people you know. No, you ARE the least athletically gifted person you know. How many frisbees did you take to the head during P.E. class? How did you even get into law school with all those frisbees to the head?!

3) What if he has a girlfriend…? Surely a cutie like him cannot be single… 

(These are summarised. But when I go into moments of doubt, they just spiral everywhere!)

My main concern was if we were each other’s type… But who was I kidding? I was concerned about everything LOL. I am an obsessive over-thinker!

But man, what better way to crush your doubts about your crush than for your best friend to force you stand righhtt in front of your crush, the university kendo club president (and dojo steward) while he’s leading the whole class for warm-up, and let him and the entire class watch you embarrass yourself. Again. (Mal last lesson: “I won’t do anything bad…” Uh huh, Mal 😒... really?)

I was probably even worse this class because that warm-up? I didn’t get it at all... Tony stood in front of us stretched leaning to the right, and I wasn’t sure whether I was meant to lean to his right or mine. I chose a side. Apparently the wrong side. 

Tony cracked up.

For a second, I was mortified. It was so embarrassing! But then I couldn’t help it. I cracked up! Which made him crack up. 

“Oh my god... I am going to get my ass KICKED, or get KICKED OUT of this class for sure!” I cringed. 

Luckily that didn’t happen.

But I did try my best during that class. And also did my best not to be a distraction to Tony or the rest of the class who wanted to learn... I mean, I really wanted to learn too! I had a freaking stalker! I needed to look like a bad-ass!! 

Oh, that’s right! I haven’t told you guys about my stalker!

So before Tony and I met, I had a stalker who had been following me around for about a year... He was still stalking me at the time I joined kendo. So, when Mal and the girls at the kendo stand tried to convince me to learn how to be a bad-ass and defend myself by hitting people with a big-ass stick?! Hell yeah, it sounded like a sign!

My stalker was a guy who lived in the same on-campus building as I did. Let’s call him... Russell. Russell was significantly older than me (at least 10 years older?), followed me by popping up at unwanted times (he somehow managed to pop up so frequently, and in such unexpected places), and would not leave me alone, even though I expressed I was uncomfortable around him.

He would approach me at very inappropriate times e.g. When I was walking home with groceries alone as the sun was just starting to set (this is actually what happened the first time we met); when I was alone on elevators; in an alleyway, as I was late-night Christmas shopping with just my female cousin, and basically any time... And his intention was definitely to have a threatening and sinister presence around me, as he would not go away when asked. 

Obviously, after that, I would try to limit the amount of time I was alone. But the difficulty was the fact he would only appear when I was alone or in the company of just another female. Never when I was with a male, or in a group of friends. So some of my closest friends doubted he even existed, or that he was as sinister as I felt he was. 

“I’ve never seen someone around that fits that description…”, “There are heaps of people who look like that. How do you know it’s the same guy or you’re just freaking out about every time someone talks to you that looks like  that?”, “Maybe it’s a coincidence he turns up at those times?” “Take it as a compliment…”

But what isn’t sinister about a man staring intensely, directly at me, as an elevator door was closing because I refused to get in with him. Or him stepping out of that empty elevator to stand, wordlessly, facing me, within a couple inches. Staring down at me as I waited in the lobby for the next elevator, while there was ample room for him to stand elsewhere. And him moving closer when I took steps away from him, uncomfortably.

Then, when two elevators arrive, one slightly after the other, and I saw him definitely walk towards the one that arrived first, and I ran to take the one that he wasn’t riding so I could hurry and close the door, then have him lunge towards the elevator I was on and wait until he’s last to press his floor button, despite being the closest to the buttons... Him pressing a floor above everyone else’s (even though you know he lives on a lower floor because he told you the first time you met). 

Remembering all this is honestly giving me chills...

Around this time, just as I was starting kendo, the stalker situation was getting worse. Just three days after I joined, I was studying in one of the common areas of my university housing apartment, while Dad slept on a couch nearby, I ran into my stalker, again. It was honestly so unpleasant. I had just walked out of the bathroom when I saw him walk out of the elevator. 

When he saw me, his head turned slowly and smirked, and followed me back to my desk where I had been studying. 

He started the conversation with a creepy, “heyyyy,” and honestly I don’t remember what else he talked to me about because I just told him angrily, “leave me alone,” repeatedly, and my dad sat up sleepily. I heard Russell murmur an “oh..” before dashing off to the elevators and disappeared.

But back to kendo. (Okay, I am going to be honest and tell you guys early on: if you guys are here to read about awesome and exciting recounts of kendo matches, this isn’t it.)

When the class ended, Mal wanted to stay back a little and get to know the people a little more… (Reminder: “I won’t do anything too bad... Promise” -- Mal, the previous class.)

We talked to a bunch of people, but I got to particularly talk to a girl named Marianne. She was really nice, but something about her gave me this bad vibe...

She introduced me to a couple named Ivan and June, and introduced them as “another” couple in the kendo club. But what was odd was she didn’t explain who the first couple was... Then she introduced Tony as her “punching bag”, and asked him, “isn’t she cute?” (referring to me). And I mean, obviouslyyy he answered “yes, she is” 😉😉 (internal me: *flower pose* 😌🌸). I thought I saw just a flash of jealousy cross her face, but she smiled at Tony sweetly.

I thought Marianne was nice and there were things I liked about her personality, like how bold and self-assured she seemed, and how she genuinely seemed friendly. 

Everything we’d been talking about up until that moment Tony joined in seemed so genuine and I— I knew I had a habit of overthinking, but at the same time, when you get a feeling about something, there’s usually a reason for it, right?

At this moment I felt clues for my 3 doubts being answered:

1) What do I like about him? After two lessons, I could still see the positive things I saw him the first time we interacted. How he’s serious about what he does, but doesn’t take himself too seriously. How he’s kind, patient, sweet, charming..... Yeah, yeah, you guys don’t really want me to go on.

2) Am I his type? Yes, yes, I think! Chance to celebrate anyway.

3) Does he have a girlfriend...? Well......... Although Marianne didn’t outright claim him, it felt like she kinda was. But there was no harm in getting to know him (and her), and I would back off if I needed to... The thought of that made me a little sad, because although we’d just met, I was starting to really like him.

With so much going on, I had so much to think about, and as I was walking home sometime after 10pm, Tyler messaged me with “hey AManda” but I ignored him. What is with this guy and his bad timing?!

(I haven’t explained who Tyler is yet, but you guys will find out soon.)

[ericdanielmedina]

My Hero: Charlie Chaplin

If there was anyone in this world who has influenced my way of living and has made a significant impact in my life, it’s definitely Charlie Chaplin.

I think most of us know Chaplin as the silent actor who wore a Hitler-like mustache and sported the famous bowler hat. But I don’t think too many people really knew who Chaplin really was. There’s a reason why he has gone down in history as a true icon. He wasn’t only an actor, but also a writer, director, producer, editor, and composer. But beyond entertainment, Chaplin was a true humanitarian.

Charlie Chaplin was the epitome of a perfectionist. He made sure he got the shot he wanted. If not, he would do take after take after take. A lot of people who worked with Chaplin despised him for this, but that was just his nature. That perfectionism even followed him outside of the studio. When Chaplin wasn’t behind or in front of the camera, he was dreaming of a perfect world. 

“A decent world that will give men a chance to work - that will give youth a future and old age a security”.

He was a very passionate man with a lot of desire. Some of those desires gave him a bad reputation, though. His desire for younger girls was something everyone in Hollywood knew about. The man was flawed, but he only desired love; love that he lost once before and was hoping to recapture it. But aside from his love life, the man loved the world even more. He had a huge heart for children, as he saw them as innocent and the future leaders of tomorrow. As corrupt and dirty as humanity was, Chaplin never gave up on others. The iconic speech in ‘the Great Dictator’ was a complete reflection of Chaplin’s views and beliefs - and that is why Chaplin is my hero.

I believe that I am a lot like Chaplin: flawed, but full of passion and love for humanity. 

Growing up, I never really had much of a desire to be the “change this world needed”, as Gandhi once stated. I cared only for myself and I didn’t bother getting to know anyone else. I just felt comfortable where I was and how I was in life. 

But I believe the turning point that made me first feel for others was when I visited Tanzania, Africa for a church mission trip. Coming home from that trip, I just couldn’t stop thinking about the children and all the families who lived in those unfinished homes. Some homes didn’t have roofs, doors, or windows. Homes were infested with ants and mosquitos, but not one kid looked sad. They would laugh and play soccer outside with friends. That was their life. And I remember coming home and crying in the shower, because I didn’t think it was fair that Americans and other 1st world countries could have something as simple as water, but yet, people in Africa had to go find water that may not even be sanitary for consumption.

But what made me into the person today was a mix of a broken heart and the words of Charlie Chaplin:

“We think too much and feel too little.”

Those eight words have stuck with me for over 5 years and are the essence of my core belief system of living a life filled with pure genuine love for others without bias.

I believe we all think too much and feel too little at times. Even me. As much as I feel, I probably think even more. I’m constantly thinking about my life in the future, the past, and the present. I think about things I could do or could have done. I sometimes even overthink the simplest things when in actuality, the answer is right in front of me. 

My parents would always tell me to go with my gut instinct and to never second guess myself. The idea of feeling something is incredible because a feeling will take us so much further than if we just constantly overthink everything and over analyze simple concepts. Thinking can sometimes leave us stuck and prevent us from obtaining what we need.

What I admired about Chaplin was that he wasn’t focused on one group of people or one idea.

“In the 17th chapter of Saint Luke it was written: “the Kingdom of God is in man”- Not one man nor a group of men, but in all men! In you!” 

He was focused on humanity as a whole. He didn’t pick and choose a specific group to show love to. Men, women, and children of all kind. Not just brown people, not just white, not just male, not just female. Everyone. 

Every once in a while, I will listen to Chaplin’s speech. It’s a reminder that the world has not changed in over 78 years. That speech is more true today than it was in 1940. I even started a tradition in which I will play his speech at midnight on New Years Eve as a way to start the year off with a reminder of where the world is and how I need to be a better person for this imperfect world.

Bono, lead singer of the band U2, once sang, “You can’t change the world, but you can change the world in you.”  That quote is exactly how I see Charlie Chaplin. He wasn’t out to change the world. He was out to get people to change the world within themselves, because before we can fix the world we have to fix ourselves first. 

My internal world changed after I broke up with my ex girlfriend in 2016. At that moment, life just tossed a bucket of ice cold water on top of my head in order to wake me up and to be a better person. It was the cold water that I needed. Along the way, Chaplin has been there to keep me focused on who I am supposed to be; not just for myself, but for others, and for the world around me. 

My desire for others has grown over the years and I know it’ll only continue to grow from here on. I like to think Charlie Chaplin has played a huge role in that desire.

If I am to end this blog on any quote, it’s this:

“More than cleverness we need kindness and gentleness. Without these qualities, life will be violent and all will be lost.”