I was raised Catholic, though my faith has changed many times and in many ways over the years. What has remained constant is this, my faith shows up in how I try to be a good neighbor. A kind, compassionate witness. A helper when help is needed.
If there is a God, I believe she would want us to do everything we can to make the world more whole. Even through all the bulls#it. Especially through it.
The Bible stories that have always stayed with me are the ones about being different. About choosing what is right even when it’s unpopular. About acting with integrity when people disapprove, as long as no one is being harmed. In the end, we are the ones who have to live with our choices. Every day.
For seven years, I was with a UCC pastor. We were engaged, and the main reason I’m in Rochester is because Kayla was called to serve as an associate pastor here. In many ways, I lived the life of a pastor’s “wife” for a long time.
We’ve been broken up for fifteen years now (which is crazy to type), and she recently marked ten years serving her two churches in OKC. That relationship was spiritually formative in my life. It shaped me deeply. Faith during those years wasn’t theoretical. It was lived. Practiced. Argued over. Wrestled with.
What I learned is that belief isn’t about certainty. It’s about responsibility.
She once said something to me that never left, "We create our own heaven and hell. We don’t have to wait for the afterlife to experience either. We live them now." As someone who actively manages my mental health, I know how true that is. Many of us have lived in a hell we built in our own minds.
Ash Wednesday is a reset for me. One of the few practices I still faithfully keep from my upbringing. Lent gives me a container. A pause. A chance to let go of what no longer serves me and to make space for something better. This year, that feels especially important.
In 2026, faith cannot stay abstract. It has to show up in how we respond to injustice. In how we organize locally. In how we protect our neighbors when systems fail them. In how we care for the Earth like it actually belongs to all of us, not just those with power and profit.
For the next 40 days, I’ll be sharing reflections and highlighting local people and groups doing the quiet, necessary work of mutual aid. Neighbors helping neighbors. Repair instead of indifference. Presence instead of denial.
We are made of stardust. We will return to stardust. What matters is how we care for one another and this planet in the time we are given.
Ash Wednesday Lenten Reflection:
“Is not this the kind of fasting I have chosen:
to loose the chains of injustice
and untie the cords of the yoke,
to set the oppressed free
and break every yoke?"
— Isaiah 58:6
Ash Wednesday isn’t about shame or self-punishment. It’s a pause. A truth-telling. A reminder that our lives are finite and therefore meaningful.
The ashes don’t say “you are nothing.” They say, “you are responsible.” Responsible for how we show up. For who we protect. For what we refuse to normalize. For how we love our neighbors and this Earth in real, tangible ways.
If Lent is a fast, let it be a fast from indifference. If Lent is repentance, let it be a turning away from harm. If Lent is preparation, let it prepare us to act with courage, clarity, and compassion.
May these forty days loosen what binds us, strengthen what grounds us, and move us closer to repair. As above so below.
Be well.
Stay safe.
Take care of yourself. Take care of each other.
Before the flowers, the fancy restaurant dinners, and the Instagram declarations of “my person,” let’s talk about something less aesthetic.
Self-abandonment.
People can control themselves. They choose not to. It is insulting to pretend otherwise.
When someone says, “If you hadn’t acted that way, I wouldn’t have reacted like that,” what they’re really saying is, "I am entitled to hurt you when I feel uncomfortable."
Abuse doesn’t start with a punch. It starts with control. With blame shifting. With emotional manipulation that happens in private, while a curated version of love is performed in public.
And here’s the uncomfortable truth. Some of the couples we admire are not okay behind closed doors.
You didn’t “see that side” of them? Of course you didn’t. People who know they’re wrong don’t showcase it. They protect their reputation. They protect their power. They protect the narrative.
Power and privilege normalize abuse. Especially when it comes to men who have been taught that women and girls exist to serve, soothe, validate, and absorb their emotional volatility.
Let’s be clear in 2026, it is not a male loneliness crisis. It is a male emotional laziness crisis.
Loneliness is human. Emotional laziness is a choice.
Too many men were never taught to regulate themselves, to communicate directly, to sit with discomfort, to hear “no” without experiencing it as an ego injury. And too often, women are expected to do that labor for them.
We need to be better. And we need to demand better.
Love is not control.
Love is not intimidation.
Love is not surveillance.
Love is not “prove yourself to me.”
Love absolutely includes respect for a woman’s body autonomy. Always. No negotiation.
And let me say this gently but firmly:
Being single is not a failure.
It is not a waiting room.
It is not a deficiency.
If someone is not coming in correct, not adding peace, not respecting your boundaries, not making your life more grounded instead of more chaotic, why would you hand over your time, energy, body, and peace and pH balance to that?
You don’t owe anyone access to you just because it’s Valentine’s season.
Not everyone is having a happy Valentine’s Day. Some people are surviving relationships that are slowly shrinking them. Some are rebuilding after finally leaving. Some are learning to be alone without abandoning themselves.
Love should feel safe.
Love should feel steady.
Love should feel like expansion, not erosion.
Anyone who truly loves you will not treat you like something disposable once your presence stops serving their ego.
Choose peace. Choose wholeness. Choose yourself.
Flowers are nice.
Safety is better.
Working customer service feels a little like being both the bouncer and the stripper at the club. I have to make sure people act right, don’t abuse employees, and don’t scare other customers. And when people pay, they sometimes toss crumpled bills at me like I’m part of the show. Debit cards too.
What I’ve learned is that people either really like me or are a little afraid of me. There doesn’t seem to be much middle ground. But even the ones who are afraid of me at least respect me. I guess that’s just customer service.
On a busy day I can have 400 conversations. On a slow day, a couple hundred. Most are forgettable, some are kind, a few are rough. My coworkers can remember people’s names and what they buy every day. I used to be able to do that too. Now, between law school and life, I just don’t have the mental hard drive space for all that trivial nonsense.
But I’ve realized something important. People want to feel cared for. They want to feel seen. They want to matter. With everything happening in the world, especially with an administration that reduces entire groups of people to “the worst of the worst,” it’s easy to become numb. It’s easy to flatten people into one-dimensional images. Standing behind that counter reminds me every day that I don’t know the life someone is going home to after they buy their gas, energy drinks, or cigarettes. All I know is that in that brief interaction, I have a chance to make someone feel human.
And it goes both ways.
I’ve had customers yell at me and then come back later to apologize. I never asked for it, but I appreciated it. Not just the apology, but the self-reflection that came with it. I try to do the same. I’m the first to apologize when I know I’m wrong. I’ll even apologize to a door if I bump into it. Very Asian of me.
I question myself constantly. My opinions, my assumptions, where they come from. I’ve always been deeply self-reflective and far more self-critical than most people realize. Nothing in my life was handed to me. Opportunity only matters if you’re willing to take risks and do the work.
I’m 51 years old, working at a gas station, and going to law school. That says a lot about who I am. Some days I fail badly. I disappoint myself. I disappoint others. But more often than not, I’ve given more than I’ve received.
No matter how tired or frustrated I get, when I fall, I lie there for a minute, and then I get back up. I keep trying to do better. For myself. For my community.
Some people have been part of my journey. Some have dropped off. New folks join along the way. At every point, I’m grateful for the people who showed up when they did. But gratitude doesn’t mean you have to keep everyone forever. It’s okay to outgrow people who want you to stay small, stay stuck, or stay silent.
Growth requires different company. And that’s okay too. Some people get to be part of that journey. Others don’t.
