Sitting crossed legged on the floor, in rows with other youths and hearing my friend’s pastor read selected Bible verses woke a part of my past, the life I used to be part of when I attended Sunday School regularly as a little girl. Back then, life was supposed to be perfect. Those were the days when I really believed in the Christian God, almighty father figure of the church, unconditionally and I really did love him. However, this was also the time when my real father got up and left his family. Life changed. The weekly routine familiar to a little girl became broken. There was nobody to take the kids to Church anymore, to take the kids to school if we were late and ultimately, instead of remaining children, we were supposed to grow up overnight. While I was dealing with these newfound emotions, a new feeling of hate crept in. Soon, I was feeling dark and resentful towards all things related to father figures. Faith was lost for this little girl, either because I was not able to attend church on a regular basis or I merely lost interest in all things associated with the past.

Five years ago, I cried inside a church. I let the tears shamelessly stream down from my face with my eyes still shut. I do not remember anyone else, if either the person sitting next to or behind me felt the same emotions of guilt washing away and being replaced with renewed fresh feelings. These feelings that were always there but hidden, misinterpreted from thinking how can I still have faith without the guidance of being under a chapel ceiling, superficial because all one needs is to believe. Eventually this settled into my current principle of, have a belief in any faith, hold it close to the heart and be guided to live self-consciously every single day of your life.

I am not an atheist nor am I a polytheist, the two extreme opposites in respect towards religion. As mentioned earlier, in my youth I experimented with Christianity and though touched by the gospels, was not moved by the teachings. The thought that one has to attend church on certain days of the week to obtain a higher spiritual sense of being, I felt was false. The years I spent away from the Church helped clarify my own personal true sense of spirituality. The God I looked up to as a little girl was created to be perfect. The God I know now with my eyes closed is imperfect, but He is still the almighty one, just more on an approachable level. He is not the Jehovah’s Witness that comes knocking on your door at 8 a.m. in the morning, but the good neighbor getting an early start on his yard who helps to mow half of your side of the lawn. God is not in the one asking for monetary donations to build a church to house his people, but instead, He is with the ones contributing time to Habitat for Humanity to help build a house for those in need of shelter. He is real.

I used to think that people who attended Church were good people and if you did not attend church, then you were going to hell. The period of my life when I stopped going to church had been my hell. I realized that attending a building ordained as a place of worship did not solve the real life crises that were happening. It had no significant correlation to sudden life changes that came from suddenly becoming a child of a single parent or the bitterness that follows any negative breaks from the norm.

Two relics I have from my Christian days are Bibles, one bound in white and the other in black.

The symbolism of these Bible covers is exemplified in my current religious state. Even though I was never formally introduced to Taoism, except for the occasional visit to a temple with my mother during vacation, these visits have stayed with me and even haunted my dreams. What has happened in the past cannot be changed, but what can be changed is the present and future so I chose to believe that when something good happens in life it is the result of bad past experiences. This belief, may be borrowing a touch of the Taoist belief of yin and yang to demonstrate symbolically the balances of white and black in respect to the light and darkness.

However, some things about religion never changes; a temple is still just another building of worship for another belief one puts her faith in. I do not have the luxury of often going on a vacation where there are temples nearby, but whenever I feel the need to be in touch with the Taoist faith that naturally stirs in my heart, all I need to do is believe.

It has been years since I last visited another Church and over a decade since my last visit to a temple. But whenever the occasion arises when I question who and what is God, I can rest assured that he exists in a form, uncomplicated and customized to fit individuals who believe. I will never forget God, sometimes I still call for his help when lost and find myself picking up a Bible for old times sake. And like my ancestors before me who worshipped Taoist saints, unconsciously I have gained a new appreciation for life and I’m still learning how to live faithfully. I believe in a life full of worth and cause, maybe with a bit of pain because life is, overall, real.

Li is a Halfway Staff Writer

One of the first pen pals I remember exchanging letters with was actually a friend of a friend. I remember a gathering where high school alums visited the current graduating class to congratulate them and offer advice when a friend of mine introduced me to his friend, who was going off to military school. Through encouragement from my friend, that summer I started to write letters to a boy in military school. I knew nothing about this guy, so I often wrote in order to gather the basic information on his likes and dislikes, hobbies and favorite color. Surprisingly enough, I did not have to wait long to get letters in reply.

It was my first year living in the dorms as a college freshman and since my friends were attending different universities, I looked forward to receiving mail from familiar names, even if from someone I had only met once. I am guessing the same applied to the pen pal, in military school located in a remote part of the country, lonely after the endless hours of field training. The letters flew back and forth for only half a year. The romantic notions of a young girl trying to serve a country at the home front by keeping one future man-at-arms company through letters now seems like a silly idea. The only romantic spark was on paper and signed with one word, ‘love.’ then sealed with his signature. With the school year progressing, the letters, responses become fewer and less awaiting. I had already made some new friends and become busier with talking to them than writing to him. This pen pal friendship was a short lived moment and both of us gradually stopped writing.

The next great pen pal moment in my life was born from a chatroom. My family purchased a computer one summer and I had never surfed on the net before. Soon I become a newbie to the Internet and enthralled with the concept of real-time conversations. One of my favorite chatrooms at the time was a global site where one could chat with users from different parts of the world. I become an avid visitor to the website and formed an online friendship with one of the members. Both of us shared similar interests and backgrounds; being born in the same country, the same age and the same grade in college, and our personalities meshed wonderfully, even, if only in the virtual reality. The member lived in Taiwan but wanted to visit the United States some day, and I lived in the States but wanted to go back to Taiwan one day. We ended up exchanging our addresses and promised to write to each other.

The first letter I received was an exciting moment since I never had a friend living overseas. But now I could officially say that I have a friend in Taiwan, other than my loving relatives and cousins, of course. I enjoyed reading my new pen pal’s letters and writing back to ask more questions about our country of birth and absorbing every piece of information answered. I was hungry for more tidbits about my new friend living overseas. I wanted to know everything about the average local youth, the type of music, fashion, and trends of the moment. I was mentally planning a secret trip overseas that would never happen, but if it did, I would be in the know and could blend in. I think the same planning was going across the ocean because my pen pal also bombarded me with questions about my school and social life.

As our friendship progressed, we started to exchange photos with our letters. When I mentioned to my mother about the photos, she wanted to see them and it never occurred to me that this friendship could turn into something serious, but to others it could sound so. The distance between our locations was just too far to concoct anything more than a friendship, but I showed my parent the photos of my cute-looking overseas friend. In a relieved voice, my mother agreed that my pen pal was a cute-looking girl. Then I hear mumbling, sounding like when I am going to find a nice Taiwanese boy to introduce home, etc. And I couldn’t help thinking to myself, I wonder how my mother feels about military boys.

The military pen pal did not last, but I still keep in touch with my overseas pen pal. We are both currently busy young adults, but still find time to keep in contact through the new age version of communicating, by email. Occasionally an air mail stamped letter find its way through one of our mailboxes and it never ceases to brighten up my day. I will always remember the pen pals from my past and there are many more special correspondents that I did not forget to name because they are priceless, someday when one of you become famous, I will have your signatures on paper to show and tell. Until then, keep on writing to your pen pals and creating memories on paper.

Li is a Halfway Contributor

Then in college, a miracle occurred. In the first year alone, I was introduced to many cultural experiences. I made friends with others like me: friends with yellow skin tones. Asian friends. I accepted myself for who I was and where I was from, an Asian country named Taiwan. In an euphoric sweep, I literally wrapped myself in Asian-centric extra-curricular activities to make up for lost time, including joining an Asian-Interest sorority, taking up three semesters of Mandarin for my foreign language requirement, and finally having some Asian best friends who made college life enjoyable.

The change that occurred just a couple years ago is that if I am now asked, “Where were you born,” my answer is “I am from Taiwan.” I still speak English fluently, being schooled in America since pre-school and above, but I can also speak Taiwanese, as learned at home. The order of languages in which I am fluent remains the same, however the tone of voice holds more pride when mentioning the latter.