Why I Eat Raw Ramen

Uncooked, dry, straight from the package. I break off bite-size chunks and crunch away. It’s a wonderful snack.

People think I’m weird for eating Ramen this way. But let me explain why I do this. Travel back in time—just a few months—with me.

We all gathered around the polished wooden table outside the house. Cambodian students sat around me, their white shirts and blue skirts and shorts damp with perspiration. We laughed and played UNO, and I learned how to say colors in Khmer, and they told me stories about their day at school. Another student joined us — and she brought with her a pack of Ramen. 

The students’ faces lit up, and they hurriedly tore open the package and began breaking off chunks of dried noodles, occasionally dipping it into the silver packet of salty flavoring. They were thoroughly enjoying themselves.

Then a student turned to me, and handing me a piece of dry Ramen, she motioned for me to dip it in the flavoring. Continually touched by their generosity in the midst of material poverty, I did…and it was delicious. And my heart was full.

My heart was full.

This is why I eat raw Ramen. Because in that moment, we had no air conditioning, we had no hipster-coffee-shop-environment, and we had no fancy options for entertainment like the movie theater or a mall. 

But we had each other. We had laughter and connection and meaningful (albeit broken) conversation. We had community and we shared. They welcomed me into their lives joyfully, and we shared our hearts, our hurts—and our Ramen.

I eat raw Ramen because it takes me back to a time when I had the privilege of sitting around the table with English students and church members I came to love more than I thought possible. By eating dry Ramen, I bring a little bit of the simplicity of Cambodian life into my American routine, and I remember the things that are truly important. I remember to value laughter and connection and community and honesty and sharing. I remember to invite others into my life and am inspired to be in a community in which we willingly and gratefully share our hearts and our hurts.

As I sit on my bed and eat raw Ramen tonight, I invite you into that community as well. Let’s learn from each other and take time to appreciate each other’s presence. Let’s share our hearts and our hurts and our dreams. And our Ramen. I promise I’ll always share my Ramen with you.

This post is dedicated to the English students of Love Cambodia Center in Kratie, Cambodia, whom I had the pleasure of teaching during the summer of 2014. They stole my heart and I couldn’t get it back, even when I came back to the States. As I prepare to return to visit for a week, I am reminded how much they taught me about life and love. Please pray for these students as they courageously go against the grain of their culture to seek Jesus and know His love.

The Nurse Who Lost Her Super

At my alma mater, it’s a tradition for each graduating nursing class to design a t-shirt and wear it to the nursing convocation their last semester. The shirt my graduating class designed had the Superman logo on it, except with “RN” in place of “S.” Underneath the logo it said, “What’s your superpower?”

We all laughed and joked about how nursing was a superpower. Secretly we believed it was true — it took extraordinary work, perseverance, and the grace of God to get through the nursing program. 

A few weeks ago, I sat in my bed contemplating an important realization and confession: I am a nurse. And I am not a superhero.

When I started my job, I had healthy expectations: I would have questions — a lot of them — and I would struggle at first, and I would have grace on myself, and things would eventually get better.

But somewhere along the way, perfectionism got the better of me. My desire to be a “good nurse” morphed into a desire to be a perfect nurse. I began to think it was possible not to forget a single thing in a day, for all my patients to like me, to be on top of things all day long. I wanted to be a perfect nurse. I wanted to be a superhero.

Outside of the hospital, I have been on a journey away from finding my worth in performance (the essence of perfectionism) to finding worth in who I am. I learned the reason I grieved so deeply for patients I saw in Cambodia (patients whose names I didn't even know) was that I believed they had inherent worth and value just because they were human beings; they were God’s creation. Through this I came to understand that I, too, have inherent worth and value for the same simple reason. This brought freedom from striving for worth and allowed me to embrace imperfections, grace, and Gospel anew.

Yet in the hospital setting, as stress set in, I lost track of my healthy desire to be a good nurse and bought into the alluring illusion of perfectionism once again. I began to believe it was possible to be a perfect nurse if I just tried hard enough or had enough experience. Of course, this led to a great big let-down when I failed to live up to my superhero standards. Things happened that I didn’t want to happen, things both under and out of my control. Family members got angry, patients fell, charting was delayed, meds were given late — just to name a few.

Thus I asked this question: if I could not be a super nurse or a superhero, then what was I as a nurse?

Here’s the definition I came up with: I am a human helping other humans.

I am no better than the sick patient lying in the hospital bed. I have no magical capabilities due to completing nursing school. I don’t have a 64 gig memory stick in my head to keep track of all the things I’m doing or am asked to do (maybe it would take 128 gigs, anyway). I forget things. I make mistakes. I say things I shouldn’t, or maybe I don’t say things I should. I have to fight to maintain patience or keep my cool. I give all I can, and sometimes that isn’t enough.

To my patients, I’m sorry when I fail you. That isn’t fair to you.

To my fellow nurses, we have unrealistic expectations set up for us from many different sources. In a way, we encourage these unrealistic expectations. We put “I’m a nurse. What’s your superpower?” on mugs and t-shirts and all kinds of nursing paraphernalia. We glorify nursing. I’m not talking about appreciating nursing; I’m talking about taking such pride in our work that we begin to believe that we are or should be more capable and intelligent than non-nurses.

Though this makes us feel special and important and needed, when we buy into the dangerous lie that we have superpowers, we set ourselves up for disappointment.

We may not even recognize this disappointment, but it steadily adds to the detrimental cycle of striving for worth. As nurses, we face massive expectations from those around us. Why add to them and sabotage our profession by becoming the frontline advocates for enforcing those unrealistic expectations upon ourselves? 

Are our actions important? Absolutely. Are there things we do that no one will ever understand except other nurses? Yes. Does what we do at work define who we are as people? No.

Though this post is primarily about nursing, the premise is true for other professions and roles. When we believe we can be perfect super-nurses or super-teachers or super-writers or super-______ (fill in the blank), we are guaranteed only one thing: failure.

When we identify ourselves as our profession before identifying ourselves as humans, we are bound to fall. As someone recently reminded me, we are human beings, not human doings.

When we identify first as humans rather than as nurses/accountants/managers/etc., we gain permission to fail and make mistakes and learn and grow and be enough all in the midst of our imperfections. Isn’t that the best kind of nurse, the best kind of professional? The one who isn’t perfect but who is always learning and improving?

So, let’s not be superheroes. Let’s not pretend we’re superheroes. Let’s not spend our lives striving to achieve superhero status. Let’s be humans. And let’s help other humans the best we can.

What are some unrealistic expectations you face on a regular basis?

How do you respond to these expectations?

I'm Asian, Y'all

“You’re Filipino!” my patient remarked as soon as I walked in the room.

“No, actually I’m not. I do kind of look like it though, don’t I?” I acknowledged with a smile.

“You’re not?” The patient paused only for a moment before looking me in the eye and stating with certainty, “Then you’re Mexican!”

I could only stifle laughter at that point.

I could tell a myriad of stories about people and patients commenting on my race. What my professors didn’t tell me was that somehow, when I received my nursing license, all my patients gained a license, too: license to ask whatever they wanted in the most blunt form possible.

One time a couple asked if I was Mexican or Asian. I replied that I was Asian, and their eyes grew wide. “Ohhhh,” one of them exclaimed. The other said, “I thought so! It’s just…the voice threw me off. The accent confused me. Because to my ears…at least from what I was hearing…" She stumbled through her sentence, "There was no accent!”

Other times various Caucasian patients have tried to speak foreign languages to me, like Japanese and Tagalog, even after I told them I was Chinese. And then there’s the patient who, when I told him my race, said, “I was wondering! I knew you weren’t Texan.” He quickly realized his faux pas and recovered with, “I mean, you are Texan…. We’re all Texan!”

Just for the record: I’m Chinese. I was born in the States. I don’t have an accent because English is my first language. I don’t speak Chinese at all, aside from being able to order dim sum. I do speak some Spanish and a bit of Khmer (Cambodian).

I bring up these stories not simply because they're humorous but also because they matter to me. I am not offended by these comments; in fact, most of the time I find them hilarious. Yet it seems people become downright awkward when asking about race. Sometimes they are rude and insensitive, but mostly they are simply unsure of how to be tactful while acknowledging a difference in skin color.

Thus this post: an outlet for anecdotes as well as some practical suggestions to help navigate what can be an awkward exchange when you need to resolve the secret debate in your family of whether that girl is Korean or Chinese.

Suggestion #1: Please don’t ask, “So…what are you?”

The answer to that is “a human being, just like you.” I don’t know what else to say about this one…

Suggestion #2: Please don’t ask, “Where are you from?”

I used to get stressed when people asked this. I would analyze the situation, them, their cultural background, our conversation and relationship up until that point - all in a couple seconds - before deciding whether to answer, “Houston” or “My family is from China.”

Because if I chose the wrong reply, one of us looked like an idiot. Either I did because they actually wanted to know my hometown, or they did because then they had to find another way to ask my race. Or they followed up with the cringe-worthy, “No, where are you from?”

Now I always answer, “Houston.” I don’t feel like an idiot with that answer because the truth is, that’s where I’m from, and that’s what they asked.

Suggestion #3: Think twice before asking, “What kind of Asian are you?”

What kind of White are you? Not sure different countries can be considered “kinds” of Asia (like “kinds” of candy or clothes or something?). To be fair, depending on context and tone, this can be a tactful way of asking more about someone’s background.

Suggestion #4: Try using more direct words instead of vague questions that leave me wondering what you really want to know. 

I prefer when people ask me questions with the words “race,” “ethnicity,” “cultural heritage,” or any of those combined with “background” (ie, racial/ethnic background).

For example, a couple people with whom I work have asked about my race in straight-forward and non-awkward ways. In fact, the day after I drafted this, I heard someone at work come up behind me and say my name.

“Yes?” I replied.

“What nationality are you?”

“Chinese,” I replied. Thus the mystery was solved and the break-room debate resolved, all in a matter of seconds. No awkwardness involved.

Suggestion #5: Recognize any faux pas, and acknowledge them in conversation.

The patient who said, “I knew you weren’t Texan,” wasn’t trying to be rude. In fact, he was one of the most culturally sensitive patients for whom I’ve cared. Perhaps what showed his sensitivity most was recognizing his mistake and attempting to fix it.
 

Of course, these five suggestions are my preferences, and I don't have a lower view of anyone who asks me, "What are you?" However, hopefully this post offers some help in avoiding awkward situations and unintentional microaggression.

I receive questions about my race so frequently that I used to say if no one commented on my race or age at work, it’d be a landmark day. Recently that landmark day came - but instead of those classic questions, someone asked me something else: "How much do you weigh?"

So, bottom line, even if you don't remember a single suggestion from this Chinese-American, Spanish-speaking Texan: 

Be direct, and be honest, but try not to ask me about my weight!

The Big Hoo-rah about George W. Bush and Shawn Shannon

Today former U.S. president George W. Bush came to UMHB to give a lecture. College students and people in Belton have been talking about this for weeks, and I think for about 48 hours every other post on my Facebook feed will have a #GeorgeW or some mention of this famous Texan man. Okay, maybe I’m exaggerating. But if Facebook tracked what’s “trending in Belton,” this definitely would make the cut.

All this to say, there has been a great big hoo-rah about it. (Not to be confused with hurrah. My sister once told me hoo-rah wasn’t a word, but it’s fun to say and I still hold that it means something like “a big deal”.)

Anyway, there was a big hoo-rah, and though I am impressed that such a big name came to such a small school in such a small town, I share the sentiment of one of my roommates that “He’s just a man.” 

This morning as I sipped my coffee and ran rather mundane errands, I happened to drive past UMHB right at the time Bush was supposed to start speaking. I had this thought: 

“Isn’t it interesting that when Shawn Shannon (UMHB’s Baptist Student Ministry director) speaks at an event, the whole community doesn’t flock to hear her?” 

Though she makes more of an impact on UMHB's campus than any one-time speaker, students don’t sacrifice prime nap time to hear Shawn’s wisdom. I use Shawn as an example because of the substantial mark she’s made in my own life (through both her teaching and her lifestyle), but there are countless others in the community who spend their time quietly challenging, encouraging, and investing in us - day by day, week by week, year by year. 

Yet they do so without the fame. Without the recognition. Without the hoo-rah.

These people, the ones who most impact our lives, tend to be the very people we are least excited to hear from, perhaps because they are so close and so constantly present that we take them for granted.

I recently listened to a talk (via YouTube, of course) by researcher Brené Brown about how we value the approval of the “stranger at the mall” and the people who look down on us much more than we value the acceptance of those who are close to us and freely give their love.(1) She quotes Groucho Marx, who once said, “I sent the club a wire stating, ‘Please accept my resignation. I don’t want to belong to any club that will accept me as a member.’”(2)

In whatever social arena we find ourselves - work, school, church - we crave the favor of those who don’t accept us, and we often place little value in the opinion and acceptance of those who daily traverse the ups and downs of life with us.

This morning I zipped right past UMHB (actually I more puttered since the speed limit is 30), and I did not regret that I was sitting in my car, sipping coffee, running mundane errands. For though there is excitement over meeting someone famous, whether Bush or Obama or anyone else whose name makes the headlines, in the end, it’s just that: meeting them. Not doing life together, celebrating the end of another work week, or grieving a loss.

The Lord’s been teaching me quite a bit about valuing His constant, quiet, faithful companionship, and He's been teaching me about valuing the love of those around me, too - those who support me in their unassuming yet laudable ways. I suppose this is why if Shawn Shannon had been the one speaking at today’s event, I probably would have made more of an effort to attend.

Even though I didn’t hear his lecture, maybe I did get something from #GeorgeW’s speech today, after all: a reminder to take a moment and appreciate those who love us, support us, and do life with us day by day. So here’s to all of you who quietly make a difference by investing in me and in others as a lifestyle: this may only be a simple blog post, but it’s my way of letting you know there's a big hoo-rah about you in my life.

(1) Brené Brown: Why Your Critics Aren't The Ones Who Count (www.youtube.com/watch?v=8-JXOnFOXQk)
(2) www.marx-brothers.org/info/quotes.htm