Chung Life Quotes

Not everything happens for a reason. Sometimes life just sucks.

Once you experience a terrible trauma and understand the world from an extreme perspective, it is difficult to overcome this perspective. Because your very survival depends on it.

Boys say they don't mind how you get your hair done. But then they leave you for someone with really great standard girl hair and the next thing you know you're alone with a masculine crop crying into your granola.

Nobody goes through life without having their heart broken and one day you'll wake up and it will be okay.

I could finally understand the horrific and cruel clarity of what he considered to be meaningful. The desperation and immense fear that your life, as well as the future to come, hinged on a moment.

For some people, their lives are ruled by one shocking event reverberating through their survival instincts. Life shrinks into a trap made up of a shimmering moment in the past, a trap where they endlessly repeat that singular moment when they were surest of being alive. That moment is short, but long after it has passed, good times as well as bad slip like sand through their fingers as they meaninglessly repeat and confirm their survival.

Each life contains as much meaning as all of history.

But there I remained, standing in the bathroom, waiting for someone to miraculously find me, to release me from my ties to this life.

Life is a series of problems. Especially when one is married and has a family. Because even when you manage to avoid the problems of the outside world and return home safely, your family is there waiting with a whole different set of problems of their own.

...Nguyệt không muốn xử tệ với bản thân mà ấm ức nhiều điều. Lâu nay, trong tất cả các câu chuyện cổ tích người lớn kể cho trẻ con nghe, kể cả trên phim ảnh, tại sao luôn là những cô nàng kiều diễm. Từ Lọ Lem, Bạch Tuyết, công chúa ngủ trong rừng... tất cả đều xinh đẹp. Chỉ những người như họ mới hạnh phúc, mới tìm được bạch mã hoàng tử thôi sao? Còn những ai lỡ chẳng được vậy thường đóng vai phản diện, làm điều độc ác, hãm hại người lành và kết cục là gánh chịu đau khổ... Tivi vẫn đang tường thuật chung kết thi hoa hậu. Nàng về, mặc Hương cố giữ. Không hiểu sao hôm nay nàng nghĩ nhiều vậy. Nàng vẫn thường suy tư nhưng không giống đêm nay. Phải chăng vì đêm nay đã thêm một tuổi mới. Trên đường về, khi mở cổng, nàng nhớ cái gia tài tuổi 20 Hương đã nói. Gia tài tuổi 20... Có những đêm khuya khoắt nàng rưng rức một mình. Nước mắt ơi, phải chăng mày cũng là một phần của gia tài?...

The belief that I’d actually been wanted from the beginning, paired with the sure knowledge that my adoptive parents loved me, allowed me to grasp at self-worth, despite my doubts; to grow up and live my life free of the darkest feelings of abandonment.

Never make a cursed fetish for personal reasons. Never use a handmade object in a personal curse. There are reasons for the unwritten rules. There's a Japanese saying that goes, "Cursing other leads to two graves." Anyone who curses another person is sure to end up in a grave themselves.

How do you learn to cherish yourself, your life, when grief has made it unrecognizable? I am starting to feel that we do so not by trying to fill a void that can never be filled but by living as best as we can in this strange, yawning terrain our loved ones have left behind, exploring its jagged boundaries and learning to see it as something new.

There is no greater love than to give one's life for a friend, but giving one's life does not always mean dying-sometimes it means living.

In order to survive, children come to their own understanding of their place in their world. It looks as if children are limited in what they are conscious of, but they comprehend very quickly the intention of adults and the trust given to them, better and more precisely than adults themselves do.

Captain Chung Pei-fu of the Koumintang Army. A career soldier who had dedicated his life to war and who had never fought a battle.

For some people, their lives are ruled by one shocking event reverberating through their survival instincts. Life shrinks into a trap made up of a shimmering moment in the past, a trap where they endlessly repeat that singular moment when they were surest of being alive. That moment is short, but long after it has passed, good times as well as bad slip like sand through their fingers as they meaninglessly repeat and confirm their survival. Those who are unaware of their lives slipping away while they are ensnared in the past—him, his grandfather, his mother, me—are in the end, whether alive or dead, ghosts of the past.

The absurdity of the conclusion made him feel helpless. The strangers who stole his childhood with their sorcerer and beliefs, the despondent life he had lived on the brink of death, it had all been meaningless in the end. Mourning his years of suffering and despair, he stood there in the ruins of the village and wept.

There is nothing easy about migration. It is a search for a better life, but in this way it is also a death. How easily would you choose to leave this life? How quickly, if the decision were made for you? It is a line you cannot uncross, whether you are lucky enough to visit every few years or if you left knowing you will never return. Everyone and everything you knew and loved are gone.

I could also understand how, in a situation where there was a single person who could kill you but also save you, all your survival instincts would be used toward satisfying that one person. Once you experience a terrible trauma and understand the world from an extreme perspective, it is difficult to overcome this perspective. Because your very survival depends on it. Parents who destroy their children's lives, who suck the life out of their children's futures, not only for the sake of maintaining their own illusions but also to zealously expand them into the lives of their own children- such parents can almost be understood from the perspective of obsession. Following the words, "Be grateful I raised you" is the implied clause "instead of killing you or leaving you for dead.

This realization welled up, overflowing in another discovery: I had nothing to prove any longer. Even if I still felt the need to assert my love for my adoptive parents, or defend my family to people who had no idea how it felt or what it meant to be adopted, that did not mean I had to forever deny all interest in the people who’d given me life. It was time to lay down the burden of being “the good adoptee,” the grateful little girl who’d been lost and then found. Who cared what anyone thought of my decision? Who cared about their questions?

Her husband had pursued an “alternative lifestyle” that was “free of the fetters of capitalism.” The woman herself, when she was in college, had considered the conformist pressures of getting good grades, building a resume, and landing a job in some big corporation to be tedious and distasteful and had thought the life her husband wanted dovetailed with hers. They got married as soon as she graduated, and she got a job right after. She learned quickly that an “alternative lifestyle” meant nothing without a detailed, concrete plan, and living “free of the fetters of capitalism” meant working for places that didn’t pay their workers on time. As she worried about realizing this alternative lifestyle in the real world, she crumbled away under the pressures of working at a company in the non-profit sector that was run not by the normal labor of workers, but through their unrequited sacrifices. Meanwhile, her husband, who was her upperclassman in college but graduated later than she did, fiddled around in search of his ideal “alternative lifestyle” without ever settling down on any particular profession—the result being the twenty-million-won loan he had taken out and used up without her knowledge.

it was a genuine pleasure to research and write about a woman from whom, as Life magazine correspondent David Zeitlin put it, "there is no letting down

As I mentioned before, life is the existence of a person who has a life, or the life of the person, and is the period when a person lives in this world. On the other hand, a person's life in this world is also called "life". 카톡【AKR331】텔레【RDH705】라인【SPR331】위커【SPR705】 대한민국 어디에도 없는 최저가격 보상제도를 실시 하고있습니다. 100% 정품 4년동안 단 한번도 가품에 대한 구설수에 오른적 없습니다. 그렇기에 믿고 구매하셔도 됩니다. Therefore, just like the lyrics of the previous lesson, "Life is like a stranger" and "Life is tough." Even if you enjoy longevity and riches in the world, you will not go empty-handed when you are old and sick and go to that world. Even if you can not leave a name like this when you leave this world, you will have to live a life like this without going up or down to people's mouths. That is to say, if there is anyone in front of anyone who can live without a shame of one point, there will be no more rewarding life than that. If I go to the 9th, I have lived like a man, but I will be 90 years old by 2016. I look around the periphery of my life today. I can not help feeling that the end point of my life is approaching every moment. However, I think that "every time I eat, I can not stay while eating rice and eating rice for a long time." In that sense, I am doing my own work today while holding down the computer keyboard. Looking back, twenty-five years old, a man who had good limbs in his early ages, became a body that he could not freely walk for a while. But what? This is my destiny ... ... When I was a young, young man, This is the beginning of the poetry of Lee Byung-won (李佛 遠, Joseon third king, Taejong, Taejong). "How are the mountains like these mountains so what?" I use the word and write a word. What about these things and what happened to the country calling and hurting the body to keep it in place? I am lucky though. There are war dead who have lost their lives in the frenzy, and warlords who have been hurt more seriously than I am. But I am not alive. I can not help saying how good it is. There is something to think about with Lee Won - won 's . It is the 心 心 song of Chung Mong-joo of Koryo Koryô. It is not the story of Lee Byeong-won's and Jongmongju's , but rather the story of Jongmongju's tomb in my hometown Yongin.

I have no doubt that my parents would have relished having more time as my primary family, the people I thought of as *home.* They could have chosen to disapprove of or resent me when I made choices that they did not anticipate, choices that kept me far away form them. But their love for me was never about ownership, or control, or whether I followed the path they expected. They were grateful that Dan and I had found each other, and they weren't afraid that we would struggle, because they themselves had not experienced a life free from struggle. *We're lucky,* my father said in his wedding toast, *to get to witness your love and commitment. We can't wait to see the life you'll build together.* They never saw me as choosing one kind of family over another, one dream or one life over another. They could not imagine a future in which I did not pursue everything I wanted.

Parents who destroy their children’s lives, who suck the life out of their children’s futures, not only for the sake of maintaining their own illusions but also to zealously expand them into the lives of their children—such parents can almost be understood from the perspective of obsession. Following the words “Be grateful I raised you” is the implied clause “instead of killing you or leaving you for dead.” They probably mean it, too.

When Ming was still in diapers, I had been giving Mom my salary. I had paid for her apartment. I was more than happy to care for her in old age; in fact, I had budgeted for it. It pained me that despite my love and support for her, in her mind it was still her son who made the difference between her servitude and her freedom. Taiwan itself had evolved around her, but she continued to see our world as it had been before World War II— as a world in which men operated, and women were significantly only insofar as they could perpetuate this way of life through the birth of heirs.

Maybe my intermediary would find my birth family, maybe she wouldn’t—but this life about to begin was its own expanding universe of promise and possibility. One way or another, my family—the one I had chosen to create—was growing. Our child’s birth might prove empowering for me, not simply terrifying, for all its mystery and all my fear.

Even a small number of dedicated individuals can produce radical results.

How can i give my children all the things I never had without allowing them to become complacent? How do I teach them that America is a land of opportunity but was never meant to be a place of entitlement? How do I allow them comfort and ease, but instill in them the value of hard work? How do I allow them to grow up in America, but still pass on that tap root my parents left to me?

Life can never give security. It can only offer opportunity.

God is not a temperamental attending who pretends to be a good-natured teacher one day and then seethes with a burning criticism the next.

Hãy sống cuộc đời của bạn. Hãy rửa chén bát. Hãy giặt quần áo. Hãy dắt sắp nhỏ đến nhà trẻ. Hãy nuôi nấng, dạy dỗ các con của bạn, các cháu của bạn. Hãy giúp đỡ cộng đồng mà bạn đang sống chung. Bạn hãy lấy tất cả việc đó làm con đường đạo của mình, và đi theo con đường đạo ấy với tất cả tấm lòng.

The one-way bus ticket was symbolic of what my parents had been saying to me all my life: All we can do is get you there; after that it's up to you

He had been doing for all my life: sitting in the stands because he couldn't play the game himself, cheering me on while no one cheered for him, then heading back to work after everyone else went home.

For some people, their lives are ruled by one shocking event reverberating through their survival instincts. Life shrinks into a trap made up of a shimmering moment in the past, a trap where they endlessly repeat that singular moment when they were surest of being alive.

I didn't know what to tell people about surviving a loss I couldn't even remember, or how the face I saw reflected in the mirror often seemed like a stranger's. And I couldn't lie to myself about why I struggled to feel I belonged in my own life; not since the day I'd finally asked a classmate why she didn't like me, and she pulled her eyes back and said, "The same reason no one else likes you." No matter how many answers I doled out or how much I prayed for acceptance, I was never going to grow out of being Korean in a white town.

Though my mother's cancer was her trauma first and foremost, its aftershocks reverberated through my life as well. Her illness almost loomed larger in hindsight, because the initial jolt had faded, and in its place was a new awareness of my family's vulnerability. I remember feeling less sure, less safe, as if anything could befall us now. I found it harder to relax, struggled to fall asleep at night. My greatest fear was losing my mother, my father, or both - to illness, fire, a car accident - and her cancer seemed to justify every anxiety I'd ever harbored.

In the Christian sense, these are calls to repentance, but they can also be ready as invitations to surrender: to accept our limitations and our mortality; to be prepared, not consumed with clawing fear, for our life's eventual end; to focus on doing good and not harm, because any day could be our last.

After that trip, the idea began to grow in my mind that I had lost things, too, all those years ago when I was born too soon and my life changed course. These losses were not limited to personal history or the chance to know the people I'd come from. I had missed out on growing up in a place where my presence was not just accepted or tolerated, but a matter of course; where I might have heard others speaking my native language; where people like me were commonplace, not a wonder.

But their love for me was never about ownership, or control, or whether I followed the path they expected. They were grateful that Dan and I had found each other, and they weren't afraid that we would struggle, because they themselves had not experienced a life free from struggle. We're lucky, my father said in his wedding toast, to get to witness your love and commitment. We can't wait to see the life you'll build together. They never saw me as choosing one kind of family over another, one dream or one life over another. They could not imagine a future in which I did not pursue everything I wanted.

When Ming was still in diapers, I had been giving Mom my salary. I had paid for her apartment. I was more than happy to care for her in old age; in fact, I had budgeted for it. It pained me that despite my love and support for her, in her mind it was still her son who made the difference between her servitude and her freedom. Taiwan itself had evolved around her, but she continued to see our world as it had been before World War II— as a world in which men operated, and women were significant only insofar as they could perpetuate this way of life through the birth of heirs.

Sometimes I almost imagine that there must exist some ideal state of mourning, a perfectly balanced equation that will allow me to miss my parents, feel sad that they are gone, but remain myself, somehow, in control, anchored in the life I have to continue living without them. But of course no perfect balance exists. There will be days ahead that are all joy and days that are all grief - right now, I know only the latter - and an infinite number of combinations and feelings in between. I will control none of it. I can only let it be what it's going to be.

I wonder if, no matter what lies ahead, I'll spend the rest of my life looking backward, reliving the endless days and nights when my mother was dying and I couldn't be with her.

Cái chết không bao giờ đến đúng thời điểm, nhưng chịu một án tử khi còn trẻ là một sự vi phạm hợp đồng với quy luật tự nhiên. Sau nhiều năm trải qua bệnh tật, Melissa và tôi học cách để sống chung với sự đe dọa của cái chết một cách tốt nhất có thể. Sự chết chóc là một mùi hôi thối mà chúng tôi không thể nào gột sạch được, dù có cố đến đâu. Chúng tôi đã nói về nó trong một thời gian dài. Thỉnh thoảng còn đùa cợt về nó.

Chúng ta gọi những người đàn ông mất vợ là quan phu, gọi những người phụ nữ mất chồng là góa phụ và gọi những đứa con mất bố mẹ là “trẻ mồ côi”. Nhưng không có từ nào để gọi những người bố mẹ mất con. Con cái được cho là sẽ sống lâu hơn bố mẹ nhiều thập kỷ, chỉ phải đối mặt với gánh nặng của cái chết khi các đấng sinh thành sắp lâm chung. Chứng kiến cái chết của đứa con là một địa ngục quá bi thảm để cấu trúc của ngôn ngữ có thể diễn đạt được. Ngôn từ cứ thể sụp đổ!

Gao Jianfu came to India at a juncture when many Indian nationalist leaders and personalities like Gandhi and Tagore were sympathetic to China under the notorious Japanese aggression. Gao was an ardent reader of Rabindranath’s poetry. However, it is hard to trace, from the available data, the extent of his exposure to contemporary art in Bengal since he did not visit Santiniketan and look up its artistic activities. But many of his drawings and sketches bore evidence of some interactions. It is interesting that while the artists of Bengal were eager to assimilate certain elements of Japanese and Chinese art, a celebrated Chinese artist and intellectual visited Bengal almost in the same trajectory, and we do not have enough record of this event. Gao Jianfu, during his long trip to India, also visited the Ajanta caves and made a large number of copies of the Ajanta murals. From these copies, he did a great many sketches and drawings as if he were putting together a visual travelogue interspersed with narratives and footnotes. Fascinatingly, some of his drawings of ruined stupas and Buddhist sites that he visited in India were evidence of their impact on him, working behind his growing inclination to Buddhism and spirituality during the later phase of his life.

Then I would fly back home and it would hit me anew, that could prickle of awareness somewhere between my shoulder blades. I felt small and somehow trapped whenever I returned, as though I wouldn't be allowed to leave, even though I was only a visitor now, the interloper I'd always looked like. My visits got shorter and shorter, and it was impossible to ignore the mingled guilt and relief I felt every time I boarded a flight headed east. Campus was where I had a life, a purpose, new ideas to absorb--where things were always changing, where no one stared at me when I entered a room, where I no longer questioned the fact that I belonged.

Perhaps it's no surprise that when they let me go, it was not with the grudging wonder of my father's family when they left Ohio, nor the secret shame of the birth parents who gave me up as a baby--they encouraged me because their priority was my happiness, even if the pursuit of it took me away from them. That they frequently saw promise where others might have seen only risk is something I cannot help but admire. Sometimes I wonder if being their child, a product of their choices and their faith if not their genes, is what made me believe that another life might be within my reach.

You have to romanticize your life otherwise what else is there?

He needed access to quality health care in order to manage and treat his illnesses. He needed it throughout his life, not only in his final years, when it was granted as a crisis response only after his kidneys had failed.

My Christian faith has always put a central role of my life and it’s supplies answers to those questions: “who do you think sent the boat?” Answer: God sent the boat. “ what does he expect me to do now?” Answer: now that I am safely ashore, he expects me to send the boat back for someone else.

Why me? Why am I family and not theirs? Our boats were all set adrift exactly the same location; why did the same wind take our boat in one direction and there’s in another? We were blessed – there’s no other way to say it – but why weren’t they? Were we more worthy in someway? Or are we more deserving of rescue? I don’t see how; my family’s entire contribution to our rescue was up to lie there waiting to die. The only answer to the question “why?” is “God only knows.” so rather than philosophize about a question I cannot answer I prefer to ask two other questions that are much more practical. “Who do you think sent that the boat?” And “What does he expect me to do now?” My Christian faith has always played a central role in my life and its supplies answers to those questions: “who do you think sent the boat?” Answer: God sent the boat. “What does he expect me to do now?”Answer: now that I am safely ashore, He expects me to send the boat back for someone else.

I think of those late-afternoon talks with her now that I have my own children, knowing that the days of both of them falling asleep in their rooms down the hall from mine are dwindling; that a time will come when something trivial or life changing will happen to them—they will be hurt, or caught by surprise, or find that they are happier than they have ever been—and I will not be the first person they tell. That might be why I sometimes let them stay up past bedtime chatting with me or getting silly with each other, why even the brightest moments on the best of days can crack my heart wide open.

Though my mother’s cancer was her trauma first and foremost, its aftershocks reverberated through my life as well. Her illness almost loomed larger in hindsight, because the initial jolt had faded, and in its place was a new awareness of my family’s vulnerability. I remember feeling less sure, less safe, as if anything could befall us now. I found it harder to relax, struggled to fall asleep at night. My greatest fear was losing my mother, my father, or both—to illness, fire, a car accident—and her cancer seemed to justify every anxiety I’d ever harbored.

On Saturday morning, he'd chosen his favorite place in Taipei to show me, Chung-shan Park. We wandered on a beautiful walking path around a lake with spraying fountains, surrounded by trees, and under the shadow of Taipei's iconic skyscraper, which was called Taipei 101. It was a great place for people-watching, with young couples on romantic walks, parents pushing babies in strollers, older people practicing tai chi, kids riding bikes, and nature lovers snapping photos of flowers. Best of all were the baobing- delicious shaved ices with a super-thin texture and condensed milk that added an extra sweet flavor. I topped my baobing with mango chunks, while Uncle Masa chose sweet potato chunks on his, an addition I never imagined could be delicious until I sampled his for myself.

Theological languages, paradigms, and questions that come from the life experiences of Western male intellectuals, who are the brains of the cultural hegemony which reduced poor Asian women to the status of non-persons, cannot serve as a source of Asian women's theology.