Reflective Writing and Poetic Musing by Condemiang + Stories About the World

 

 

Christmas is returning once again. I reflect on the sacrifice and love of God, who came to the lowest of places to show us the true path of faith. No longer just the God of the Jews, but now the God of all. Jesus was born when His family, wandering and displaced, had no room at any inn—only a manger in a stable. Laid in an animal's feeding trough, His humble and meager beginnings were no less destitute than the poorest among us. Born the son of an unknown carpenter, He was ultimately crucified between two criminals—or perhaps revolutionaries—with the accusation: "King of the Jews." Photo by Joanna Kosinska on Unsplash Why that particular charge? To the religious and political elites—the Sadducees and Pharisees who ruled the world—His radical spirit of transformation must have felt deeply threatening. They could never tolerate doctrinal deviation or religious defiance. To allow such change would have meant the end of their very foundation. He walked among the poor, the s...

Stories of  Little   Happiness – 01 In this place, there are only about thirty days a year—or sometimes even fewer—when the temperature rises above 25°C. So even when winter has passed, we don’t necessarily tuck our thick clothes deep into closets or drawers. Sometimes, in May or even September, mad flurries of snow still pile up. Still, taking out clothes of different thicknesses, shapes, and functions with each changing season brings a small happiness—a kind of quiet excitement. Even though they are the same old clothes we’ve worn every year, they feel like a fresh find when seen again after a long while, offering a little thrill as if we’ve acquired something new. As winter rounds the corner with a determined stride, there is a certain sense of relief in gathering those heavy clothes once more. That simple act is enough to lighten the burden of having to embrace a long, cold season. My little happiness is found even in old clothes, even in the freezing winter.

Fresent A gift given or dedicated with a serving heart. A gift given or dedicated with delicate consideration.

There are so many places to go in this vast world, and so much still to do while I'm young—and yet, at times, a deep sense of having no place for my heart creeps in, and I find myself looking back again and again at the path I’ve come. Unresolved questions still linger in a corner of my mind. Every so often, they resurface—bringing with them a fleeting, sweet taste of something detached from reality. Times I’ve passed through unrestrained. At times heavy and desperate, at others lighter than dust—I must have staggered and swayed, carried along by whatever drew me, whichever way the wind blew. I want to be drenched in a downpour—like the rush of ecstasy in the rain shown in The Shawshank Redemption. I want to run endlessly across the plains of western Canada. Like Forrest Gump, like Jack Kerouac, in search of a conclusion where I might encounter my ideal—wherever that may be. Life, you see...is a sheet of thin ice that might not end in a happy resolution, like a drama or...

Sergey-Pesterev-tJnqdD5sO_M-unsplash It feels like just yesterday I was spending Christmas vacation, digging out the joys of the year’s end buried in winter’s snow—and yet here we are, already in May. Though I’ve been counting the days, fully aware that spring was on its way, I didn’t realize the time had already carried me to May. What cycle, what chain of associations is holding my thoughts hostage? The campus in May would often be alive with festivals blending premature daytime heat and the chill that settled in overnight. Protests—once casually referred to as “demos”—were a natural part of the lives of young university students who lived in that same time. They were weary, burdened youth who carried within them countless questions about life itself. The powder of tear gas buried in the leaves and corners of the campus would dissolve and run whenever it rained, bringing on unseasonal tears. We accepted it all as if it were the most natural thing,...