They call themselves a salon, but they don’t bleach? AND they don’t have blue dye?! What kind of crazy salon is this?! Anyhow, Blue Day got postponed until tomorrow. I have to find out what kind of peroxide I should get and then get it. I already have the dye from the last time I failed at colouring my hair. 🙁

On the upside, however, I’m getting it done for free! Kristin (and Crystal, I think) are going to “have fun” with my hair. Oh why I put my trust in them, I don’t know. They’re girls and they should know how all of this stuff works. I hope they don’t have too much fun. If it fails, I guess it won’t be that hard to get my hair back to boring black.

Anyhow, I’m about to head out to the Embassy Open Mic event.. I didn’t think I was going to go until my blue dreams were shattered, but now I can still make the most out of the night. It should be a good one. But first, to find peroxide…

From Life of Pi, by Yann Martel. The story is narrated by Piscine, son of a zookeeper:

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Catholics have a reputation for severity, for judgment that comes down heavily. My experience with Father Martin was not at all like that. He was very kind. He served me tea and biscuits in a tea set that tinkled and rattled at every touch; he treated me like a grown-up; and he told me a story. Or rather, since Christians are so fond of capital letters, a Story.

And what a story. The first thing that drew me in was disbelief. What? Humanity sins but it’s God’s Son who pays the price? I tried to imagine Father saying to me, “Piscine, a lion slipped into the llama pen today and killed two llamas. Yesterday another one killed a black buck. Last week two of them ate the camel. The week before it was painted storks and grey herons. And who’s to say for sure who snacked on our golden agouti? The situation has become very intolerable. Something must be done. I have decided that the only way the lions can atone for their sins is if I feed you to them.”

“Yes, Father, that would be the right and logical thing to do. Give me a moment to wash up.”

“Hallelujah, my son.”

“Hallelujah, Father.”

What a downright weird story. What a peculiar psychology.

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Now if that didn’t make you laugh, it must have made you think. I sure made me think. How lucky I am, to have God give up so much out of love! A little later on, Martel writes:

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The death of the Son must be real. Father Martin assured me that it was. But once a dead God, always a dead God, even resurrected. The Son must have the taste of death forever in His mouth. The Trinity must be tainted by it; there must be a certain stench at the right hand of God the Father. The horror must be real. Why would God wish that upon Himself? Why not leave death to the mortals? Why make dirty what is beautiful, spoil what is perfect?

Love. That was Father Martin’s answer.

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How absolutely beautiful. It nearly brought me to tears. The back of the book says that this novel will “make you believe in God.” If I didn’t believe already, I don’t doubt that I would be challenged to do so at the end. But I don’t doubt that my belief in Him will be far more profound than ever before when I’m through with this book.

Anyhow, I thought that I’d share these two wonderful passages with you, and I hope that they’ve affected you somehow. And now I’m off to read. How absolutely beautiful.

It happened so quickly. There was no precursor to it; I didn’t see it coming at all. But yet, here I am, in love. With whom, you ask? No, not whom, but what. With words. Words phrased so beautifully and so delicately in inspirational and powerful books. Over the past two days, I’ve greedily poured myself over books: first was The Alchemist, and now, Life of Pi. Let me assure you that Life of Pi is no story about that mathematical number, nor is it related to the movie “Pi.” I’m only part of the way through it, but it is deeply religious, and very captivating. I don’t imagine I’ll be doing much else in the next few days except read (since I do have to return it sooner rather than later).

I’m not sure if this is just a phase, a sudden impulse to read that will die out like any other fad (who remembers pogs? I’m proud to say I didn’t fall into that trap!). It was rather abrupt to start, too. Aaron kinda plopped a book into my hands, and over the course of that night and the next day, I finished it. And now I’m reading a book he’s been reading for the past little while, too. I’m reading like a fiend! Already, I’ve made it farther than he has! Go me. Anyhow, I haven’t read for pleasure in a very, very long time. Maybe one book in the past oh… six years? Pretty bad, I know. That book wasn’t very profound, either. I must say that I’m very surprised at myself cuz I seem to be possessed by absorbing these books. I wonder what book I’ll read next…

But I’m not going to deceive myself into thinking that all is well again. I imagine that heavy load I carried a few days ago is still here, and I’m not sure if ignoring it will do much good. But for now, I’m content, and I’m happy to be alive. This week, although it has dragged on and on and has been filled with negativity, has been a good week. It only started to be good yesterday, but everything has a start (God being the exception). It’s as though my Lenten purpose has already bloomed into everything it was meant to be; I have become, in many ways, a new person, clearly inspired by and to God, staunchly committed to sin no more.

So Kat told me last night that I need to think and express myself more. I thought about it (har har!). I explained to her that a lot of what I think, that a lot of my opinions, are popular opinions. So I reasoned that other people have said all I have to say, probably in better phrases than I would use, too. But that’s not entirely true. Because I am unique, I do have my own variations of the popular beliefs. So in a way, I could express myself in a manner that nobody else has. The question, then, is whether I want to do this. Long have I shrouded myself from most others, keeping secrets from everyone. Long have I refused to share with others the things that troubled me. Long have I retreated into solitude to wrestle my own demons. As I said to Kat before, I don’t want to burden others with my troubles. And I really don’t. I see them busy enough as they are, and the last thing they need is to have some poor guy come to them for their sympathy and time. Now, I realize that I may be quite hypocritical because I offer my time very freely to my close friends, and I lose sleep when I worry about them. I give, but I refuse to receive. So I’m not sure what to do. To completely ignore my troubles could come off as indifference, which, in turn, could make me feel even worse, while imploring me could come off as an annoyance. I’m stuck! Inside, I’m very needy, but I don’t want to appear needy. I don’t know. I suppose that, for now, I will continue to keep those things between myself and God. I’ll question Him, and I’ll seek answers from Him. But perhaps I won’t be so opposed to opening up. I did a little last term with Kat, so there is hope for that. I’ll definitely continue to pray for guidance about this, and many other things.

I thought that it’d be nice to end off with something that sorta popped into my head shortly after dinner: Living life is a lot like eating spaghetti; it’s tough, and often messy, but with enough patience and good sauce, it’s both worthwhile and rewarding.

And yes, I ate spaghetti at dinner today. God bless.