The truth is: I can write a whole lot of inspirational Christianese pick-me-up platitudes on my blog, but in a heated moment of confrontation I can suddenly enter into a horrible rage that’s downright embarrassing. In a second, all my pretty plastic theology can go out the window and there’s no spiritual photoshopped phrase on an ocean wallpaper that will hold me back from kicking someone’s face in.
This is ugly. It is sad. It is me.
Maybe I’m being too candid here, and I absolutely understand if this turns you off and drives you away. But I am capable of the worst kind of evils, the most despicable acts of violence at the flip of a switch.
Earlier today I was with my fiancé and our families looking at houses, and a large white man outside his home yelled, “Your car is parked in an unacceptable position.” When I say large white man, I mean to say that he looked like he was on the cheese-puffs-only diet and was an esteemed clan leader of League of Legends.
I replied, “We’re just looking at the house for a few minutes.” He yelled back even louder about my bad parking job. Of course, it wasn’t a really big deal and I could’ve let this go. But I said, “No, I think you’ll be fine.” And he yelled some more.
And right then, I had that thought I always do in moments like this. He’s only yelling at me really loud because I’m Asian, and Asians are supposed to be passive and quiet and submissive. If I was black or white or Latino or an attractive woman, he wouldn’t have started nothing.
Then, in a flash, I thought of killing this guy. I mean literally walking over there, roundhouse-kicking his left knee, elbowing him in the nose, and then kicking his face in until he stopped moving. I’m a fifth degree black belt, by the way, and I know how to kill someone with three of my fingers. I didn’t think this guy was worthy of my fingers.
It was a terrible, disgusting, humiliating sort of rage that rushed through my throat — and I took a few steps forward, loading my leg, only to be pulled back by my fiancé.
Later I was so guilty about everything that I asked all those questions: Am I even a Christian? Am I making spiritual progress? Am I really growing up? How could I be so ugly inside? How could I think these things? What if my church saw this? What if my fellow bloggers saw it too?
Because really: This was a dumb situation in the midst of real suffering in the world, and I didn’t deserve to feel this angry. I felt stupid, then stupid about feeling so stupid, and just plain bad. I got a headache, like one of those hot feverish night sweats when your blanket feels like a coffin. I wanted to throw up and die. I wanted to crawl in a hole of shame and choke in my self-pity. I thought, My blog, my ministry — it’s all over.
I wish I could wrap this up with a bowtie and say, “It’s all okay now.” It’s not. I’m still in a daze about it, to be honest, and I can’t say I would’ve had the resolve to hold myself back if my wonderful lady hadn’t stopped me.
I can only say that I need grace, more than ever, because self-condemnation is so unbearable. I need to know I’m still a human being, who fails, a lot. I need to know I am fully known and still fully loved, and that even in these disturbing fractures in my carefully crafted facade, I can find the humility to move forward and do better next time.
Originally posted here.