The beginning of the end

4.5 years after I first set foot in Princeton, I am looking at youtube videos, trying to learn the lyrics and tune of "Old Nassau." I'm a little late, I know, but for the first time, tradition actually seems worthwhile as commencement hovers on the horizon. 2010 will be the 263rd class to graduate from this institution. That's a big number, 29 years older than the age of the United States of America. And yet, in many ways, I barely know this place. Unlike my friends who are orange key tour guides, or in a capella groups and eating clubs, I feel few ties to the history and stories of Princeton. Nevertheless, it has become part of who I am. And now that my time here is coming to a close, I wonder if I should have paid more deliberate attention to this environment which has shaped how I think, see, and live my life. I think about whether I should have been more engaged, not just with the individuals who are my friends and classmates, but with the institution and the culture. Of course, the answer is yes, which means that I will leave Princeton with my share of regrets. But regret, at the very least, is a sign that some learning and revelation occurred. And if I'll be celebrating anything on commencement day, it won't be what I have accomplished here (because that was negligible) but the people and traditions of Princeton that have changed the nature of my regrets.

Gifts

People have been so kind to me--opening doors for me when I was on crutches, bringing me snacks, cooking meals for me. I deserve none of this. My greatest comfort is knowing that even if I can't pay back the blessings I've received (because blessings are not debts), God will remember and honor these people.

Sunday

Today, New Jersey feels like California, and it is Easter. Christ is risen. He is risen indeed.

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I had dinner with a very devout Christian friend earlier this week, and I asked her all of these questions that didn't need to be asked. She was very patient and tried to answer them. But I was just lodging complaints. What does it matter that none of us know our own names? I mean, our real names--not the words that our parents put on the birth certificate, which may mean something, but which most of the time mean nothing.

Being an immigrant, and having friends who are immigrants, I see people change their names all the time. The thing which most intimately denotes our existence and identity has almost nothing to do with who we are. It's a convention, something that others can pronounce, a certain style or flavor that we would like to be associated with when our names take shape in the minds of people who think of us, the referent. And most of the time, that style or flavor is just whoever else had that name earlier and the impression he made on the world, for better or for worse.

We're children of God, she said, that's all we need to know. I guess some questions will be answered in time.

Christ is risen. He is risen indeed.