From Blog to Open Book: A Journey

Tzu Chi, having its origins in Taiwan and having spread mainly through Taiwanese- or Chinese-speaking social networks and immigrant communities, has had very poor materials, publications, and documents in English. This gap has persisted for many years, particularly in the US where I am most familiar.

It was and still is in the context of this gaping hole in English communications for Tzu Chi that I began writing through the Tzu Chi USA journal in 2002. That year, I had just returned from Taiwan after living in Hualien (where I volunteered for Tzu Chi for year and which served as the basis of a rough manuscript of my experiences) to start my freshman year in college in Boston. That year, Tzu Chi USA journal, led by my mother, was transformed from more of a newspaper to more of a magazine. (The journal was only put onto the web later years, following incredible changes from the internet in how we read.)

Now, approaching 30 years of age, because of this blog, I am looking back to some of these pieces in Tzu Chi USA journal -- and also the 100-or-so page manuscript that I wrote while I was in living in my one year in Hualien, Taiwan.

Returning to some of the pieces I wrote (some more than 11 years old), though, I am frankly a bit embarrassed by some of my own essays. The language, the style -- it all seems a bit juvenile -- which I guess was expected, as I was still, at that time, a "teenager", at 19 years old.

In 2011, I shared one of these pieces from my 100-page reflections with one of my academic colleagues in economics and public health, and much to my surprise, he was so moved by the piece that he cried (see here). The piece was on comparative experiences in Taiwan and Thailand in hospice care, which I had worked on in a writing class in college and somehow -- accidentally really -- published in a medical journal.

Though my colleague encouraged me to finish my book (Thanks, Professor Jamison!) and though I have been meaning to do so, I have never had time to finish that manuscript that I had started in 2001-2002 (first college and then graduate school got in the way, you could say!). Now, I've got a bit more time (I am totally finished with school and I have a real job now), and so, it is with this live blog that I hope to eventually turn my writings, both past and new, into an "open book" on Tzu Chi. I am taking a page from my colleague at my day job, David Roodman, who wrote an "open book" on microfinance through blogging. (One of his posts on an NGO working on microfinance even today gets about 1000 hits a month.)

If I may entice you, here are some of the topics for forthcoming posts. Whenever I see the activities of Tzu Chi volunteers and all that has happened from its beginnings in 1966, I feel that I have unlimited content to work with. So this list is not comprehensive, and I very much welcome your suggestions on what topics I should prioritize and write/edit first!

• My essays from Tzu Chi USA journal
• New Beginnings
• Bridging Gaps
• The Innovative Origins of Tzu Chi
• I’m Talkin’ ‘Bout My Generation in Tzu Chi
• A Word on Tzu Chi’s Uniforms
• Chapters from my manuscript
• mental preparations    4
• 1 to follow in their footsteps    5
• 2 go away, worries! just do it!    8
• 3 the meaning of spiritual practice    10
• the education of being human    14
• 4 great love has no strangers    15
• 5 busy body, not busy mind    22
• 6 the peace project camp    26
• 7 teaching english at the outreach school    29
• 8 high school angst, relived    32
• the thousand arms of avalokiteshvara    33
• 9 typhoon toraji: relief and rebuilding    34
• 10 dear thailand tzu chi: chronicles of love    37
• 11 between living and dying: the world of hospice    63
• 12 body donation, silent teachers    78 
• 13 happy volunteer in indonesia    80
• the culture of great love    87
• 14 making xiang shi bao   88
• 15 the abode of still thoughts    89
• 16 disaster after disaster – the awakenings     95
• 17 the movement to spread the seeds of love    100
• 18 the simplicity and joy of monastic life    105
• 19 leaving hualien    108
• My other essays with different outlets
• Why am I here? (speech)
• To enter someone's mind

Warmth in the Bitter Cold: Tzu Chi's Winter Relief in Washington, DC

A cold Saturday morning filled with the wish to help others. A warm greeting with a smile and a handshake, a conversation with someone unknown who becomes known, an expression of our concern and care. Small actions expressing kind intentions are not to be underestimated. 

7:47am. That was the time that David, our team leader, told us to meet him at Union Station. 7:47, not the Boeing jet. But the message was the same: be there on time! And a trip it would be on an early Saturday morning. As I understood it, our group of eight would be embarking on a trip to care for the homeless this winter.

As Saturday dawns, I get up a few times: 5:00am, 5:22am, 6:00am. I don't want to be late. Pulling myself out of my bed, I give myself an hour to get ready -- to give greetings and prayers to the world, the universe and all the beings in it; to drink my breakfast power-shake; to shower and grease myself up with coconut oil to avert the cold; to pile on three layers of clothes; and finally to don my blue and white Tzu Chi uniform, and to pack my bag with some water, snacks, chapstick, and baby-wipes (for our hands).

As I step out of my apartment, I call Vikrant who is out of the country. "I'm going to a Tzu Chi charity activity right now, going to care for some homeless people," I say. "Okay, be sure to wear your gloves!" he reminds me.

My gloves! I forgot my gloves all week despite the cold front. Telling Vikrant I will call him later, I turn back down the hallway to my apartment and pick up my gloves. Now, I am ready.

I walk to the metro station near my home. The Metro officer is opening the gates just as I arrive. In the station I am momentarily dismayed to see that the first train that morning will be arriving in 18 minutes. Washington, DC's metro station is notoriously neglected and delayed, especially on the weekends. What to do; I arrive at Union Station at our meeting spot in 7:52. Being the first one there, I wait not long and shortly in waves all eight of us arrive. Of the last four, David, our team leader, in his black leather jacket makes him look like Morpheus. You know, from the Matrix but without the pills.

As we stand in the middle of Union Station, David divides us into two groups, with two separate driving paths. His instructions are deceptively simple: Look for homeless people. Bend down to their eye level, rather than look down at them. Ask them how they are and if they'd like some coffee and pastries. Observe if they need anything such as a jacket, blanket, gloves, or scarves (all of which we have limited quantities) and offer as appropriate. And men, protect the women. His two fists and arms take a strongman's pose.

At which point I must interrupt, hiccupping in Chinese. "But of course, in Tzu Chi, women are like men" -- and Yijun, another volunteer, attempts a fill-in "and men are like ______" (pause): There is a saying, concocted by an anonymous volunteer, that in Tzu Chi women are like men and men are like superman (女人當男人用，男人當超人用), in observing that Tzu Chi volunteers work incredibly hard, irrespective of traditional gendered roles. (As an aside, there is a response to that saying, that women are like men and men are like women, 女人當男人用，男人當女人用. Both sexes adopt qualities of the opposite sex, with men gentler and women more assertive and strong.)

Anyway, keeping those instructions in mind and with supplies in our car, we are off. As we roam around in our heated vehicle, we see our first case, a large man sitting by himself on a bench, holding a cup with change. "Good morning sir!" "How are you?" our team of four chime in. "Can we offer you a cup of coffee?" He nods. One of us pours the coffee, another pours the sugar and cream. The man, we notice, never speaks. He simply nods or shakes his head, mouthing mumbled words with no sounds. He holds his cup, jingling it. "I'm sorry," one of us responds, "We do not have change on us today." He looks disappointed. We wish him well and take leave.

Continuing on the road, we look for homeless, left and right. Where are they today, I wonder? "I think they've gone for shelter in the cold," I ponder aloud. The streets seem more empty this morning, and a few times we see someone, our thoughts turn into "Hmm, maybe nots"; after second thought they do not really seem homeless after all. Does a big heavy jacket with two grocery bags stuffed with newspapers make you a homeless person? Hard to say, really.

After driving a few blocks, we soon discover that it is not so easy to randomly encounter homeless people on the streets. We need a bit of so-called 'luck' in encountering these rare circumstances. Indeed, it is not so easy to help people in general, as it requires at least three conditions: (1) someone wishing to give (the giver); (2) someone willing to receive (the receiver); and (3) something to be given (the gift). If any of these conditions are not met, the exchange cannot happen.

In Tzu Chi there is an emphasis on the equality of these three. I think this is wonderful. What does that mean, you ask? The giver recognizes that the receiver is no different from the giver in wanting happiness and freedom from suffering; they are equal. That also means that there is mutual gratitude between each. It should never be the case that the giver in Tzu Chi feels that the giver has something to give (like a naggy friend telling you "I am giving you this," arms on waist with I-am-so-important look.) Instead, Tzu Chi volunteers practice by bowing down in gratitude to the recipients of Tzu Chi's relief, Tzu Chi volunteers also bow in gratitude to its donors, and Tzu Chi volunteers also bow to each other. This magical practice (at least I think so) is called the "emptiness in three spheres" (三輪體空) and is something that Tzu Chi volunteers strive to realize. (See here for an exposition of this concept by Master Cheng Yen in Chinese.) These three spheres are overlapped with the three values of gratitude, respect, and love.

Slowly, we meander over to Foggy Bottom, not far from George Washington University, and we catch a glimpse of clumps of blankets on benches in the Foggy Bottom circle -- at last, some people. "Good morning sir!" we say as we approach them. The first man recognizes us, "I know you guys! You've been here before," he says to one of our volunteers. He is so happy to see us that he falls over on his pile of stuff. We too are happy to see him. "Could we offer you some coffee?" "You most certainly may." And we offer the two gentleman coffee. The first man eagerly pulls us to the bench as he has many stories to tell us. As he plops down on the bench, he begins to recount his military career history across many countries in Asia during the Reagan era.

As he continues, for maybe 10 minutes, our fingers and toes go numb. Eager to wrap up the conversation, I ask, "Do you have any need for blankets or jackets?" The cold has reminded me of not only my needs, but the needs of the people we are supposed to be serving.

The military man says, "Actually, I could use a jacket. Thank you, folks! You're so kind."

"No, thank you; I've got plenty," says the psychiatrist in his Caribbean accent, pointing to his warm jacket and shoes. He pauses.

"But our friend over there," he says, looking to the opposite bench, "could use one. He needs a jacket and a blanket and some gloves."

I am touched by this man's concern for his fellow companion. As he walks me over to see this man, "You see, he got drunk last night and fell down. We had to pick him up and put him on the bench, cover him up in blankets. Can you imagine that? No gloves!"

All one could see from the bench was his feet touching the floor, while the blankets wrapped his upper body and head completely. Were it not for his feet, it would seem only like a pile of blankets. "He's Japanese," the psychiatrist tells me. "A PhD in electromagnetism. He's an alcoholic. His name is Mo-something Tanaka."

"Ohio-gazaimasu" (meaning good morning in Japanese), I say in a loud voice, glad that finally my high school Japanese having some use and hoping it might wake him up. But the man doesn't budge.

"When he wakes up, I am going to have a long heart-to-heart talk with him, to go to the detox lab. I've been sitting here all night to make sure that the police don't come and pick him up, but I can't do that every time," the psychiatrist explains.

He also tells me his uncle is Li Kai Shing, and his father is an engineer from China. I don't know whether to believe that part, but nevertheless he conveys a genuine concern for his fellow man. I thank him for caring for his fellow friend, and I'm touched. Would I have the courage and energy to sleep on the bench over night to watch someone drunk and passed out? Probably not. And there we were in Foggy Bottom, to discover people benefiting others, regardless of who they are in the world, people like this homeless psychiatrist.

By experiencing the bitter cold first hand juxtaposed with our "Winter Caring" activity, I had a mere glimpse of the difficulties of being homeless. I hope that when I feel the freezing cold, as my toes and fingers go numb, I will remember that it means that there are people out there who are struggling to stay warm. Ringing in my mind was the theme of this year's Tzu Chi annual new year blessing: a simple frugal life helps to nurture compassion; from real virtue one cultivates great love. By observing this frugal and difficult life, empathy and compassion -- the wish to immediately help others -- naturally arises.

As we say goodbye to the Caribbean psychiatrist, African-American veteran, and the sleeping Japanese man, the veteran tells us to come back soon. I hope we do, too.

Many thanks to my seven team members for their companionship, joy, willingness to serve, and their observations. Hat-tip to Pick-Wei and CJ on their Morpheus observation.