I used to wonder what orthodoxy really means according to Chesterton. Perhaps, the proper question to ask is what orthodoxy means to me. But what is proper? I'll leave that to some other time to answer.
I never grew up with the experience I often hear today about teenagers. I think I was different, at least, I was sheltered in an environment that was kind, generous, safe and consisted of mostly ignorant nerds. I was almost oblivious to other experiences I heard often but had no means or guts to pull them off. I still had the urges and the temptations. But I think I never could believe I was capable of harming myself, giving up on myself and hurt someone else in the process.
Maybe I did. But it was really trivial compared to what goes on outside this little safe bubble I had.
My brief brush with being an outlaw, or rather the brief moment of being locked up with suspected convicts was a humbling one. The impression a heavily tattooed man who comforted me had on me and the kind gesture of a lady offering me 50 dollars so that I wouldn't steal again convinced me to never be looked upon and onto others with suspicion, with contempt, and with pity. I don't think I'm still so particular about impressions I make. (or am I deluded?) At least, that experience had the effect of bursting one of the many bubbles I have. And it opened me to the world that I could never imagined prior to my arrest.
The next bubble I notice recently, forming around my rather thick and protected skull is this thing called pre-marital sex. I'm often amused and perplexed by my seemingly religious adherence to keep my virginity. And that amused a few and I gamely received a thumbs-up (pun intended) from my senior (gay) lecturer, in a rather blunt manner, for embarrassedly proclaiming my intact childhood, and my unorthodox manhood. Of course, that seems rather premature to say that it's unorthodox. Perhaps, that's my form of orthodoxy. But I'll come to that later. It occurred to me recently, and I'm reminded that it did come across me when I was younger, that many of my peers would have slept and performed 5 minutes acts of mournful gasps and fake orgasms. The rest would have a sex partner for some time, break up, cry like a river, and find another sex partner as a rebound, and repeat the cycle with increasing nonchalance. Frankly, there was nothing religious in my attempt to keep my virginity. It used to be due right down to my incompetence to melt a girl's lonely heart, and/or to sweep the feet of many scantily-clad but dancing awkwardly ladies in the house. (Frankly, I thought they really looked pitiful trying to shake their Asian assets.) But that was before I accepted Christ and then I thought it was due to Christianity. How it was admirable and honourable to keep the faith and to meet the woman of my life. It was pathetically idealistic. And that increased only my urges and my intense self-guilt.
But my platonic, romantic, and extremely loved lover, is beginning to teach me one simple fact that in my childish ignorance could not possibly had learnt: frankly, sex is only credible and worthwhile if it is done for the benefit of a love union. Not because some excel worksheet that you list the number of girls you screwed both physically and mentally. Or how you fill your empty self with more emptiness. Or how you get back at your ex-girlfriend for sleeping with a lesbian. Or how you just needed to know that your penis is still intact, potent and justified for being obtrusive and desperately in need of a hole. Or simply to perform an unforgivable violent act on your own kin and children.
I think I miss out a lot in life. Not envy. But the experiences of acts so common and prevalent now that have completely passed me by as I grew up. I could never know how it must have felt to violate a woman's private. I could never know it felt to impregnate a girl and force her to abort; or in my foolish manly ego, ask her to marry me even though I'm 18. I could never know why and how someone could take glue and jump off the building while they're at it. And I could never know how it feels like to have a sexual disease for the rest of my life. And I dare not pity them. I dare not say they were stupid. To those who live on, they are courageous. To those who did not, I only regret not knowing why and what they were thinking.
I do not have sex because I am timid. Because I dare not take up that sacred responsibility to myself, to the girl I fuck and the baby I may potentially create after the act. To have sex is to make myself vulnerable and to become someone I am not ready to be. And it dawned upon me that that is precisely orthodoxy - that what was orthodox, that is, to be religious and keep my virginity for the holy matrimony and union with my wedded wife, is now actually subversive and extremely transgressive. It is what keeps me apart and alien to others. It makes me feel alienated. Frankly, if I put religion aside, I have absolutely no reason for not trying it once. But I am thankful that I have not. That is my private orthodoxy - which probably derived from my rebellious character at work.
There are little happy-a-fuckers. I know for sure. Never once did I know of someone who fucks outside of marriage happy. Pleasurable and desirable no doubt. But definitely not simple and loving happiness. And so it is as simple as that. And as hard and difficult to keep faith to.
(Keeping faith to Faith)
Perhaps, orthodoxes are no longer orthodox. As we loosen our grip to what was once orthodox, we may want to now revisit the ancient virtues that makes us now different from the majority.
But yes, how (fucking) perplexing!
I never grew up with the experience I often hear today about teenagers. I think I was different, at least, I was sheltered in an environment that was kind, generous, safe and consisted of mostly ignorant nerds. I was almost oblivious to other experiences I heard often but had no means or guts to pull them off. I still had the urges and the temptations. But I think I never could believe I was capable of harming myself, giving up on myself and hurt someone else in the process.
Maybe I did. But it was really trivial compared to what goes on outside this little safe bubble I had.
My brief brush with being an outlaw, or rather the brief moment of being locked up with suspected convicts was a humbling one. The impression a heavily tattooed man who comforted me had on me and the kind gesture of a lady offering me 50 dollars so that I wouldn't steal again convinced me to never be looked upon and onto others with suspicion, with contempt, and with pity. I don't think I'm still so particular about impressions I make. (or am I deluded?) At least, that experience had the effect of bursting one of the many bubbles I have. And it opened me to the world that I could never imagined prior to my arrest.
The next bubble I notice recently, forming around my rather thick and protected skull is this thing called pre-marital sex. I'm often amused and perplexed by my seemingly religious adherence to keep my virginity. And that amused a few and I gamely received a thumbs-up (pun intended) from my senior (gay) lecturer, in a rather blunt manner, for embarrassedly proclaiming my intact childhood, and my unorthodox manhood. Of course, that seems rather premature to say that it's unorthodox. Perhaps, that's my form of orthodoxy. But I'll come to that later. It occurred to me recently, and I'm reminded that it did come across me when I was younger, that many of my peers would have slept and performed 5 minutes acts of mournful gasps and fake orgasms. The rest would have a sex partner for some time, break up, cry like a river, and find another sex partner as a rebound, and repeat the cycle with increasing nonchalance. Frankly, there was nothing religious in my attempt to keep my virginity. It used to be due right down to my incompetence to melt a girl's lonely heart, and/or to sweep the feet of many scantily-clad but dancing awkwardly ladies in the house. (Frankly, I thought they really looked pitiful trying to shake their Asian assets.) But that was before I accepted Christ and then I thought it was due to Christianity. How it was admirable and honourable to keep the faith and to meet the woman of my life. It was pathetically idealistic. And that increased only my urges and my intense self-guilt.
But my platonic, romantic, and extremely loved lover, is beginning to teach me one simple fact that in my childish ignorance could not possibly had learnt: frankly, sex is only credible and worthwhile if it is done for the benefit of a love union. Not because some excel worksheet that you list the number of girls you screwed both physically and mentally. Or how you fill your empty self with more emptiness. Or how you get back at your ex-girlfriend for sleeping with a lesbian. Or how you just needed to know that your penis is still intact, potent and justified for being obtrusive and desperately in need of a hole. Or simply to perform an unforgivable violent act on your own kin and children.
I think I miss out a lot in life. Not envy. But the experiences of acts so common and prevalent now that have completely passed me by as I grew up. I could never know how it must have felt to violate a woman's private. I could never know it felt to impregnate a girl and force her to abort; or in my foolish manly ego, ask her to marry me even though I'm 18. I could never know why and how someone could take glue and jump off the building while they're at it. And I could never know how it feels like to have a sexual disease for the rest of my life. And I dare not pity them. I dare not say they were stupid. To those who live on, they are courageous. To those who did not, I only regret not knowing why and what they were thinking.
I do not have sex because I am timid. Because I dare not take up that sacred responsibility to myself, to the girl I fuck and the baby I may potentially create after the act. To have sex is to make myself vulnerable and to become someone I am not ready to be. And it dawned upon me that that is precisely orthodoxy - that what was orthodox, that is, to be religious and keep my virginity for the holy matrimony and union with my wedded wife, is now actually subversive and extremely transgressive. It is what keeps me apart and alien to others. It makes me feel alienated. Frankly, if I put religion aside, I have absolutely no reason for not trying it once. But I am thankful that I have not. That is my private orthodoxy - which probably derived from my rebellious character at work.
There are little happy-a-fuckers. I know for sure. Never once did I know of someone who fucks outside of marriage happy. Pleasurable and desirable no doubt. But definitely not simple and loving happiness. And so it is as simple as that. And as hard and difficult to keep faith to.
(Keeping faith to Faith)
Perhaps, orthodoxes are no longer orthodox. As we loosen our grip to what was once orthodox, we may want to now revisit the ancient virtues that makes us now different from the majority.
But yes, how (fucking) perplexing!
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