PebHmong Discussion Forum
Creative Corner => Online Journal => Topic started by: Reporter on July 10, 2011, 08:40:29 PM
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The journal is much like the diary with one exception: it's prepared to be made public.
So, the topic can be anything about the writer's personal experiences or observations on certain things. Things such as bankings, dates, visits, one's view of a town or village, a school's conditions, and so forth are appropriate.
The journal is not a very formal form of writing. Therefore, one can use informal language or even slangs. Experts say the audience is just a close friend. The writer, therefore, writes like he or she is speaking to a friend, not to a professor or the hiring committee at a fortune 500 company.
The idea is to tell the reader(s) about one's particular experience. It's what the experts call re-creating the experience. That just means reciting the experience in words with specific details so that the reader can see or understand what the writer experienced.
Journal writers must understand that the journal is not a mode of fiction, however. So, keep it real. Talk only about things that have actually happened. No flashbacks. No imagination. The writer can say how he or she feels about the experience but that's the most the writer can diverge from true facts.
There are many things to write about. There is no right or wrong topic. The rules that you need to know have already been given to you as stated above "on your voyage to Earth." And, in this fortress of solitude, we shall try to share with one another our experiences. So, my readers, write!
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O0
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Tropical Mount Phu Yoi was just a short distance up the bamboo valley. But its altitude was steeper than all typical hills. One had to grab onto weeds, shrubs or branches at times to make it to the top where the villagers had erected their thatches. And going down was always full of sliding on pebbled dirt roads.
That fresh, breezy morning of one late 1975 days was more of a sliding down than a climbing for us. A good thing in two ways, besides not having to climb the hill: we were no longer going to hide or dwell on that steep hill and we were going to meet up with others who would join us on a journey out of the country. With the country at war, the adults were terrified of soldiers killing and also of losing their ways in navigation. For many, this was their first time leaving for unknown places through unknown jungle ways.
"Three families came down to the bottom of the hill," a man named Lia Tou recalled during a recent conversation in St. Paul, MN. "Your family and two others...You were still very little then."
Somehow the fathers of our three families had learned of the group's journey from a secret messenger who came to the high village through the bamboo jungle a few days before. A more powerful, wiser man named Boua Hue Moua was leading the pack. Considered wiser not just because he was indeed wiser and respected with not just a title but behaviors and conduct. He was a Nai Kong, according to Lia Tou. That's higher than a Village Chief, more powerful than a Tasseng.
The group had stopped at the bottom of the Mount Phu Yoi hill because of the flowing clean tropical stream there. Rivers and streams were usually rest areas near the end of each day for obvious reason: access to water, of course.
"We had been travelling from Na Xou for ten days already," he added. "We were going to head out to Mong Mae and pass it onward."
Mong Mae was a flat-land, Lowland Laotian village next to a rocky mountain also named Mong Mae. During the overnight break, the villagers crossed over some shrubs and valleys full of bamboos, pines, elephant grasses, and other man-height plants to slaughter a few chickens for dinner. The plants were so high up, even the lifted-floor Lowland Laotian thatches seemed buried in.
Our three families did not join the group until the morning after the group had arrived. We packed our steamed rice, boiled whole chickens, and hot peppers on the thatches and descended to join the walk.
"Some village soldiers stopped us and asked where we were heading," Lia Tou added. "Boua Hue said we were just going to his brother-in-law's village a little yonder. And they left us alone."
For the next month, the same routine recurred: walking through the jungles all day, sleeping under fern thatches on the edges of streams or rivers at night, harvesting seafood--crabs, frogs, shrimps, fish, and even some bugs--and packing light lunches in the morning for another day. Some skillful hunters also took down bamboo root gnawing rodents (a kind of sharp-teethed dry land rodent of the beaver family), birds with crossbows, bats with seines, and swallows by climbing into nests on hallow hollow trees.
The 110 refugees trudged over untraveled paths towards the Mekong.
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I wonder if a person's imagination is a personal experience. If it is, it would be an appropriate journal topic.
In a way, I think it is. That's because a person's imagination is what the person is experiencing.
But then I'm also not sure because I don't know if an imagination is truly a personal experience in the physical sense that a person normally experiences with his or her senses, e.g. taste, smell, touch, sound, and vision. It's a making of the mind, not a factual, physical experience.
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But if I can't even write about my personal imagination, what good is a personal journal? It just won't do.
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Cacao, French Guiana--Children feel the safest here. There's no threats of any kind. At most, they may have to watch over some street puddles or holes since the town's streets are so torn and yet unrepaired that even farm mini-pickup tires are known to feel bumpy over them. But the children can run wild and free here early in the the day and late into the night each day. Children conversations and noises are heard as late as midnight here as they are at play with one another around the entire town of about 700. No one needs to tell them to go to sleep. Nor do they feel the need to. It is only when sleep has climbed up on them that the Cacao Hmong children finally part one another for their neighboring homes.
Such was the night when I arrived from the French colony's capitol, Cayenne, one Christmas evening. As the taxi got to town, the sun had already gone down with darkness covering the jungles and land all over. My naked eyes could no longer see any object outside. The black taxi driver had turned on the car's beams. Well, he had done that awhile back on the road from the airport. As we struggled through some puddles towards a group of houses, a house still had its lights on with people having dinner and talk. Outside its door and right by the street was a toddler girl. Just standing around and looking at us. I reached my head out the car's windown and I asked in Hmong if she knew of a certain person I only had the name to. She said she did. And, so, she became my tourist! I asked the taxi driver to allow her in the car as she directed him towards another end of Cacao for the person whose name I had. And once there, the girl said she would just run home without a ride back in the taxi. Having just arrived there from America, I felt unease but then realized I was no longer in St. Paul, MN. So, I just said, "Ua tsaug. Mus koj nawb."
"Aws."
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Blue Dirt Village--Nam Yao, Laos--Next to this village is another one named Red Dirt Village.
Infants and toddlers do not survive for long here. They need to be moved to Red Dirt or elsewhere. Otherwise, funeral drums and mourning kick in at any time--sometimes even multiple funerals.
The inveterate villagers have shamanized all four corners of the village as well as in the middle and in circles rippling out towards the edges of the village. Yet nothing could stop the silent deaths of infants and toddlers. Yes, the cause is known: a childless couple had died there, and so they have wanted all of the children in their homes to make up for what they never had while alive. But no one has been able to exorcise them out of the village.
Good thing my family stayed there for only 23 days when I was somewhere between my infancy and toddler-hood.
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Reporter, do you really believe that the childless couple’s spirits came and took those infants/toddlers away? Could there be the air/atmosphere or some other causes?
My family used to live in a small village where lots of infants and toddlers died, too (but not Nam Yao). Only those kids were get very sick for a very short amount of time (in a matter of days) and then died. My parents lost a son in that village.
I'm not sure, Fuchsia. I'm just telling everyone what I was told. To a certain extent, I agree with you that the atmosphere has a lot to do with it. Spirits are blamed for most Hmong ailments. Blue Dirt Village's just happened to be one of the cases.
Hmong folktales have told of black dirts being evil-related. And real life situations have proven that in a few cases, too. But blue dirt? That's rare. And when the shamans have said over and over again that Blue Dirt Village had the deceased couple involved, the villagers just had to believe that. After all, who else would have had better investigations into it back then? (We are talking about the 1970s in a remote and backward jungled-in location.)
What did your parents and their neighbors believe was the cause in their village?
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So, really? Black dirts are cursed with evil? I have never heard of that either. All I heard was, black dirts txhaj le zoo qoob loo. But I have heard that before Hmong people build a house, they take three rice (peb lub noob nplej), dig up a hole, throw the rice in, and chant that if the area is suitable for the house (no evil spirits, etc.), then for the rice to sprout in three days. In three days time, they will return and if the rice sprouted, then they will build their house but if the rice have not sprouted, then they don’t b/c it means evil spirits roam the area or something to that nature.
And I don't know what my parents or their neighbors believed about the cause of infant/toddler deaths in that village. But they did say the air/atmosphere in that village was very dense/congested, hot/humid, and not suitable for small children.
The elders often built thatches with that kind of ritual. Feng Shui? Not sure. Some have tried to read the valleys into it, too. But I don't know how that's done. I have yet a lot more stuff to read about or study.
Anyway, yes, black dirt is known for evil. Remember the folktale about the two sisters--Ntxawm Hlob Ntxawm Yau? They were out to summon an old granny to come help their family with a feast and the spiritual ceremony it required. Because it had been a long time since their parents last visited their grandma and the roads had grown shrubs on the side and been much covered up with weeds, their mother gave them two clues on how to find the right path to their grandma's thatch. Neither had been to granny's at all anyway. "Aav luaj dlub yog nam taig puj dlaab; aav luaj dlaag txham le yog nam taig puj sis hlub," she warned them. (Pardon the nam taig designation and spelling here.) After a long trip, they came upon a forked road. They argued about what their mother had told them. "Mom said it's the yellow path for loving grandma," said Ntxawm Me, the younger sister. "No, no, she said it's the black road for loving grandma," argued the older sister, Ntxawm Hlob. In Hmong, black rhymes with the word love, while yellow does not. The older sister insisted that the rhyme made it clear she was right. And, being a younger sister in the sibling and family hierarchy, the younger sister complied. So, the two took the black dirt path. They came upon a witch who disguised as their grandma.
A plateau near the town of Phabkheb in Laos, just across the valleys from Mount Phu Chong and across the road that led to Long Cheng on the northeast and to Vientiene to the southwest, held a small black dirt village. The leader of that village at first read the mountains to signify a position of leadership. His family settled there. He made his sons-in-law join him there, too. I'm not sure if they did the rice ceremony or even an egg spiritual performance before building the thatches and a mansion on the plateau. There were many bad signs when the thatches were being built. A pig refused to go up the plateau when first beaten to go there, for example. A wild bird just flew right into one of the thatches from one door and out the other--unusual for places like that at that time. Elders normally took those to be bad omens. But the new dwellers did not pay much attention to them. After three families had finished their thatches, they found a few old graves down the hill. Those were old Hmong graves, according to them. But no one knew why they were there. What was clear was that another group of Hmong had already abandoned the location. Now, as time went by for the next three years, young kids kept dying in this new village. All ended up being buried at the same grave site as the old graves. But not just young children; adults, too, were dying left and right. The leader of this village lost two wives. One of the other families lost their oldest daughter. Another man lost his only wife, too. A respected shaman just over a nearby hill on a yellow dirt town now told them that the black dirt was not suitable. The men at that black dirt village said they thought it was just in stories. But apparently not so. So, they began evacuating the area, but then it was already time to flee Laos, so they abandoned the village for Thailand instead.
Black dirt combined with a soil-level, flat grass that has tiny white tubers resembling yams but only pencil-sized, and a shrub named nroj pwm tshis isn't good. That's what the village had, according to one of their elders.
I usually ask my parents what our villages were like. Don't you ask about yours or your family's old village? Then you might know the cause that killed those infants.
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I could vaguely remember that folktale story, Reporter. Can you share the story all the way to the very end? :) LOLz. And do share other Hmong folktale stories, if you have any. >:D
And nroj pawm tshis isn't bad; according to my mom, it's good for medicinal use.
And...no, I don't ask my parents much about those. This isn't to say I don't care about my family history. Besides, I don't think my parents or their neighbors really believed in anything evil, as the village was filled with mostly Christians. According to my mom, there was even a church for the Christians to worship God. And yes, my parents were one of those early Christian converters. :)
I am curious to know how the first Hmong converted to Christianity. When? Where? Why? What really prompted them to do so? What was it about the dead boy's body on the rock that may have frightened them into abandoning their century-old traditions? Tell me what you know. I am just curious.
That folktale? Well, you want details or you want just the gist of it? And I do have a lot of others I could share. Soon.
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Wow! That's a lot of questions, Reporter.
Truthfully, I don't know the answers to your questions. My parents were one of those early converters but not one of the very first. I think there was a conference some years ago where the very first Hmong Christian converter was introduced (or so I believe – I mean I can't exactly recalled if he's still alive or had passed away).
As far as what "frightened" them to convert...I don't think it was anything "frightful". It was more of having a Savior. Even none-Christians need to "save" their own soul (plig); hence, the tua qab, tuab npua theej txhoj ceremony so the Shaman can bring back a "trap" spirit. Am I right?
And as for the story, I would very much appreciate all of the details if you don't mind or have time. :)
Is your family Catholic or Protestant? There were different conversion stories for these groups. The Catholics converted simply because their leaders back in the 1950s just liked the Bible's story of Adam and Eve better than the Hmong's story of Nkauj Iab and Nraug Oo. That's according to Zam Nob Yaj, one of the first converters under Yves Bertrais (Txiv Plig Nyiaj Pov). (I have video to prove of his words, by the way.)
Ntxawm Hlob and Ntxawm Yau lived on a remote hill surrounded by primitive farms and wooden and bamboo thatches and barns. Society was no different than elsewhere at that time. It's one of those once upon a time folktales, although they didn't know that it was.
Upon reaching the witch's thatch, the witch asked what and whom the two siblings were looking for. "Our granny," they replied. "Oh, then I am your granny," the witch replied.
"But our mom said our granny has a big mole on her face," they demanded.
The witch turned aside, magically planted a mole on her face with a sticky black rice, and turned back. "See here? I have a mole on my face," she said.
Whatever they claimed their grandmother had, the witch was able to glue up something to resemble it. All the while, Ntxawm Hlob was entirely and enthusiastical ly convinced, while Ntxawm Yau was skeptical throughout.
"It has been too long," she told them after preparing them to go back home. "I want you to take these grey ashes and sprinkle them on the way home, so that I can find the road to your village...agai n," she added.
Each with some ashes in her sashes, the two sisters sprinkled them here and there on the way back home. But Ntxawm Yau refused to continue doing that when they were about to cross a river. She dumped her ashes on the river, washed off her hands and her sash and no longer sprinkled any more ash for the rest of the trip. But Ntxawm Hlob was obedient and slower, so she kept it up all the way to the edge of the village.
The villagers were alarmed upon hearing of their encounter. They knew the witch did not want to eat up just two persons. That was why she had not killed off the two sisters right at her place. The witch wanted more.
The feast abandoned, everyone also abandoned the village and ran wild in their own directions. They knew the witch would come for them. And soon, too.
The knowing elders demanded to leave the two siblings in the village. Then the witch would not think there were more people to hunt for. Ntxawm Hlob and Ntxawm Yau's parents agreed and fled the village elsewhere without them.
No ash sprinkle in order to leave no trace. Everyone left like the wind!
Ntxawm Hlob was covered up on a tipped over wok, while Ntxawm Yau was kept covered by some sacks in their family's thatch.
The witch followed the ash trails to the village. She looked like a dried up lower pig jaw as she walked from the woodlands and hills towards the village, struggling to balance herself side-to-side.
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Write more! ;D I enjoy reading your stories :) :) :)
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Write more! ;D I enjoy reading your stories :) :) :)
Sure. Just give me times. I will write up whatever interesting personal experiences I come across. Plus, some folktales, yes.
Feel free to share yours, too. We'd love that.
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Ua le. I'm a terrible writer, but I'm shall write ;D looking forward to your folklores, esp.
Sure. Just give me times. I will write up whatever interesting personal experiences I come across. Plus, some folktales, yes.
Feel free to share yours, too. We'd love that.
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Saul, French Guiana--A black French student looked at my camcorder through the torn-down wooden door and screamed in French. He seemed frightened to death and almost in tears.
His female black French teacher came out and looked at me intensely.
She didn't look as frightening as what she was going to tell me next: "You cannot do that," she yelled in French (and in translation).
I looked around if passersby might overhear me being scolded at.
"Really?" I asked back in French, trying to sound brave but almost with a trembling voice. "I didn't know that."
"Yes, you do."
"All right. I cease."
"Good."
Whatever French laws may have been involved, I was not sure. Guiana was a French colony and so the teacher must have taken me to have come from mainland France.
I just remained quiet and was no longer taking any video of Saul's 5-building downtown.
But I kept walking around in the area and over the slippery mud under the drizzles, wondering where the Hmong houses were. Cacao's residents had told me before I flew out that there was a 30-minute walk from the airport to the Hmong houses. But the other six passengers and I took the pickup truck from the airport. Yet there was no Hmong house to be found.
Suddenly, a young Hmong lady walked by under her striped umbrella. Red and blue with a silver handle on her right hand.
"You've come to visit?" she asked. "Where did you come from?"
"Yes. From the U.S. You live here? Where are the Hmong houses? I am looking for a man named VL."
"Oh, him? They live on the other side of the hill. But their children are in the school. Let me see. I can tell them to come get you after school. They can take you with them. I'll tell the teacher about that, too. They are done in about thirty minutes."
I hesitated to let her approach that black French teacher. "Maybe I can just wait here. It's only thirty minutes of waiting. You don't need to talk to them. I..."
She went right into the school without fear and spoke French to the teacher. Apparently, the teacher did not say anything, either about me or about the Hmong lady's storming into the classroom while it was in session.
The toddlers were summoned to the door. The Hmong lady turned and pointed at me in the rain. The kids looked at me. I heard "nawb...nawb..." And then the kids responded in unison in their high-pitched child voices with "aws."
The Hmong lady invited me to her house to wait for the children. Her husband--a big black French--was Saul's mayor!!
After school, three toddlers came out and became my tour guides up the hill!!
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"Where are you?" the witch asked as she broke into the two Ntxawm's families thatch. "Granny is here for the feast as you have invited."
There was no response, no sound from anywhere or anyone. But soon she heard nervous, shaking noises from behind the family kiln. She walked over to the area and saw a big toe sticking out from an tipped over wok.
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Ntxawm Yau trembled as she was listening to the mauling sound from the kiln area.
Then "Oh, Granny," she begged as the witch tore up the mouth of the sack for Ntxawm Yau. "You already ate my older sister. You are full now. You can wait."
"I can have more, and I want more," the witch said.
"Oh, then, Granny, don't eat me. I can take you to my parents and you can have more than us two."
The witch's eyes glittered with delight. "Very well," she said with blood falling off her lips. "Where are they? How shall we get to them?"
Ntxawm Yau got out of the sack and led the witch outside.
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"We plant two trees," Ntxawm proposed. "You plant bonxai and I plant pine. When they grow, we are raised up and we see my parents."
The witch agreed.
Trees planted, the two sat on their respective tree tops.
"Pine, the more you age,
The taller you get;
Bonxai, the older you are,
The shorter you become."
"What did you say?" asked the witch.
The magical words raised the pine far up into the sky.
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The witch tried to climb up the pine-like tree and keeps trying to recall Ntxawm's name. "Ntxawm Yau, Ntxawm Yau, Ntxawm Yau," she said as she glued herself to the tree. Then she slipped back down to the bush and forgot Ntxawm's name.
After thinking through for a long time, she recalled it again. "Ntxawm Yau, Ntxawm Yau, Ntxaum Yau," she kept repeating as she attrempted to climb the tree again.
The witch fell back down to the bush and forgot the name again. :2funny: :2funny:
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My family is Protestant. Yes, I'd heard that Catholic Hmongs still keep their xwm kaab (is that what they're called?), still hu plig, saib yaig and such. I don't quite know what their reasons are but I'm certain that what you stated plays a roll in their religious activities. And I don't quite know why others converted - I've been told that many converted b/c they don't have the funds to tua qab, tua npua to hu plig and ua neeb so they converted for that particular reason - but my grandparents' decision to convert was to be saved by our Lord and Savior. :)
...And thanks for writing the folktale story... :)
Xwm kaab is permitted in Catholic families. So are many other Hmong traditions. Yves Bertrais told his followers that Catholicism wanted to preserve other culture's traditions but just wants them to also believe in God. Before Yves Bertrais died, he requested to have a Hmong funeral. He got one in France.
Many people have become Protestants because they no longer wanted to have anything to do with Hmong stuff. Christianity is easier, they felt. All you do is believe and worship Jesus/God once a week or so. Originally, donations at churches were voluntary. It's still like that in many American-run churches. But many Hmong churches insist on a 10% donation of each believer's paycheck. I don't know how you save more money there than buying animals to perform Hmong traditions only when needed. So, your family does not run the chicken over the bride's head at the groom's door on that first encounter? Nor wear Hmong clothes at weddings? Etc.?
The Lord saves those who save themselves.
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Ntxawm Yau tried to help the witch.
"Granny, you must first put grease on the tree before you can climb it," she advised.
The witch went into the house and brought out a wok of grease. She sprinkled the grease all around the tree. She now climbed it. But she kept falling off back onto the ground. Finally, the witch got angrier and went back inside the house for an axe.
After a few chops, Ntxawm Yau advised the witch again. "Oh, no, that's not the way to use our axe," she said. "You must pound it on the rock a few times before it will chop off the tree more easily."
The dull axe turned out completely useless, and the witch got even angrier. "I will eat you up when I get you," she threatened.
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"Granny, I told you: spare me and get my entire family; kill me and that's all you get to eat."
The witch walked off and ran back from a distance to shake down the tree. Each bump almost made Ntxawm lose hold of her branches. "Look up, granny," she called down to the witch. "I have something for you."
Ntxawm sprinkled down some fine, grounded hot peppers onto the witch's eyes.
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Granny ran towards the gulley to wash her eyes off by the stream there. :2funny:
Meanwhile, Ntxawm's tree grew a bit taller into the clouds.
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Hoy Khan, Laos--They called it that. But we have also come to know it as Banana Village.
Locals loved bananas. So did maternal grandpa. An open-air market just on the rim of some hills held booths full of every kind from the wild, cat-shit bananas to domesticated plaintains and even the larger purplish, big-seeded sour bananas and the rounder, smaller egg-shaped bananas so loved by all.
Our group arrived on a song theo driven by the local Tasseng's oldest son one afternoon on the dirt road. Our three families wanted to move out swiftly so that no one could trace us here. The Commies had taken over our former town. Grandpa's rare, expensive mansion, too. That was the reason he had summoned two of the local authorities to help us migrate out here for other plans. The Commies had accused Grandpa of hosting secret spies behind the rocky mountains. They gave him only two choices: bring them out or be arrested. But Grandpa chose a third choice: leaving his town and mansion.
Yet grandpa insisted that we not move another foot step outside Banana Village. "Here has so many bananas, where else do you want to run to?" he questioned.
Less than a month later, the Chaofas sent a note on a red piece of paper to the controlling Commie base just up the hill from the banana vendors. "Tomorrow," the note said in Laotian. "We are coming to have banana breakfast with you."
Chia Doua Yang, the main Commie leader in town, discussed the cursive handwritten note with his comrades and the local tasseng. "That's no threat," he said. "Can't be true. If they are serious about having banana breakfast, they wouldn't be telling us ahead of time. Just ignore it. No need to lose our sleep over it," he insisted.
By 6 a.m., Chia Doua came out in a green Commie military suit to the side of the dirt road on a horse. We were all looking away. He and his horse joined us. Despite his assurance to his soldiers and the locals that the threat was nothing to fear, he had vacated the base the night before. This morning the base and the banana booths were in flame with dark smokes up in the air in the distance. Boom! Boom! Boom! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Like marathon popcorns popping inside a heated pot. Chia Doua's face was just as dark as the thick smoke.
The ammos ceased within an hour of exploding. Turned out, the only thing the battle achieved was burning down the local's banana thatches and vendors--the entire banana market arena. What used to look like mushrooms of varying heights became a totally bald spot full of ash rubble and melt down wine glasses and tin cans.
Grandpa continued to just plant bananas now since the smokes would clear up soon. Dad and the other two heads of their families lost patience. We abandoned Grandpa to the locals and the banana fields.
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May 5, 1999, Vientiene, Laos--The Mekong River is just down some walking distance from here. But one needs not fish there for walking catfish.
That's not because they are sold here. It's because the southern puddle of this Early Morning Market actually had a live one living there.
Of course, by now, it's too late for anyone to catch it. The last one or, perhaps the only giant catfish the size of a typical land domesticated cat, was netted out of this puddle just this afternoon. However the netter first had the idea to net there or why people had never netted there before today is questionable. I could not speak Laotian to the netter, so I did not ask him about it. Nor did any of the bystanders--I didn't ask, they didn't ask, they didn't tell.
And how did a catfish get raised there without an owner? The puddle belongs to no one. There is no law against going into it or even dumping trash into it. So, obviously, either a baby or an egg must have fallen off of the nearby fish vendors and secretly grew up in the puddle. It would not have had any problem getting foods there, since all trashes empty into the puddle.
With a simple one cast, the netter stretched the bait-cast net, covering the entire dirty-looking brown pond. In only shorts and completely topless under this tropical heat, he jumped in. His feet were swallowed down by the mud but he managed to pull them off as he made his way across the pond around the edges of the net. His hands feeling as he bent down towards the water--now and then raising his head again as he moved to another spot.
Suddenly, the netter's arms shook and his head was almost tossed out of its place like a tail wagging a dog.
Bystanders surrounding the puddle cheered in unison!! "Whoa!!"
One didn't need to know Laotian to understand that expression.
"Yai," said the netter.
"Bo?" someone asked.
Those mean "big" and "really?"--in that order.
Manipulating around the net, the netter slowly brought the fish onto the surface under the net. The fish was now clear in view!
Another cheer!
Cat-sized, slippery and slimy looking much like a typical American bullhead but darker in pigmentation and larger whiskers.
Then the netter removed the fish from the net, lifted it, and walked up the side of the puddle. He tossed it onto the drier ground up here.
More cheers, of course!
The catfish struggled back and forth on its belly like a baby nagging and rolling on the ground for candies, probably forgetting to walk or even run. After all, this one has got no legs.
The netter returned to the mud to pull out his net.
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KM52, Laos--No, we didn't take any banana with us on the evening we escaped Hoy Khan. People elsewhere would know where we originated from if we did.
And that plan worked. Six months later, we made it here--KM52. No one knew where we had come from.
Then Grandpa tracked us down. He looked just as dark as Chia Doua's face on that battling morning. He, too, had abandoned the banana fields. So did Chia Doua Yang. He said there were too many banana breakfasts at Hoy Khan that Chia Doua's troops could no longer survive there. The bananas were running out--like no longer abundant, that is--not literally fleeing the village like we. Grandpa and Chia Doua's families had moved to the Nam Ngawm Dam and lived quite happily there with fewer bananas. Now he wanted to move to KM52 with us. We had only a few banana trees. But that was ok to Grandpa.
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Paris, France--Aug. 16, 2011--Yes, it's just a dream. I'm not there. Read lots about it, including La Sorbonne and La Seine and La Tour Eiffel. Many other La's, even some La fille and La femme. But just reading.
Once there though, I don't see things being any different from New York's crowded subways or Philadelphia's jammed streets. Just that the language is French. Cars vrooming and honking probably aren't any different.
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Nantes, France--Aug. 17, 2011--How could I be here if I wasn't even in Paris yet?
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There are many reasons as to why many Hmongs converted to Christianity (both back then and now). I think that for the most part, many converted b/c Christianity freed them from having to butcher chickens, pigs, cows, and the likes for jingle belling (ua neeb) reasons, as a lot of people lacked the fund for those activities back in the days.
Nonetheless, I disagreed that Hmong converted to Protestant b/c they "no longer wanted to have anything to do with Hmong stuff". Sure, perhaps some are but then you have to know the difference between a mere church go-er and a true Christian. We got rid of the kev cai dlaab qhuas (anything that pertains to spiritual ceremonies such as lwm qab, hu plig, ua neeb, and the likes) but we do not get rid of being a Hmong (naav khaub dluag Moob, has lug Moob, clan marriages and such). And no, coj dlaab is not part of being a Hmong – coj dlaab is a religious/spiritual practice, not a culture practice.
I don't deny the fact that a lot of churches, especially Hmong churches, are overly aggressive about the 10% tithe (yes, even I get annoyed about that – not just you). And since the aggressiveness comes from the pastor's sermons, a lot of folks think that the pastor is pocketing those funds. But let me be cleared about one thing: I can't speak for all churches or pastors, but I have attended both big and small Hmong churches and I can tell you that they are NOT rich. When the bills come, you want to pull out your hair. I mean, what can you do when your expenses are more than your revenues? Of course, you will go to your only source of income – your congregation. I know of many cases where the treasurer had to choose between paying for a bill that will incur late fees or the pastor's monthly salary. Of course, they choose the former, leaving the pastor with empty-handed until the following week.
Nonetheless, giving to the Lord IS and always WILL BE a voluntary issue.
As for American churches, just an FYI, some churches have direct deposits set-up for their 10% tithes so it's not just that Hmong churches are greedy (yes, some probably are). There is a need for those funds and Hmong churches just have a bad way of reiterating it.
Hm...? Say more.
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About....?
About American churches collecting tithes and about how many times a pastor has actually let go of his claims to his salaries 'til the following week, etc. I have gone to American churches before (Well, just to the Catholic churches) and they only passed a bowl around; giving is voluntary. That's usually not 10% of one's income.
Also, say more on whether Jesus originally made tithes a part of someone's membership in a church. Or are tithes are recent man-made due to a tougher economy to operate God's services?
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What? You think I have mistaken by saying "woman-height"? Oh, then have the feminists continue complaining, eh? If you think that's degrading, well, we can't please everyone, can we?
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August, 28, 2011--Mid-west Southern MN Lake (not its real name)--An action-packed great day that started out hopelessly! The friend, known more as Fly_Guy, thrilled me two weeks ago about possibly catching lunkers beyond belief! The talks and anticipation had me going so strong, I couldn't sleep the night before and got up at 4:15 a.m. after just a two hours of sleep.
When I got to Fly's place, he had been up earlier and was already waiting too long for me. He said he had gone back go sleep because I was a bit later than we had originally proposed.
Nonetheless, we hitched up his boat to his truck and drove west of the Twin Cities.
Having arrived around 6:00 a.m., we quickly cast at Fly's favorite spot. For the next few hours, we continued to cast hard with our spinner baits. Yet the lake didn't produce anything but junkies of green fertilizer taints from the local farms. By noon, I had lost all hopes of fun-filled fishing, and I was beginning to believe that the other friend, Sushi, who had previously agreed to come along but decided this morning to pull out--he claimed he was too tired from a family gathering the night before--I was believing he did the right thing pulling out.
I suggested going home for the day. But Fly insisted on just changing the lake.
There was another one he knew well of down somewhere totally unknown to me. On the way there, I slept throughout the interim because I was both too tired and bored. By the time I awoke again, we were already just a few blocks from a new lake! Unknown to me, but Fly said this was farther south of where we were just 40 minutes ago.
Boat off the truck and onto the lake. We hopped on, equipped to cast again. Over the lily pads near the edges of the lake, we maneuvered Fly's Bass Tracker boat. Casting here and there. Nothing was happening! Same old stuff like the previous lake except the green junkies weren't there. The lakes were equally dirty looking. But this one just didn't have the stinky looking stains on the surface. I actually said that to Fly when he said they kind of looked the same.
Then suddenly, a huge splash!! The sound was too familiar for those in the know. (We were among that group.) Something had caught onto Fly's bait. He just set the hook and reeled it in real quickly without saying anything.
I just watched and admired the action! "A large mouth!" I said.
He agreed. But he didn't stop. He just kept on reeling!
A keeper green bass (another term we use for largemouth bass).
We continued around the edges some more, casting here and there.
My first catch: a tiny large mouth bass. A second was a larger crappie! Enough to dispel my sleepiness. So, we kept casting!
I managed to catch a few more crappies with a spinner bait tipped with plastic minnows. But that didn't excite anyone!
Our hope of finding lunkers was almost out! We had come a long way on the edges and now were making our way towards another side of the lake. Nature seemed to play us a bit, too: it put some thick clouds just above our spot and dropped some rain onto us, harsh enough that we had to put our rain gears on for a time. After the short storm, Fly got so tired (and bored for sure), he asked me to pilot his boat after just some brief instructions. No fish still, as I slowly controlled the boat around the area. Sounds just like those bad luck days other people have had at other times.
I kept the boat silent and fished around for some 15 minutes 'til Fly got up again. "Caught anything?" he asked.
"Nope. Nothing," I said.
Fly took over the boat again and we kept moving around the edges again. He knew that lunkers would hang around logs, lily pads, and other thick structures around the edges. (I am not sure what the fishes do with the deeper parts of the water, really.)
But still no catches.
Near 3:00 p.m., Fly finally suggested we go to another spot where there were lily pads--yes, one more before we quit for the day.
I had no more hope other than finding ways to catch crappies and sunnies for fun. At least there was some yanking actions for a bit, I told myself.
Then we found several tiny beds of lily pads, and Fly suggested we start with one of them. So, over some lily pads farther into a corner of this lake, Fly and I cast. Just top water actions, pretty much since we didn't want our hooks to collect the weeds that were growing thick in the areas.
Boom! Fly caught a lunker bass! Quick actions as before! This one was larger than the other one.
My sleep totally disappeared! I was more alert than a gazelle fearing a wild predator!!
I took out one of my scum frogs and cast it into the pads! Then in between two sets of pads! Fly was putting his near, too!
The water rose with some ripple effects near mine, a huge panel of teeth or something grabbed my frog and pulled it under the water! This was happening so fast, I couldn't even tell my frog had disappeared had it not been for the line moving quickly out of position. It was alive. Must be a bite!
A bite it was!
I pulled my line, as if to set the hook!
The line came off real smoothly! Real light. That's because there was no fish coming along! We saw the bite! It was a lunker pike! But I didn't hook it!
"You should have set the hook faster," Fly said.
"It's not the hook," I said. "The line is cut off."
More bass actions followed. But they were Fly's and not mine. I kept losing fishes. And Fly kept counting the losses that I wanted to forget!
"Let me show you how to do frog actions," he said.
Fly took out a soft-gel frog with dark brown top and a white belly. A hook runs almost throughout the frog's body. He said this kind was no longer made. We couldn't determine why.
Fly quickly tied up the frog onto the line, replacing another bait he had just used before. He cast it into the lily pads just to our left and dragged it back in slow motion, brushing over the leaves. I could see the frog's legs beating on the surface like a vibrating jello. I commented on those. "Oh, I see. It's swimming real fast," I added.
Just as the frog got off the lily pads and onto the opening water just a few yards between our boat and the pads, a lunker bass jumped at it! The water splashed almost a foot into the air! The water parted! A huge ripple formed and the bass dived right back down into the water with the frog!! We could already see how big it was!
"Whoa!!!" I applauded loudly! (The entire lake must have hummed up and other fisherpersons and nearby residents might have heard me.) Real unchoreographe d, live actions before my eyes like never before! Water splashing, sweeping with quick, scrubby sounds as Fly reeled in the fish!! Better and more thrilling than in the movies!
But Fly already set the line and had the lunker hooked! No matter how hard the bass jumped now, it was hooked good, and Fly seemed to know that! He was not going to stop reeling in the lunker! I would have softened up the reeling in case the fish's lips fell off or something. But that was not the way, according to Fly. Why was I still being nice to the fish, after all? And that seemed to be my problem: not setting the hook hard or fast enough.
Apparently, the fish was too huge among all of those we caught today for just the three or so hours here, I was afraid Fly's line might break, so I reached down to the boat side with the net!
It measured between 19" and 20". And its weight: 5.20 lbs!!!
http://www.pebhmong.com/forum/index.php/topic,251395.0.html
http://www.pebhmong.com/forum/index.php/topic,251245.0.html
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9/11/11--Twin Towers, Bin Laden, terrorists, warfares--all the violence. That's all that comes to mind today. 9/11 does not make me think of the ambulance and paramedics anymore! It's just terrorism at its worst! Obviously, Bin Laden's group might have chosen this day to create an emergency!! What a way to mock the United States!
I don't know what to make of this incident. I'm just glad our U.S. government handled it immediately! Years ago, I felt pretty bad upon hearing of how the planes took down the towers. I realized right at that time that the U.S. government has had lots of grudges with so many people that the common people didn't and don't know about. I think there are more and that one day we will be surprised through another incident or an arrest or something turbulent.
People need to promote peace around the world more aggressively.
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9/14/11--St. Paul, MN--A cooler weather took over my morning. I turned down the AC for the first time and also the car's heat for the first time.
I shiver a bit around this time of year, not because of the cold but because of the chilling feelings of an upcoming terrible winter like the one we just had this past year. I hope this year's winter won't be as harsh.
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I'm not offended at all in anyway. There's no requirement that I know so much about churches. I won't ever be tested on them, and I won't ever need them to live or survive in anyway. I can be as ignorant about them as anybody can be about anything else and it still won't matter. And learning about them won't serve any purpose other than just knowing more about them. Frankly, it doesn't hurt to know or not to know more about how churches are run.
One thing for sure, though, is that churches are not funded by the government simply because the government is restricted from funding or restricting their fundings or activities. Just Free Exercise of the U.S. Constitution, right?
I personally think the churches should not be that greedy as to collect from its members so much. But at the same time I also see the need for some money to run its activities. Without money--and since the government is't helping--how will a church function for the benefits of the members if there's no money to pay for someone to run the churches or its activities? Just common sense. So, I approve a little collecting. I just don't think it should be overly aggressive in just collecting.
I don't attend American churches so I can't say much about it other than I have seen numerous people with the 10% tithe being direct deposited from their place of employment. Plus, I am not Catholic and I have never attended a Catholic mass before so I wouldn't know anything about how tithes are collected (or if tithe is part of their practice?). And Reporter, attending church services a few times in your lifetime doesn't give you a clear view of how money/tithes are collected.
Additionally, I don't know how many times a pastor has to pass his salary until the following week but I can honestly tell you that I used to attend a very small church and the pastor was hardly ever paid on time (good thing the wife had a job outside of the church and they weren't really dependent on his salary to pay for their bills). I urge you to become an official member of a church (a small Hmong church preferably) for one year or longer and perhaps then you will have a better/clearer idea of the importance of collecting 10% tithes. And this is not to insult you in anyway, shape, or form but a mere encouragement for you to expand your views/perspectives on churches.
And Jesus did not "made" 10% tithe a part of anyone's church membership nor was it a recent man-made due to tougher economy issue. However, recent economy downturn makes it difficult for people to "give" voluntarily; hence, the many sermons from many of the struggling Hmong churches. Tithe is originally from the Old Testament but Jesus (and the Apostle Paul) did emphasize the importance of giving what's God back to Him.
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Mount Hoy Han, Laos, 1975--A grenade exploded in the middle of the night down the hill that echoed up the rocky mountains just on the north of our thatch. I woke up from it like a thunder had just struck a tree and trembled the areal. Everyone had thought war has now reached our village. But my parents said not to scream and not to go anywhere. I was a kid then. I could not see anything outside but darkness through our wooden walls.
Soon, a man's family members were mourning from the thatch just down a few yards from ours. My father and my maternal grandfather had gone to check it out. Turned out, a Yang man had pulled the grenade on himself. Dad said the man had asked his family members to sleep with a relative that night. The man--while all alone--then had put the grenade by the door knob and pulled its trigger with a threat while he was lying on the bed near the door panel. All of his body turned into pieces except his legs were intact, Dad reported.
My mother said the man had been depressed for many years now because of an illness that could not be cured. "He told grandpa one time that he would just take care of it himself," mom said.
The guy was an opium addict. I remember him having a beautiful teenage girl who was older than I was. Her name was New Flower. No one wanted her because of his condition.
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Yep! As I said before, giving to the church/God is and will always be a volunteering matter, not by guilt or force. And allow me to reiterate that even I get annoyed by the many/overly aggressive sermons about giving to the church. I'll give when I want to give; that's between me and God. :)
Now, can we get back to the folktale story? ;D
While on top of the tree, Ntxawm yelled out to her family in the distance. It was believed that the clouds or the angels of Heavens could deliver her message to her parents anywhere on any other part of the Earth. "Mom and Dad, threat up sturdy sack for Daughter and threat up bottomless sack for Maternal Granny Witch!"
Within seconds, Ntxawm's message was received and transmitted back for clarification. "I said 'threat up sturdy sack for Daughter Ntxawm and threat up bottomless sack for Maternal Granny Witch!'"
"Oh, surely, we shall do. But how do we know you are our true and real Ntxawm? Give us a sign that you truly are, and a sack we shall sew up in no time. Two, in fact, one sturdy and one bottomless," a voice yelled back through the angels.
"I have an older sister Ntxawm Hlob back in the village and now I am chased by the Granny Witch that you have told me to fetch," Ntxawm returned.
"Not enough," a voice returned that claimed to be Ntxawm's mother. "Where did I hide my two silver earrings?"
"At the goat fence," Ntxawm said back.
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St. Paul, MN--Sept. 19, 2011: So, my questions for you, Mr. Reporter, are: where were you going and what were you hoping for while going through those jungles?
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St. Paul, MN--Sept. 19, 2011: So, my questions for you, Mr. Reporter, are: where were you going and what were you hoping for while going through those jungles?
Oh, those jungles? You mean like back in Laos? Well, I was hoping to just get some fresh seafood from the streams and rivers. But it turned out we got all the way to a river called Mekong. Then soon we were already on a land where people were speaking with "stickier" words, etc. :2funny:
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Oh, those jungles? You mean like back in Laos? Well, I was hoping to just get some fresh seafood from the streams and rivers. But it turned out we got all the way to a river called Mekong. Then soon we were already on a land where people were speaking with "stickier" words, etc. :2funny:
And by "etc" I mean a thicker accent, a different culture, a new land--in short, Thailand itself.
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So now, we are talking to ourselves? :D
Well, my question to you, Mr. Reporter, is: do you believe in Heaven and Hell?
Yes.
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St. Paul, MN--Sept. 22, 2011--A few leaves on the tree outside my work window have turned yellow. But there are some green ones still.
That's a natural cycle that just recurs and recurs and recurs and recurs. Around this time of year, I've also noticed a bit of rain and then the wind blowing harshly here and there. It's quite clear every time: nature is preparing for another season. Of course, officially, our autumn--aka fall--starts tomorrow. Will the leaves fall in time? No way. The way they look right now, they are not going to fall for an other two to three weeks or so.
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"Yes, that is where I have put it," Ntxawm's mother responded. "And, so, it is you, my May Nai. Mother has been so worried about you, eyes always full of tears."
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Reporter, I read your initial response but haven't had a chance to reply. Why did you delete it?
Now, next question. Do you believe that when people die, they go to either Heaven or Hell?
And...do you practice Shamanism? Or are you an Atheist?
I don't want people to think I'm turning shamanistic. That's why I deleted the original response.
Anyway, yes, I believe people go to one of three places once dead: 1. Heaven, 2. Hell, and 3. Earth--two ways: be an eternal ghost or reincarnate into another being as either a human or an animal or a plant.
I'm neither a shaman nor an atheist. I believe in the diverse views of life around the world. I just don't practice them consistently. There is no need to do that anyway.
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Forestville State Park, somewhere in southern Minnesota (Saturday, Sept. 25, 2011)--I came here to hunt squirrels but got lost finding my way back. And then I ran into a farmer who was selling gourds, eggs, and pumpkins. I stopped by his house and asked for direction to the highway that would lead me back to Rochester. I also bought 10 dozens of brown farm-fresh eggs from him, and found my way back to St. Paul.
How I was lost: there was a road that led directly to the highway to Rochester. But I went the other way on that road instead. That's because it's full of farms and similar-looking corners around here.
But the hunting was not that great. I walked 45 minutes through a state park before I got to the hunting area. I crossed two streams, one already had a bridge made of three logs. Some Hmong must have done that, since I could not imagine a Caucasian knowing how to do that or even thinking of doing that. I have seen Hmong people build bridges this way before.
Then I went up a hill, got thirsty, sat down to drink and eat a little snack before moving on.
My partner and I spent the entire day there and got just one squirrel.
We returned to the parking lot just to meet a park ranger who seemed to question me harshly.
"Where did you just come from?" he asked.
"From the trail. We went hunting over the hill," I told him.
"Where did you hunt?" he asked.
"By the hill, past that hunting sign on the trail. There's a sign that says 'Public Hunting Permitted' or 'Allowed,'" I said. "And on the other side, it says 'Restricted. Shooting and Hunting Prohibited.' But we crossed the river and went up the hill and hunted up there. Real far away."
He said some horseback riders have complained about seeing people carrying guns in the state park. I told him they never saw us since we were up on the hill when they were riding by. I meant to say they have lied to him. But I didn't see a need to say more on that, since we haven't done anything wrong. Even if they had seen us, there's nothing illegal that we have done anyway. So I did not allege that they had lied. We did hear them and the horses gallopping and the horses blowing their noses, I added. "But they could not have seen us. We were over the hill pass the stream and in the woods at that time," I said.
The man went on to say that the horse riders claimed to have seen two people carrying guns by the metal bridge just down the hill from the parking lot. He felt the two people carrying gun description identified us, since has just seen us carrying a gun and there were just two of us. Whether he made that up or not, I don't know.
"We didn't meet anyone by the bridge and no one saw us with a gun."
Apparently, the park ranger said the horse riders claimed the gun or guns carried by the hunters they saw had the guns cased--whoever it was have done this legally.
"The law is that you can carry guns in state parks but they must be cased," he said.
Mine was cased and he saw me carrying the cased gun onto the trunk of our van. He did not say anything about that.
The ranger then said that people were not happy seeing other people carrying guns in the state parks, suggesting that we hunters needed to stop going hunting at Forestville. That's how his words felt to me.
I told him there was a sign by the trail that allowed hunting in that part of the state park. I even described the writings on both sides of the sign to him. Then I said, "I understand, especially kids. Kids can get scared if they see guns. But that is something you will have to take up with the state. The place allows hunting."
"Have you hunted here before?" he asked.
"Yes. Nine years ago."And I told him other people have hunted here, too.
The ranger realized I was right.
"I am not with law enforcement, and you are not in trouble or anything," he said.
Of course not. What problem would there be? I have not done anything wrong. He saw my cased gun. He knew there was a hunting spot there. If he had checked, he would have seen the one squirrel I got that day--6 short of the daily limit--along with my small game hunting license, and nothing else illegal.
He asked for my name and phone number. I gave them to him. I then asked if he wanted my ID and other information, too. He said he didn't want them and that he just wanted my number in case he wanted to ask more questions after talking to some other people who have hunted that day.
The ranger then added that he and management might have to find some different and better ways to allow the hunters to get to the hunting area.
The ranger reached out to shake my hand. I shook his hand.
"Nice to meet you," he said. And he let me go.
The horse riders cannot try to take over the park for themselves. That's one thing I'm sure of.
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Sat., Sept. 25th--A town between two other small towns was where the egg farmer was. His sign at the entrance to his silos and farm houses indicates he has pumpkins, gourds, and eggs. The eggs are $1.00 per dozen. Yes, farm-fresh. "The new hens just started laying many more at the same time the older set of hens have just finished laying," he said.
I drove late at night into the entrance. I feared the farmers might not answer the door knocks anymore. My head lights were already on and I could not see anything on the side because it was already too dark at 9:00 p.m. here. As I parked my van near other parked cars, I saw a dog outside a house. But the lights were still on. "They are selling," said my partner. "They should just be happy that we are still coming this late."
True enough, as I knocked on the door, the farmer male opened the door within seconds. He must have already my van coming and was probably expecting the knock. So he might have stood by the door as I parked and greeted the dog on my way towards the door.
"I want some eggs," I said. "And directions to highway 63."
I had recited these words on my way to the farm from the other road. I had thought of putting the second sentence first. But I felt that putting the first sentence first had more effects.
"You still have eggs, right?" I now asked outside the recitation plans.
"Yes," he replied. This farmer looked like he was just in his early 30's. A tall Caucasian male.
"But let me write down the directions for you first," he went on and turned back into his kitchen and brought out a plain white copy paper with a black pen.
"You are going north or south of 63?"
"North," I said.
He came outside and walked down the door steps to a wooden panel on the side. He set the paper there and started scribbling.
"As you go out of our roadway here, turn right. This road curves 5 times, and then you come to a county road. You want to turn right there and you'll soon come to highway 63."
Simple. On our way back, of course, my partner was going to count the turns or curves. But I said I didn't need to count them anymore. "I have crossed that road many times while we were lost, I know how to get there now," I said.
"How many dozens of eggs do you want?" the farmer asked.
"Four. Do you have four?" I asked. I had to make sure because the last time I went to another farmer up north and asked for three dozens she didn't have enough; she had only one for $2.00 per dozen.
"Yes" was the reply.
I thought for awhile and said, "Let me have five."
"OK...They are in the barn. Let me go get them."
He walked to the barn across an alley in front of the house while I returned to the van to tell my partner we were getting five dozens.
"Is that enough?" I asked.
"No. Let's use all of it," she said.
I had originally forgotten to bring cash, so we have had to use just my card for other expenses. But for the eggs, we had to use cash.We had a $10.00 bill with us.
As I turned back, the farmer was already right behind me with five dozens of fresh brown eggs in his arms, piling up to his neck.
"We've decided to get ten. Do you have five more?" I asked.
"Yes. Let me go get some more then."
The farmer slowly handed me the first five as I put each inside the van's backseats. Soon, the other five came in his arms again, piling up to his neck.
All in the van, the $10.00 handed to the farmer, we prepared to leave.
"If you are ever here again and want some eggs and if we aren't home, just go into the barn and grab what you want. You can just leave the money there...I've found that the honor system works pretty well."
"I believe so," I said. "That should work. We come near here a lot, so we'll be sure to stop by again."
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In other words, you just go with the flow.
So let me ask you this...when you died, what kind of funeral would you want? A Christian one, a Shamanism one, a Buddhism one, something else, or nothing?
I work on living well and I don't think of death. One thing I know is that, yes, we all will die at one time or another. That time is long from now, and I don't know when it will be. So I don't think of it at all. Have you already planned your death?
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No, I'm open-minded but not THAT open-minded, although I wouldn't mind making a Living Will. Heard you're a lawyer; maybe you can notarized it for me? ;)
I was just curious b/c you seem so confident/happy with your belief...I meant no offense. :)
Sure, I can notarize your will. Plus, I can even draft your will for you. Come see me sometimes. When would you like that done?
I am confident and happy with my beliefs. ;D
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Sept. 29, 2011--St. Paul, MN. Autumn is again show its serious impact today. Strong wind, shaking down any leaf that's yellow but still intact on the branches. More red. More yellow. More brown. Yes, all over the woods.
I wonder how the plants feel about this. I know they can't live without the wind, the rain, the sun, and even some storms. But this cooling off that kills their leaves? Do they appreciate it or do they detest it?
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St. Paul, MN--Oct. 1, 2011--Dreamed that there are too many Hmong in the United States and that we are being relocated to Germany! Iowa, in particular, has more Hmong than Minnesota does, in excess of 30K in population.
I wonder what that could mean in real life.
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St. Paul, MN--Oct. 3, 2011--It's been quite a few years since I last had consecutive dreams--that is, dreaming of one episode, waking up to reality, and then the dream continues after falling back asleep that same night.
Last night, I dreamed of a local Hmong leader at a festival. I was trying to block a lot of people from a grenade that I had thrown onto the backyard. No one got harmed.
Then I woke up.
I went back to sleep after a few minutes and dreamed of the same event again. This time the local leader wasn't there but another leader connected to him appeared in this dream.
I did not go back to the same position on my bed. I don't know how the dream was able to trace itself that way.
I won't disclose these leaders. They are locals and older but are still kicking hard in the community.
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St. Paul, MN--Oct. 9, 2011--Will the world be the same ever again? No. It will
likely change. That's not just because of the reality nowadays--gay rights to democracy in countries that have never had democracy before and even rights to keep longer mustache in public or in sports--but that's also because of what I have dreamed of yesterday. I dreamed that people, especially kids, have been riding motor scooters all over the streets, and that soon there will be individual, family airplanes for every citizen in America. People would be travelling with them in the air as we are doing with cars, trucks, motor cycles, and yes, motor scooters, and roller blades and skateboards on the ground. Kind of like the Jetsons, just not with the same looking cars.
In reality, I think legislatures and insurance companies had better start thinking of ways to accommodate the airplanes. I'm pretty sure the plane makers and the citizens are ready to go with those planes, and the makers and families will win the fight to get those planes for the families for the air just above our homes.
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University Avenue, St. Paul, MN--10/14/11--Yes, I've heard of the recent nonprofit organization's political fray.
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University Avenue, St. Paul, MN--10/14/11--Yes, I've heard of the recent nonprofit organization's political fray.
What do I think of it? Look, I'm a reporter, and so I only report. I don't tell you what I think. In fact, thinking isn't news; thinking is opinion only. So I'd rather not think about it. I will only report it. But then I wasn't there for all of the activities and so I have no personal knowledge of the fray. I can't be that accurate, either, so I won't report it, either. In the long-term, I will do some research on it using the media and interviewing some of the key players in the elections and lawsuits (yes, both are plural). Then readers can see what news there have been.
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Bellingham, southern MN--10/16/11--Plains and fields full of game birds. So a story was overheard here that prompted me to record its details. Perhaps the story came about largely because of a recent FBI raiding of a Worthington factory that had employed many illegal Mexicans.
A Mexican hunter went to the the DNR of an unknown state and asked to buy a hunting license. "I want a PAYSANTS stamp, senor," the Mexican man said to the licence bureau clerk.
"PHEASANTS, you mean," the clerk said.
"No. PAYSANTS, senor."
"OK, say it however you want. But are you a state resident, sir?"
"Yes, I am a RAYSEEDANTE, senor."
"Yeah, yeah...say it however you want," the clerk said.
"That will be seven dollars and fifty cents, sir. Do you have your driver's license with you?"
"Yes, D-E-RIVER LICENSE. Yes, senor."
"Let me see it. I'll create an account for you."
All processing completed, the Mexican went south to hunt.
A few months later in a murder trial, the presiding district court judge said to the Mexian man, "A peasant is a farmer, sir. You cannot kill a farmer. That's a human being."
The Mexican said, "I bought the license for it already, senor. They sold me the license for PAYSANTS and I told them I was hunting PAYSANTS, not FEASANTS like you said, senor." :2funny: :2funny:
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St. Paul, MN--10/18/11: Dreaming of a former professor is motivational. But to dream of three of the kind is even more motivating.
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10/18/11--My St. Paul, Mn eyes are reading this Wisconsin news: http://www.wausaudailyherald.com/article/20111016/WDH06/110160413/18-Clan-Council-sets-new-rules-Domestic-violence-victims-their-families-now-can-seek-recourse?odyssey=mod
My thoughts on these new policies? First, I have to warn my readers that my thoughts are not news. So do not take them to be news. My thoughts are simply my opinions. They need not be accepted, since everyone else has their own opinions.
All right, I see a struggling community overwhelmed by various social issues.
No comments for the moment. Let me see if I can get the full texts of those policies before deciding to opine one way or another.
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http://www.pebhmong.com/forum/index.php/topic,259084.msg3559006.html#new
http://www.pebhmong.com/forum/index.php/topic,259080.0.html
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http://www.pebhmong.com/forum/index.php/topic,259084.msg3559006.html#new
http://www.pebhmong.com/forum/index.php/topic,259080.0.html
Yes, a struggling community overwhelmed by various social issues.
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Yes, a struggling community overwhelmed by various social issues.
And I think things over and over and I feel that our community needs a lot of guidance and directions but that such attempted policies might have to be let survive for the elders. They contradict modern generation in many aspects. But that's all they have to be proud of now. There may be more problems to be solved if we strike them down.
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St. Paul, MN--10/25/11: A former client called. But this time it was not about a lawsuit. She wanted to know how to do what I do!
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St. Paul, MN--10/30/11. The Halloween spirit is here. But why is it that I need to be reminded of it by the spirits, too?
Driving home yesterday near midnight, I came to this usual 4-way stop at this intersection that I have crossed everyday for the last 8 years going and coming from home. I saw a person biking on the other side of the intersection and I slowed down a bit. The wheels were glittery, and I thought that they were made shiny to prevent accidents. But as I stopped at the intersection, I saw no bike going anywhere from it. I looked right and left, views were clear into the distances and yet saw no biker or bike around.
I crossed the intersection, went one block and turned right back to it, crossed it and then went back to where I had driven from before. I thought the intersection might have had something that reflected my beams only. So I tried driving the same way again, this time paying real good attention to the spot where I saw the biking reflection. Turned out, there was no reflection. Nothing shone back from there, even though my beams were pointing directly at the same spot.
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St. Paul, MN--10/30/11. The Halloween spirit is here. But why is it that I need to be reminded of it by the spirits, too?
Driving home yesterday near midnight, I came to this usual 4-way stop at this intersection that I have crossed everyday for the last 8 years going and coming from home. I saw a person biking on the other side of the intersection and I slowed down a bit. The wheels were glittery, and I thought that they were made shiny to prevent accidents. But as I stopped at the intersection, I saw no bike going anywhere from it. I looked right and left, views were clear into the distances and yet saw no biker or bike around.
I crossed the intersection, went one block and turned right back to it, crossed it and then went back to where I had driven from before. I thought the intersection might have had something that reflected my beams only. So I tried driving the same way again, this time paying real good attention to the spot where I saw the biking reflection. Turned out, there was no reflection. Nothing shone back from there, even though my beams were pointing directly at the same spot.
That's scary Reporter.
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That's scary Reporter.
I know, Peachy. And now I wonder if I should keep taking that route home. It's the closest of the three available routes to my home.
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I know, Peachy. And now I wonder if I should keep taking that route home. It's the closest of the three available routes to my home.
Reporter, did you take a different route?
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Reporter, did you take a different route?
No, Peachy. I'm just so used to this route that I've just driven by the same intersection over and over again almost without thinking. And I don't mind. I think that whatever it is, if it is so thin as to be invisible, it can't harm me anyway. Plus, it must have left the area by now.
What do you think?
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11/06/11--St. Paul, MN--A terribly strong, windy weekend with wind speed at 29-33 mph. My mother said, "Cua loj kom nplooj zeeg." Normal around this time of year. I've noticed that there would be some rain or some kind of brief storm, then the leaves turn colors and fall off with the wind striking them or shaking them down a bit. In the past, I thought nature was doing its laundry. But lately I've noticed that nature has combined all of its forces in just the right amount to move things accordingly. Very interesting. But I wonder where the wind comes from...
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11/13/11--St. Paul, MN--Just went back to Forestville yesterday. Got six more dozens of eggs. The farmer remembered me and said he has had problems keeping up with the egg sales. People have been buying too many and his chickens just haven't laid enough of them for us. I had wanted 20 dozens yesterday. But all he got left were six dozens.
Forestville State Park, somewhere in southern Minnesota (Saturday, Sept. 25, 2011)--I came here to hunt squirrels but got lost finding my way back. And then I ran into a farmer who was selling gourds, eggs, and pumpkins. I stopped by his house and asked for direction to the highway that would lead me back to Rochester. I also bought 10 dozens of brown farm-fresh eggs from him, and found my way back to St. Paul.
How I was lost: there was a road that led directly to the highway to Rochester. But I went the other way on that road instead. That's because it's full of farms and similar-looking corners around here.
But the hunting was not that great. I walked 45 minutes through a state park before I got to the hunting area. I crossed two streams, one already had a bridge made of three logs. Some Hmong must have done that, since I could not imagine a Caucasian knowing how to do that or even thinking of doing that. I have seen Hmong people build bridges this way before.
Then I went up a hill, got thirsty, sat down to drink and eat a little snack before moving on.
My partner and I spent the entire day there and got just one squirrel.
We returned to the parking lot just to meet a park ranger who seemed to question me harshly.
"Where did you just come from?" he asked.
"From the trail. We went hunting over the hill," I told him.
"Where did you hunt?" he asked.
"By the hill, past that hunting sign on the trail. There's a sign that says 'Public Hunting Permitted' or 'Allowed,'" I said. "And on the other side, it says 'Restricted. Shooting and Hunting Prohibited.' But we crossed the river and went up the hill and hunted up there. Real far away."
He said some horseback riders have complained about seeing people carrying guns in the state park. I told him they never saw us since we were up on the hill when they were riding by. I meant to say they have lied to him. But I didn't see a need to say more on that, since we haven't done anything wrong. Even if they had seen us, there's nothing illegal that we have done anyway. So I did not allege that they had lied. We did hear them and the horses gallopping and the horses blowing their noses, I added. "But they could not have seen us. We were over the hill pass the stream and in the woods at that time," I said.
The man went on to say that the horse riders claimed to have seen two people carrying guns by the metal bridge just down the hill from the parking lot. He felt the two people carrying gun description identified us, since has just seen us carrying a gun and there were just two of us. Whether he made that up or not, I don't know.
"We didn't meet anyone by the bridge and no one saw us with a gun."
Apparently, the park ranger said the horse riders claimed the gun or guns carried by the hunters they saw had the guns cased--whoever it was have done this legally.
"The law is that you can carry guns in state parks but they must be cased," he said.
Mine was cased and he saw me carrying the cased gun onto the trunk of our van. He did not say anything about that.
The ranger then said that people were not happy seeing other people carrying guns in the state parks, suggesting that we hunters needed to stop going hunting at Forestville. That's how his words felt to me.
I told him there was a sign by the trail that allowed hunting in that part of the state park. I even described the writings on both sides of the sign to him. Then I said, "I understand, especially kids. Kids can get scared if they see guns. But that is something you will have to take up with the state. The place allows hunting."
"Have you hunted here before?" he asked.
"Yes. Nine years ago."And I told him other people have hunted here, too.
The ranger realized I was right.
"I am not with law enforcement, and you are not in trouble or anything," he said.
Of course not. What problem would there be? I have not done anything wrong. He saw my cased gun. He knew there was a hunting spot there. If he had checked, he would have seen the one squirrel I got that day--6 short of the daily limit--along with my small game hunting license, and nothing else illegal.
He asked for my name and phone number. I gave them to him. I then asked if he wanted my ID and other information, too. He said he didn't want them and that he just wanted my number in case he wanted to ask more questions after talking to some other people who have hunted that day.
The ranger then added that he and management might have to find some different and better ways to allow the hunters to get to the hunting area.
The ranger reached out to shake my hand. I shook his hand.
"Nice to meet you," he said. And he let me go.
The horse riders cannot try to take over the park for themselves. That's one thing I'm sure of.
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11/17/11--St. Paul, MN--I dreamed that an attorney friend of mine has been very ill and was being taken somewhere--either to the hospital or home. He was leaving the scene where he and I had just been working at.
I told him I hoped he was well and that he should let me know how things go so I could visit again soon.
"They might just tell you to attend the funeral instead," he said about his own condition.
"Either way," I responded, trembling. "My best regards!"
He hopped onto a car. Suddenly, the dream scene appeared on the side of a hill. A pick up was running there with my friend lying dead and facing up on the back of the truck.
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I am curious to know how the first Hmong converted to Christianity. When? Where? Why? What really prompted them to do so? What was it about the dead boy's body on the rock that may have frightened them into abandoning their century-old traditions? Tell me what you know. I am just curious.
That folktale? Well, you want details or you want just the gist of it? And I do have a lot of others I could share. Soon.
My husband knows story ... out of the mouth of the Christian Missionary Alliance's missionaries to Laos... I will ask him and post it for you.
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My husband knows story ... out of the mouth of the Christian Missionary Alliance's missionaries to Laos... I will ask him and post it for you.
Great, Lionness. I'm waiting!
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Great, Lionness. I'm waiting!
http://hmongdistrict.org/Hmong%20District%201/25612/index.html
first guy to convert was a thao clan leader ( i think his name is boua chao thao??)
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http://hmongdistrict.org/Hmong%20District%201/25612/index.html
first guy to convert was a thao clan leader ( i think his name is boua chao thao??)
Yep, that's the one. Thanks, Ren....
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http://hmongdistrict.org/Hmong%20District%201/25612/index.html
first guy to convert was a thao clan leader ( i think his name is boua chao thao??)
Yep, that's the one. Thanks, Ren....
The article doesn't mention any name. So, Bao Chao Thao was converted in 1950? The article should name all of those who converted initially and why. Do you two know why? When I met Zam Nob Yaj, one of the 7 Hmong who initially converted to Catholicism and who helped Yves Bertrais develop the Hmong RPA writing system, he gave me the reason for his conversion: the Christian's story about the beginning of the world was much more sophisticated. :2funny:
That man has died though. Is Bao Chao still alive?
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The article doesn't mention any name. So, Bao Chao Thao was converted in 1950? The article should name all of those who converted initially and why. Do you two know why? When I met Zam Nob Yaj, one of the 7 Hmong who initially converted to Catholicism and who helped Yves Bertrais develop the Hmong RPA writing system, he gave me the reason for his conversion: the Christian's story about the beginning of the world was much more sophisticated. :2funny:
That man has died though. Is Bao Chao still alive?
I believe he has died.
I didn't get a chance to talk to my husband yet, but from memory of one of his class...
The American missionaries, Ted and Ruth Andrianoff - it may just have been Ted on this first trip - went up to this village with a Laotion interpreter and wanted to stay and spend some time with the Hmong people. There was an abandon house that belonged to Bao Chao Thao. He as a shaman and a leader in the village. They told the missionaries that they could stay there. The missionaries were very grateful and happily stayed at the abandon house.
All night long, the villagers waited gleefully for the missionaries and the interpreter to run out screaming, to never return... for the abandon house was actually a haunted house... no one could stay through the night in it. However, it was quiet all night long.
The next day, Bao Chao asked the missionaries if they had a good rest in the house. Ted said that he did and thanked Bao Chao for allowing him to stay there again. Bao Chao asked if anything happened during the night, whether they saw or heard anything strange. Ted said no, and asked Bao why he was asking these questions. He explained that the house has been haunted for many years and that no one has been able to spend even a single night in it. He was wondering why the ghosts didn't bothering Ted and the interpreter. Ted explained that he believed in God and his God was stronger than any spirits or demons.
Bao Chao wanted to know more about this God that is could conquer the spirits and ghosts of that house. So, through the interpreter, Ted told Bao Chao about God. He converted and became a Christian. He went back to the village, explained everything to them and the next day, the whole village wanted to convert. Ted led them all to Christ and baptise them that day. He went back to Vientiane and requested for more missionaries to go and help him b/c the neighboring villages also wanted to convert.
That's all I remember... some of my facts may be a little off... I think my husband knows some of the folks that are still alive. Are you wanting to interview them?
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FYI, both Ruth and Ted Andrianoff have passed away, but their daughter is still alive and living in the Seattle - Oregon area and is still very active with the Hmong people. She actually wrote a book about her parents missions into Laos.
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I believe he has died.
I didn't get a chance to talk to my husband yet, but from memory of one of his class...
The American missionaries, Ted and Ruth Andrianoff - it may just have been Ted on this first trip - went up to this village with a Laotion interpreter and wanted to stay and spend some time with the Hmong people. There was an abandon house that belonged to Bao Chao Thao. He as a shaman and a leader in the village. They told the missionaries that they could stay there. The missionaries were very grateful and happily stayed at the abandon house.
All night long, the villagers waited gleefully for the missionaries and the interpreter to run out screaming, to never return... for the abandon house was actually a haunted house... no one could stay through the night in it. However, it was quiet all night long.
The next day, Bao Chao asked the missionaries if they had a good rest in the house. Ted said that he did and thanked Bao Chao for allowing him to stay there again. Bao Chao asked if anything happened during the night, whether they saw or heard anything strange. Ted said no, and asked Bao why he was asking these questions. He explained that the house has been haunted for many years and that no one has been able to spend even a single night in it. He was wondering why the ghosts didn't bothering Ted and the interpreter. Ted explained that he believed in God and his God was stronger than any spirits or demons.
Bao Chao wanted to know more about this God that is could conquer the spirits and ghosts of that house. So, through the interpreter, Ted told Bao Chao about God. He converted and became a Christian. He went back to the village, explained everything to them and the next day, the whole village wanted to convert. Ted led them all to Christ and baptise them that day. He went back to Vientiane and requested for more missionaries to go and help him b/c the neighboring villages also wanted to convert.
That's all I remember... some of my facts may be a little off... I think my husband knows some of the folks that are still alive. Are you wanting to interview them?
Thanks. That Bao Chao story of the abandoned house seems to have been the reason for conversion.
Sometimes in the near future, I'd like to interview those old "converters," yes. I'm still tied up with something else for now. But sometimes in the future.
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FYI, both Ruth and Ted Andrianoff have passed away, but their daughter is still alive and living in the Seattle - Oregon area and is still very active with the Hmong people. She actually wrote a book about her parents missions into Laos.
Sounds interesting. I'll have to get a hold of the book first and then eventually I hope to meet with her. Do you know where I get a copy of her book?
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Sounds interesting. I'll have to get a hold of the book first and then eventually I hope to meet with her. Do you know where I get a copy of her book?
Here's a link for the book.
http://www.librarything.com/work/459364
And my husband said he knows people from that village that are still alive. If you want to interview them, you might want to do it soon.
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Thanks. That Bao Chao story of the abandoned house seems to have been the reason for conversion.
Sometimes in the near future, I'd like to interview those old "converters," yes. I'm still tied up with something else for now. But sometimes in the future.
Not so much the house itself, but the fact that God is stronger than those ghosts. And that if their is a God that can overcome spirits we have spent all of our lives worhipping and appeasing, then maybe there is more to it than meets the eyes.
God is real. And he is alive.
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Not so much the house itself, but the fact that God is stronger than those ghosts. And that if their is a God that can overcome spirits we have spent all of our lives worhipping and appeasing, then maybe there is more to it than meets the eyes.
God is real. And he is alive.
I didn't think God ever dies. Does he ever die? May that day never come!
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Here's a link for the book.
http://www.librarything.com/work/459364
And my husband said he knows people from that village that are still alive. If you want to interview them, you might want to do it soon.
Thanks.
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I didn't think God ever dies. Does he ever die? May that day never come!
I am using alive... as in real... alive... real time... lolz... some people does not even believe that he exist... much less alive... lolz!
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I am using alive... as in real... alive... real time... lolz... some people does not even believe that he exist... much less alive... lolz!
Can you prove it?
My belief is that God exists and he is at the highest plane of the universe known to us. That much I believe. I don't know how it all started but he is an incessant positive power that outdoes everything else down below him all the way to Earth and beyond. Something like that.
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Can you prove it?
Yes.
My belief is that God exists and he is at the highest plane of the universe known to us. That much I believe. I don't know how it all started but he is an incessant positive power that outdoes everything else down below him all the way to Earth and beyond. Something like that.
Often times, most people have a hard time believing that God exists. They believe that we all came from a big bowl of soup. However, it seems that you already believe that God exists. Perhaps the next step is for you to find out if the Christian God is real and if he is the God that you believe in. I know that with the Hmong culture, we don't have many things written down, so everything that we have retained, has been passed down from generation to generation only.
Why not open your heart and mind and read the Bible, asking God (the one that you believe exist) to reveal to you if the Bible is real. Start with the book of Mark, then read the book of James. Finish off with the Book of John.
Many people think that Christians just follow their faith blindly, that they are too scared to question God and to seek for answers or confirmation. I am sure that those Christians exist, but I am not one of them. I wanted to know that truth. I wanted to know if God really exist. I wanted to know if he is real and if he will respond to me in real time. So, I set out to find the answers. God has proven to me and my children that He exists, that He is real, that He will answer your prayers... sometimes instantly, sometimes when the time is right, or other times, he doesn't because he knows it's not good for you or is not within his will.
I know that I would never be able to convince you that God exist, but I would like to challenge you to go and seek him, even with the tiny bit of believe that you currently have, that God exists - on some higher plane, higher level. Invite this God that you believe in to come and reveal the truth to you.
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Yes.
Often times, most people have a hard time believing that God exists. They believe that we all came from a big bowl of soup. However, it seems that you already believe that God exists. Perhaps the next step is for you to find out if the Christian God is real and if he is the God that you believe in. I know that with the Hmong culture, we don't have many things written down, so everything that we have retained, has been passed down from generation to generation only.
Why not open your heart and mind and read the Bible, asking God (the one that you believe exist) to reveal to you if the Bible is real. Start with the book of Mark, then read the book of James. Finish off with the Book of John.
Many people think that Christians just follow their faith blindly, that they are too scared to question God and to seek for answers or confirmation. I am sure that those Christians exist, but I am not one of them. I wanted to know that truth. I wanted to know if God really exist. I wanted to know if he is real and if he will respond to me in real time. So, I set out to find the answers. God has proven to me and my children that He exists, that He is real, that He will answer your prayers... sometimes instantly, sometimes when the time is right, or other times, he doesn't because he knows it's not good for you or is not within his will.
I know that I would never be able to convince you that God exist, but I would like to challenge you to go and seek him, even with the tiny bit of believe that you currently have, that God exists - on some higher plane, higher level. Invite this God that you believe in to come and reveal the truth to you.
I believe our earthly human rebirths brought us to this world from God's spiritual realm. By this, I mean we once knew God spiritually but now that we are here in this fleshy form, we no longer remember Him. We need constant reminders, which is why God may have certified the preachers at our various congregations.
I will do more research--spiritually and physically--if not this life, then in another life--to see if the Christian God is the same God as the other non-Christian Gods. It's obvious my fate in this lifetime is not to prove God's existence; or else I would have gone into ministry already, right? But I believe the Bible was put together pretty well by Christians. Yet I have a hunch that even the Christian God is the same God as the Gods worshiped by other non-Christians. People just have different ways of worshiping the high entity or supreme deity.
The Bible is very interesting and I think it's quite accurate, except I don't know how the apostles and other biblical authors could do more to prove their authenticity or the credibility of what they had witnessed. Humans are full of biases. I can't rely entirely on an author's writings--without more historical documentations either by fossils or other imprints--to prove that what he/she wrote about was true and real.
So, what specific incidents or knowledge have you gotten that you claim to prove God's existence?