In times of hardship and sadness, I think that a lot of the time, we’re compelled to tell someone to ‘be strong’, but I wonder if we really understand what that means. To many people, I guess the notion of strength appears to be Herculean in a sense - that in the face of whatever it may be that’s looking at you dead in the eye, that you put on a face of this serene ferocity and ruthlessness. This is the type of strength I embodied for most of my life because I think that at the time, it was important for me to possess such a trait and to really live it out.

As I’m coming into my own though, and discovering a lot of facets about myself that I never believed myself capable to be, I’m beginning to realize that while those characteristics may be what is most readily identifiable as strength and may even be certain attributes of it, that those characteristics alone are not the defining characteristics of strength.

A combination of a series of events, my role as a leader (as defined by me and not by others’ standards), and just growing up has helped me to realize that strength, if anything, is the ability of a person to open up and show their hearts for all to see no matter what ugliness and brokenness may be lying within.

Which brings me to ask, is it really that strange that so many people, no matter how macho and emotionless they may seem on the outside, have so much trouble actually coming to terms with how they really feel? Not just processing their emotions and thoughts for themselves, but really demonstrating and acting in a love that is so honest, transparent and selfless in nature.

I’m never impressed or taken aback in the least when I meet somebody who appears to be stoic, void of any emotion, or even seemingly perfectly happy in spite of whatever may be going on in their lives. No, I’m not undermining the ability of people to be happy and filled with joy regardless of circumstance; at the same time though, I know that such things can only come into fruition after what may often seem to be a lonely and arduous road. Instead, I’m always so… I don’t know what the word is, but I’m always whatever-this-feeling-is when I see a buff masculine guy who was raised to only cry three times in his life (stupid Korean tradition for guys) shed his tears for all to see so that they, too, can know that it’s okay; that it’s not something to be condemned, but that it’s an incredibly beautiful and essential part of life; and that yes, real men can (and do) cry.