The morning air bears a hint of coolness in a summer morning of west coast, long pants and a wind breaker are all I need to enjoy an early morning walk. My steps are light but I can clearly hear my breathing with occasional bird chirping breaking the silence of a dawn. There were no other passengers, walking in solitude accompanies me. The mist is flowing, while flowers are tinted with dews and a glimpse of dim light. Statues of gardens are standing half asleep, though letters of house numbers glow in the dark. Up in the wide sky of dark grey blue, a full moon is bright, refusing to give away its place. Gradually, I approached the open field of Point Dume State Park, where a trail lies before my eyes.

I step forward sanded pathway, plants brushing against me, sparrows of kinds flying around the mountains in the nearby distance, dark grey blue water widely open reflecting the sky. Ripples of the ocean only brings paddling sounds to the ear, while two egrets are cuddling on the rocks, sound asleep. The sun sticks out of light clouds in dark orange; while the moon is still clear in bright white on the other side of the sky. An ocean breeze is gently sweeping, a bell under the cliff delivers soft ringing. Little by little, the sun climbs up unveiling itself; its orange light spreads into the clouds, highlighting the waves. Sky turns brighter, dimming the moon. With a ray of light sneaking in, egrets start to move around, stretching their necks, spreading their wings. As waves splash the shore stronger, the bell is echoing with more rhythms: “Ding, ding…” Upon one ringing, egrets lift their wings and take off. A group of pelicans glide across the sky, and the moon disappears anonymously. A beautiful golden light radiates the sky, casting on the ocean.

Finally, morning is awake.

I called my friend and she reminded me of taking all valuable things out of the house including important documents, computers, albums, medication and jewelry. So I told my husband and daughter to pack what they think are important. After exercising all the common sense that my friend gave me, I also found myself taking these along: the journals I have hand written for Heidi, Heidi’s development record, a calendar made by my friend Teresa for our baby shower, a drawing Hermes owner Mr. Dumas made for me, all the business cards I cannot re-collect, my cashmere dress, my wedding dress, and in the end all Bibles at home. Surprising I only took three jewelry pieces aside from wedding and engagement rings: Swarovski necklace my husband bought for the wedding, another Swarovski necklace I bought in Switzerland, and a stained glass pendant I bought during my Venice trip. In Heidi’s little bag: her Elmo slippers, Dancing Elmo toy, a European doll given by my mother-in-law’s sister, an angel doll given by a church friend, her pink princess dress, and her ballet slippers. My husband: wedding album, tops all the albums he wanted to save.

Packing, packing and packing; within one hour, we were all in the cars and two medium sized suitcases stacked behind the seats. While I am surprised of how little we can live on and how few things that really matter to us, I am also amazed of what contained in these suitcases, our most treasured.

When I finished my last movie at age eleven, I decided never ever touch the movie business again, not for me, or my future family. I ran, I ran, I ran, as far away from movie industry as possible. Despite my obvious talent in writing songs, directing radio shows and acting, I chose to enter the top engineering school, one that rivals MIT and earned a BS and an MBA degree at the end. I joined prestigious consulting firms, took my profession as a Marketing Researcher, and had my essays published worldwide for management topics.

In a mysterious way of life, I ended in Universal Studios, which is one of the biggest studios in Hollywood. At another turn of my life, I re-joined the professionals of producers, casting directors, script writers, and movie publicists, and entered the conversation of film making again.

…you cannot catch me, I am the gingerbread man. Maybe gingerbread man is supposed to be eaten.

Much unexpectedly, my husband decided to step in this time. I wonder whether it had anything to do with the talk I had with him a short time ago about Heidi’s education and discipline (our daughter)? Regardless, he opened with “Heidi, why do you call mommy ‘stupid’?” in a very gentle, non-accusing tone. Instead of using her usual loud voice when confronted, Heidi’s voice started to disappear into her bowing head “I call mommy stupid because I want to talk to mommy…she doesn’t talk to me when I am playing…she only talks to me when I call her stupid…”

I almost wanted to cry when I realized the little girl wanted a conversation with me so desperately “I am sorry…” I said. Though surprised by how articulate she was at age four, I was more touched by the real reason behind her bad behavior. In the next few hours, I started to engage in Heidi’s various activities by observing her progress and talking to her. In one of the cooking activities, I mentioned “Heidi, thank you for letting me know why you called me bad names.” Pause. Heidi looked at me:”I am sorry…Mommy.”

One of my mentors in life has told me the intent is more important than the content. Simple as it may sound, we are often fooled by the content. Decisions are made and judgements are passed based on the content. If we have invested a little time to gently ask about the intent, maybe a few conclusions need to be re-drawn. Do we lack of the time, or does the habit of fast judgement sink in whenever situation arises? Or maybe both…the need to rush things through in the name of time saving and the old habit toward the focus of content?

“Heidi!” I raised my voice when I tripped over a pile of toys scattering on the floor. Slow down, I said to myself, and let’s see why she did this first, I reminded myself.

A new “phase” has begun.

A door to joy, happiness and everlasting life, is what Christian calls “Heaven.” A door to tears, bitterness and forever suffering, is what Christian calls “Hell.” Though both words start with “H,” the pathway it leads to are totally different. In the history of mankind, people have always dreamed of a happy place where there is no tears, no sorrow. In the puzzles of mankind, people have always wondered where we are going to be after we die. Generations after generations, the ultimate pursuit and question never change despite religion.

As a Christian myself, I believe in a Christ who came to earth and saved mankind by redeeming himself on the cross. He opens up another door, a door called “Hope,” a pathway provided by Him to be saved from going to “Hell” a place not only exists after our physical death, but also exists during our physical being. I often think without love in life, the suffering on earth can be filled with revenge, bitterness and greediness. I often see through eyes of the suffering people, and there is no joy in their lives, lest any hope. If they have known Christ, who is holy, righteous and full of love and grace, and through the pathway of “Hope” Christ has provided, another door will open up to them, a door carved “Heaven” on it.

“For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.” Hope afloat. Amen.

In different cultures, we seem to have masks in one form or another, be it for the purpose of festivity, performance or ritual. Sometimes I wonder about the origin of the masks, and debate if masks is a form which we originally use to express ourselves better, in deeper feelings and thoughts. One time I read a quote from a writer, and it said “through fiction, we see truth.” As an actress in me, I also applaud on movies that confront our emotions.

When I was about eight years old, I wrote a piece in my diary about “masks.” I was rather saddened by the fact that most people are living in masks, pretentious and tiring; and it was a rather depressing social phenomenon in my opinion. Eight years old may be a little too young for writing an article in such depth and sadness, but considering most my childhood was living in the shadows of cultural revolution and my professional acting career started at age seven, such writing was probably explainable.

In a recent event, I ran into this woman who is a famous writer, she was on stage talking about “taking off masks, living in nakedness.” What drove me home was not “nakedness,” but “masks.” Rather than considering “living in masks” a “depressing social phenomenon” as I did when I was eight years old, I came to accept it as a “social phenomenon” without “depressing” on the label. By accepting it, I realize the necessity of “masks” for our daily living, their protection for our being, and their importance to bring the world operate in peace. Nevertheless to say, through “masks,” we may have just revealed our deepest feelings and thoughts in a different perspective.

All of sudden, I come face to face with Lord’s grace. Since I have grown up in a Christian righteous based family, I have grown to love the truth but hate the evil, and disguise the masks that would cover us up for being a genuine and transparent person. In my mind, if it is not a right way of living, then it is wrong, as evident as black and white. It is rather, a difficult path for me to see the covering of grace while remaining righteous. The moment I accept our “living in masks,” I realize He is the one who wants us to live authentically, and He is also the one who accepts us and shows His understanding for us.

As I have admired the Venetian masks, and appreciated the Peking Opera’s stage art of “changing masks,” I begin to understand our “living in masks,” a long but joyful journey to experience the grace God has freely provided for me.

One night I observed my daughter playing with a color and number naming game. She was playing against a battery powered toy house that houses different animals in different colors, and numbers from 1 to 9. The toy machine first starts you with level 1, asking you to press the correct key for the different animal sounds; and if you get that right, you will be elevated to level 2, with two items combination, for example, an animal and a number; if you get that all right, you will be elevated to level 3, and at the end Heidi was on level 4 with a combination of an animal name, a number, a number again and an animal sound. You need to remember all the items, and start to press the right key one by one to match the request. It was late in the evening, getting close to bedtime. Heidi got most of the items right with a few missing at level 4. To wrap up the day, I said: “Heidi, you are doing a very good job, let’s play that tomorrow.” She shook her head, feeling unhappy, “No, I didn’t do good. I am tired. I will get all right tomorrow, morning.”

I was astonished and at the same time very proud of her to see her persistency to get it right and her unsatisfaction toward mediocre. Though happy as I am, I also realize that the “pursuit of excellence” has the high price to pay. It takes hard work and preparations, attention to details, perseverance, and a conquering spirit toward the objections in the road toward excellence. Satisfied with status quo, your environment and surroundings may avoid changes or improvements that lead to excellence. It is even a harder journey against one self, since the natural tendency of one self is to become satisfied after a while. The “pursuit of excellence” will mean the journey to challenge one self to go above what you can reach, again, and again, and again; and keep saying to yourself “I am not finished yet” until your last breath. It is a road less traveled, sometimes accompanying with a sense of loneliness.

However, for those of us who are committed to this journey, the “pursuit of excellence” becomes part of who we are, and the rewards lie in the ultimate truth to ourselves, and the ultimate hope that we will never give up.