Category: Personal

Still searching for an identity… part 1

~ K ~ 6 Comments

Topics running through my mind:

1. Motherhood
2. Writing
3. Blogging
4. Career
5. Job with contract company
6. Faith/religion/God
7. Lack of consistency/discipline
8. My personality–always desiring to be someone I’m not

My mind is all over the place so let’s cover all of these topics–though not necessarily in the order listed and definitely not all in this post. I ended up handwriting this post first (over the course of 2 hours) which amounted to about 22 pages on 7″ x 10.5″ paper. So this will end up being a series posted during the next couple of days.

Desiring to be someone who I’m not.

So I follow all these pastors, read their works, and am a HUGE fan, ie, Driscoll, Piper, and Packer. And sometimes I find myself wishing I could be a pastor. But it’s not a dream I can entertain myself with since I’m a woman and believe the Bible says only men are called to be pastors. (Yes, I know female pastors exist but I don’t agree with them.)

I find myself thinking, “Lord, why didn’t you make me a guy?” But then I realize guys don’t have it easy. My husband has to answer to God for the spiritual direction of our family. No, thank you. It’s hard enough being responsible for myself!

I used to look at other women and wish I could be them–wish I could have their lives or attractive personalities. For example, my older cousin whom I love to pieces. I used to look up to her. In a lot of ways, I still do. She’s strong, she’s a leader, she’s independent, and she’s self-sufficient. But she’s not married and doesn’t have any good prospects in the wings (that I know of). Do I really want to trade my husband just so I can have all those awesome qualities I am so envious of?

Funny like one of my friends. I wish I was like that. I wish I was sweet and likable like my former co-worker. I wish I didn’t care what anyone thinks of me like my hairdresser. Who looks at me and gets envious? But I guess we can all find something to envy about each other, right?

Materialism.

I’m not incredibly materialistic but hoo boy am I definitely tied to the things of this world. Money–something I use, not necessarily for material possessions (although my current obsession is IKEA), but to make myself feel worth something.

Yes, I tie my worth to whether I make money. Problem is, I don’t know how to “untie” it.

When a month or two go by and I haven’t heard from the company I contract for regularly, I self-deprecate and get negative:

“What if they never call me again?”

“What if my work from last time was sloppy and they just don’t want me back?”

“I’m not earning any money so I’m worthless and useless and my life and existence is pointless.”

But when I work, I suddenly have worth again. I feel I can legitimately complain about how the government uses taxpayer money because 30 percent of what I make goes to state and federal taxes each quarter. (That’s what happens when you’re self-employed in the U.S.!)

But what will happen when my full-time job becomes mother? How will I assess my worth then? Will I be worthless as a citizen of the U.S. with a purposeful existence as a mother? Will I be more useful than I’ve ever been?

My husband argues that his money is my money. I don’t see it that way. I have access to his earnings and he can have access to mine (I make significantly less than he does so he rarely has any need to) but I treat our earnings separately. I tithe off of whatever I make and don’t ever touch his. I don’t feel right taking his money–that he worked 40+ hours during the week to earn–and acting like it’s mine. I didn’t earn it. I never showed up to code a software program; he did. It’s not mine. And buying a gift with his money just seems so lame; I’d rather buy nothing at all. I can inherit it if he dies–just like I inherit my mother’s house–but it’s not mine until then. I’ll use it with his permission but I’ll always feel indebted to him. (Out-of-context verse time!) The borrower is slave to the lender.

Motherhood.

I don’t like to publicly discuss this in detail since I never wanted kids before last year and still really wrestle with the prospect of being a responsible, mature mom. As a result, I’ll be brief: I’m impatient, I’m disappointed every time I find out I’m not expecting, and I wonder if motherhood is what God has for me.

The Magic Eye of Christianity

~ K ~ 2 Comments

It’s pointless.

I’m worthless.

I’m useless.

Those are the things running through my head lately.

What’s pointless? Life.

Who’s worthless and useless? I am.

I’m very aware of my humanity and frailty. I’m aware that my beating heart could stop. At any time.

I’m conscious that my last breath could be. Any moment.

I am enduring a mild depression. Without medication. And it’s scary.

I have given up on suicide. I’ve failed at my multiple attempts. I obviously won’t succeed anytime soon.

I’m enduring a crisis of faith. I still believe in God but wonder about Christianity. Continue reading “The Magic Eye of Christianity” →

In search of an identity… location.

~ K ~ Leave a comment

Am I still a New Yorker or can I legitimately call myself a Philadelphian now?

I was born and raised in New York for 23 years. However, I’ve lived in suburban Philadelphia for the past 3 years with no plans to move anytime soon. I wouldn’t even mind retiring here.

Am I displaced? Can I still call New York home even though I may never live there again? Can I claim myself as a transplanted Philadelphian even though I hate the Mummers and the Philly Phanatic scares me?

What does it mean to have pride from where you live? A waste of energy? A waste of time?

Don’t fear the reaper

~ K ~ 2 Comments

Am I fearful? Fear is a focus on phantoms of the theoretical future. But the future is God’s, not mine; mine is only the present moment. I am fearful because I’m thinking I have to live the rest of my life. But I don’t. I only have to live the next five minutes. To me belongs obedience; to Him belongs outcomes.

…

Am I depressed? The concept of doing “the next thing” is just the ticket. Granted, I am far too weak to go on with life—but I can do a load of laundry. And after that I can make the kids breakfast. And after that I can pick up the phone and call a deacon for help on balancing that checkbook. One foot in front of the other: Do “the next thing.” — The next thing by Andrée Seu

grim reaperI have been pondering death a lot lately. Each night, I give my husband multiple kisses and hugs “good night” in the event I may not see him alive in the morning. I have a huge fear of waking up next to my husband’s cold, lifeless body. Creepy thought isn’t it?

Then I think to how I should react: keep it together and call the police, scream and cry forever, and the most unlikely—shock from the sight and terrifying realization that I’m now widowed causes me to fall over and have a heart attack, joining him in eternity.

My life has always been ruled by fear in one way or another: mostly in social situations. Now, I’m afraid of losing those I love.

I’m afraid of not seeing my mom (who lives all the way in New York) again. I’m afraid that the next time the phone rings, it’ll be a call telling me my 99-year-old beloved grandmother has passed on from old age (she’s in perfectly good health otherwise). My father’s death came out of the blue; who’s next? No one is guaranteed tomorrow.

Then my husband’s grandfather’s suicide was a shock that I still haven’t gotten over. Sure, I’ve accepted the fact that he’s gone but the way he went… it’s still unbelievable.

Am I afraid of dying so much? A little. I’m a bit afraid of what it will be like to go but I don’t worry for others after me. They’ll be fine. Whenever that is.

But if I lose my husband, I’ll be lost. I’m dependent on him for nearly everything. I don’t want to live my life without him. And God can take him away if He wants but I don’t want Him to. I went from my mother’s house to being a wife. I have no idea what it’s like to be “independent.” I’m afraid that I’ll sadly fail to survive without my husband and my mom around. I think of how life could suck. I think of how life used to suck. And it doesn’t feel that way. Life really is good right now.

Thinking about losing my husband to death makes me appreciate every kiss and hug I get from him. I don’t want any regrets in death—his or mine. But I need to stop my fear of losing him and begin enjoying living with him again.

In search of an identity… career.

~ K ~ 2 Comments

I always tied my identity to what I did for a living. Americans are notorious for doing this.

Stranger: So tell me a little bit about yourself.

Me: Well, I’m a freelancer. I edit, proofread, and write articles.

I need to break the notion that I am my job. Kass does not equal writer.

I have this bad tendency to equate my self-worth to my accomplishments and achievements. The ironic thing is that my worth does not come from what I’ve accomplished or achieved but what Christ has already accomplished and achieved for all of mankind (including me!).

“Do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit within you, whom you have from God? You are not your own, for you were bought with a price.” — I Corinthians 6:19-20

A eulogy delivered on December 17, 2001

~ K ~ 5 Comments

Me and Daddy

Family, friends, and beloved guests, I want to thank you for attending my father’s memorial service.  Not only was he a devoted brother, husband, and father, but above all, he was a born again child of God.

Even though I’ve lived for only 19 years, I praise God for the memories I shared with my father. I remember my father teaching me how to ride a bike at Eisenhower Park.  Although he did not have a son, I fulfilled that role when he taught me how to play football.  I look back memorably on the last Sunday of each January when my father and I would sit and watch the Super Bowl.  My father has taught me everything I need to kow to watch sports with my future husband.  He taught me that soccer is true football and that no one (but Americans) calls football soccer.  He raised me on cheering for the New York Yankees, but would take me to a Mets game when he had the opportunity.

All the areas of my father’s life seems to be all right but he felt an emptiness that he could not explain.  To fill this longing in his heart, he set out on his quest to find God.  Raised as a staunch Catholic, he realized he could not find what he needed in the traditions of man.  God led him to Bible Baptist Church where he accepted Jesus Christ as his Lord and Savior.  As a born again Christian, he began reading the Bible and learned that he could go directly to God for the forgiveness of his sins, not through a priest.  Because of my father’s earnest efforts to bring me to a Bible-believing church, in July of 1998, I also came to know Jesus Christ as my Savior.

As my father immersed himself in the Bible, God changed his heart and gave him a joy that he had never possessed.  A verse from his favorite Psalm reads, “The Lord is my rock, and my fortress, and my deliverer; my God, my strength, in whom I will trust; my buckler, and the horn of my salvation, and my high tower.”  When trials headed his way, he turned to God for comfort and assistance.  Leaving New York for a Christian college in Florida was not the easiest thing for me to do, but my father was at peace with the decision, knowing that I was doing the will of God.

When people ask how they can help ease the pain of my father’s passing, there’s only one answer: To do what I know my father would want people to do, and that is to believe on the Lord Jesus Christ for the remission of their sins.  Everyone in this room is a sinner.  Romans 3:23 in the Bible says, “For all have sinned, and come short of the glory of God.” Romans 6:23 says, “For the wages of sin is death; but the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord.”  The ultimate punishment of sin is death, but because my father believed upon Jesus Christ’s finished work on the cross, he is now living eternally in heaven with God.  People should be sad today because my father is no longer physically present.  But I know that my father is in a better place right now, not because he deserved to be, but because God made salvation available to my father as He is making it available to everyone here.  John 3:16 says, “For God so loved the world, that he gave His only begotten Son that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life.”  Do not focus on my father’s death; instead, I ask you to focus on your eternal destination.  It doesn’t matter whether you’re 19 or 90, each of us will die eventually.  Then where will you go?  There’s a heaven above, a hell below and nothing in between.  Had my father not trusted in Jesus Christ, he would have suffered from eternal torment.

Has there ever been a time in your life when you told God that you believed Jesus Christ died, was buried and resurrected for your sins so that you could have access to the gates of heaven? In John 14:6, Jesus states, “I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life: no man cometh unto the Father but by me.”

Philippians 4:13 emphasizes, “I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me.”  If anyone is without Christ, he can do nothing. But I praise God that when He calls me to my home in heaven, I can see my father again.  Can you say with definite assurance that you are on your way to heaven?  If my father’s death has not made you questions your eternal destination, then he will have died in vain.  But if someone here realizes that he is a sheep wandering without a shepherd, the Lord Jesus is beckoning you to come to Him.

August 22, 1942–December 9, 2001

In search of an identity… race.

~ K ~ 4 Comments

After Michael Jackson’s sudden death, BET announced that it would feature a Michael Jackson tribute on its annual awards show. Curious to see how this tribute would turn out, I asked my husband to flip the TV channel to BET the night of the awards show.

Jamie FoxxI watched hoping to see a well-done opening act only to find Jamie Foxx, butchering the Moonwalk and doing a poor imitation of Michael Jackson’s dance moves. I smiled, assuming Foxx was being comedic and doing the best he could. When Foxx was done, he went on a mini-rant about how Michael Jackson was a “black man” and “he belonged to us.” My husband immediately flipped the channel and said, “I am not watching anymore of this racist garbage.” He subsequently went on to ban BET from our home.

The BET Awards just shed another light on an issue that I’ve been struggling with recently—the issue of race and how it relates to my identity.

I’ve always had issues with my racial identity but the problem reared its ugly head continuously during the 2008 presidential election in which I publicly chose not to support Democratic candidate Barack Obama’s bid. Ever since, I’ve struggled with what it means to a Black Christian female and how race plays into who I am.

One question I grapple with: Does race matter? And I think, yes, for the most part, it does.

Race matters:

  • When I need to get my hair done. I need a hairdresser who can style ethnic hair. The hairdresser can be black or white but she needs to know how to wash, style, and properly treat black hair. In that sense, race matters.
  • When it comes to medical issues, there are some medications that have been proven to work better in one race than in another. Genetically, race matters.

But when it comes to my personality, does race matter? No, it does not.

In the black community, race is not just a color; it’s become a culture. Black or African American culture. (While the terms Black and African American have become interchangeable and most people seem to prefer African American, my immediate heritage is Caribbean so I’m more comfortable simply using Black.)

What comprises Black culture?

  • Music: Blues, rap, hip-hop, R&B.
  • Religion: Style of worship.
  • Race: Racial discrimination has been a part of Black history for so long that it cannot be ignored.
  • Art: There is a definitive African influence here.
  • Entertainment: Comedy and movies.
  • Food: Soul and Caribbean
  • Politics: You’re a Democrat.
  • Language

With the exception of music, race, food, and politics, I’ve never been exposed to much of Black culture. I’m an only child and grew up in a nice, suburban area of the New York metropolitan area. While the area around me was highly diverse, no one in particular influenced me; I gravitated toward whatever I thought was interesting.

I suppose in my parents’ attempt to assimilate into American culture, the culture they adopted was one influenced by whites. I went to Roman Catholic schools from K-12 and attended predominantly white parishes until I became a born again Christian at age 16. Even then, I had a white pastor.

I grew up around mostly white kids and played with the white Barbie dolls. Maybe I was reared to be who other black people call a “sellout.” Continue reading “In search of an identity… race.” →

In search of an identity… Christianity.

~ K ~ 2 Comments

CrossWho am I… as a Christian?

As a Bible-believing Christian, this topic could be endless.

Under the banner of Christianity,  I am a number of things:

  • a sinner (Romans 3:23)
  • lost without Christ (John 14:6)
  • redeemed and forgiven of all my sins (Colossians 1:13-14)
  • God’s child (John 1:12)
  • bought with a price (I Corinthians 6:19)
  • a citizen of heaven (Philippians 3:20)
  • God’s workmanship (Ephesians 2:10)

The list goes on. But what does that mean for me as an individual?

I read God’s Plans For You by J. I. Packer in the hopes that I’d get some kind of divine revelation as to who I’m supposed to be. Nothing of the sort happened. Although I did gain some further insight as to what kind of individual God wants me to be.

An erroneous thought circulating in Christian circles is that, above all things, God wants us all to be happy. Above all things, God wants Christians to be holy. Achieving that apart from the guidance of the Holy Spirit is no easy task. What does the pursuit of holiness mean? (Another good book for me to read.) It means going after the things that are pleasing to God and pursuing the fruits of the Spirit: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control (Galatians 5:22-23).

Here’s where God has led me in my Christianity so far:

That’s about as individual as it gets right now. There’s nothing profound or earth-shattering in this post. It’s simply an attempt to get me to figure out who I am as a Christian.

In search of an identity…

~ K ~ 1 Comment
Who am I?
What is my purpose?

questionThose two questions run through my mind at least once a day. (I’m probably providing a conservative estimate on that front.) Well, here are the basic answers to each question:
1. Who am I?
First and foremost, a Christian female; an adopted child of God bought with a price and a joint-heir with Christ.

2. What is my purpose?
To glorify God, and to enjoy him for ever. (Westminster Shorter Catechism, Q1)

Those are the general things, applicable to a wide variety of Christian women. But specifically, who is the person that I’m supposed to be—the person no one else can be? What is God’s individual purpose for my life? Let’s start with a list of things that make up who I am:
Who I am
  • Christian
  • Female
  • Daughter
  • Wife
  • Cousin
  • Niece
  • Black
  • Writer
  • Friend
  • New Yorker
Really, is there much more to it than that?
Some of who I am is pretty straightforward in my opinion and does not need to be pursued much further, ie, female, daughter, wife, cousin, niece, friend. However (for me), it can get complicated when one of those things becomes a noun and the other becomes an adjective: What does it mean to be a Christian female? Or a Christian wife? Or a Black Christian? Or Black female? Here are the main topics I struggle with regarding my identity:

Christianity: What does it mean to be a Christian?

Race: What does it mean to be black in America, especially since I am first-generation American and am also married to a white American male?

Career: What kind of a writer am I? How do I pursue this, namely in a dying profession such as print journalism?

Location: My heart longs to be in no other place than New York but I’ve become content to live in Philadelphia. Am I still a New Yorker? Can I call myself a Philadelphian too now?

After exploring the main topics that plague my identity, I’ll try to address the issue of what my purpose in my life. I have the scary feeling, however, that the task will be much more difficult that trying to figure out who I am.

Painting Pictures of Egypt

~ K ~ 1 Comment

Lady LibertyA friend I have went to NYC recently and met up with a few friends. She explored the city, took lots of pictures, and seemed to have a blast.

Then I found myself thinking, “Why don’t I still live there, Lord? Why am I not there?”

Of all things, I wasn’t jealous because she was spending time with people she cared about nor was I jealous that she had a good time.

I was upset not because she was in New York but because I wasn’t.

How pathetic is that?

In recent months, I’ve been struggling with the issue of identity:

  • “Who am I?”
  • “Yes, I’m a Christian and need to find my identity in Jesus but what does that mean? It sounds so theoretical and abstract.”
  • “What does it mean to be Black in America?”
  • “Does race matter?”

I thought I’d let the New York thing go. It was a big struggle when I moved to Kentucky considering how much I hated Kentucky but I’ve been content in Philadelphia. So why do pictures of Manhattan and Brooklyn get me nostalgic for the days of going to NYU and attending my old church in the quaint section of Brooklyn Heights? Why? Would I trade what I have now (a husband who loves and cares for me) for what I had back then (single, depressed, no one)?

I’m a fool so I struggle with this.

I suppose what makes things harder is that the prospect of living in New York ever again is about as likely as the prospect of living in Kentucky again. Zero. I never loved Kentucky, I never grew up in Kentucky, Kentucky was never my home.

Sara Groves talks about “Painting Pictures of Egypt” and “leaving out what it lacked.” Perhaps I’m doing that with New York. When I think of living at NYU, I don’t think of the time I wandered dark alleyways at 2 or 3 am in the morning, hoping I’d get raped or murdered. I don’t think of how I frequently walked the Manhattan streets alone and lonely, eyeing couples and friends with jealousy because I possessed neither of those things. I simply think of the exhilarating feeling I’d get when I walked to class near Washington Square in the winter while flurries dropped just because I lived in New York.

  • I got high off of living in Manhattan. I love the city. Sure, it smells like pee but it’s a place I loved to call home.
  • I’m proud to tell people that I was born in Brooklyn and raised there for the first five years of my life.
  • I have a love for the Yankees that runs deep. No matter how bad they suck, they’re always World Champs in my heart. (On the contrary, I have a hatred for the Red Sox that runs deep.) 😉
  • My family, namely my mother and grandmother, live in New York and I miss them all so dearly.
  • I have friends from middle school that I talk to infrequently but still care about and miss spending time with.

If you asked me which city was the best in the world, I’d tell you New York. I just love that place.

However, I feel terrible because my friend was having a wonderful time visiting places and friends and the main emotion I could muster was jealousy. And like the fool I am, I had no words for her other than “I’m jealous.” Those words started out as a figure of speech but then evolved into actual jealousy. She didn’t warrant that. My sin and identity issues shouldn’t be her problem.

So it’s back to the drawing board yet again. For all my nostalgia, I’m putting my primary identity in the wrong thing. My primary identity is not native New Yorker. My primary identity is Christian. And whenever anything or anyone dethrones Christ; it’s wrong and it’s sin. And I need to repent.

This Used To Be My Playground

~ K ~ Leave a comment

I used to be so smart. I used to want to do things that required thought like research and compiling informative blog posts. Now, I have no brain energy for that. A few people have told me they miss my posts. I just feel too stupid to continue. I’m tired. I can’t do this anymore.

Will You Be There?

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I’ve been feeling really sentimental lately with all these celebrity deaths. As a result, it’s gotten me thinking of my father who passed away in 2001. I was at PCC and he died on Sunday, December 9. It was the week of finals and my family (mother and my dad’s two sisters) thought it’d be better to let me finish up my finals without distractions so they didn’t tell me until they were driving me home from the airport on Saturday, December 14. I got 104 (extra credit) on Mr. Zila’s History test and knew my dad would love to hear that since he loved any grades that were 100+. Instead, I suddenly found myself preparing a eulogy for my father’s funeral on December 17.

Most of you know by now that I’m a huge Michael Jackson (MJJ) fan. Well, you can thank my dad for that. Back in 1992 around the time the Free Willy movie came out, MJJ came out with a song called “Will You Be There.” My father loved that song TONS and back then said he wanted it played at his funeral. Well since I had no hand in funeral preparations (and I was still in the clutches of IFBism), it was never played. It’s something I regret not fighting for. To make up for it, I chose to walk down the aisle to “Will You Be There” as a tribute to my father.

All that to say that 8 years later, I still miss my dad. I’m over the bitterness about my family not telling me my father died sooner because I know they did it in my best interest. (Apparently when my uncle died of AIDS in the early ’90s, they had to give me a sedative to get me to calm down because I was so hysterical. They figured if that’s what happened with my uncle, I’d be ridiculous upon my father’s death. I wasn’t.) I talk to my husband about him but I feel like I’m talking about some imaginary person who never existed. (BTW, I know that’s a redundant phrase.) I don’t know how to keep his memory alive. What makes things worse is that I really lost my dad a long time ago. My father struggled with schizophrenia/paranoia and so the father that I had at 12 was radically different from the father I ended up with when I was 16. He passed away from a heart attack when I was 19. My mom said she watched his eyes fly open and gasp for air. He started foaming out the mouth and couldn’t breathe. She watched him die on their bed in their bedroom. She couldn’t bring herself to talk to me about his passing until a few years later.

Many of the memories I have of my father are fading and that scares me. We used to go to the park and toss around a football even though I was hopelessly nonathletic. (I still enjoyed it immensely.) One Christmas when all my parents could afford was one gift, he found out which CD I wanted the most that year and got it for me (Alanis Morissette’s Jagged Little Pill). When MJJ’s Live in Bucharest concert was being played on VH1 (wow – remember when they used to play music videos?!) after we first got cable, he called me in from my bedroom because he knew I’d love to see it. (His “Smooth Criminal” choreography always amazes me but I found out he stole it from Fred Astaire.) I’m writing this out, hoping it stays with me.

Me and DaddyAnyway, I wrote all that as a partial vent and also to ask how do you keep the memories of your loved ones alive. My husband will never know my father on this earth. My kids (if I ever have any) will think of my dad only as some kind of fairy tale. Pictures of him are limited but here’s one I found and scanned into my computer. I just try to think that he’s still looking down at me and smiling—whether I’m perfect or not.

This Journey Is My Own

~ K ~ Leave a comment

So the name of this blog is “This Journey Is My Own” based off of a song by Sara Groves of the same name. Its accompanying sub is “Attempting to live and breathe for an audience of one.” I’m amused by the tagline since this a public blog. In the end, however, what I do and chronicle on here is ultimately for God so no holds barred anymore.

I have another blog, Depression Introspection, currently hosted at Typepad but am working on moving it to WordPress. You can find what I’ve got so far here: http://depressionintrospection.wordpress.com.

Depression Introspection was begun as a blog to focus solely on various aspects of mental illness: depression, bipolar disorder, suicide, schizophrenia, psychotropic medications, among other topics. Now I feel like I’ve outgrown the site. Continuing to post there would put me in a psychological box. Depression Introspection was created specifically for address mental health issues and I don’t want that to be the sole focus of my blogging.

I’m also at a point where I need a place to rant and vent about life in a teenage-like style. I avoided that for the most part on the blog, which was also informally titled deepintro. I intend to rant and rave as much as I like here.

I started out under the pseudonym of Marissa. Now I’m posting under my nickname Kass because I’m tired of trying to hide who I am. It gets tiresome. It gets old. I used to blog about my job. For the sake of employment, that’s probably the one topic that will remain off this blog.

I selected “This Journey Is My Own” as the name of my blog because I think the song expresses so much of what I struggle with. Groves sings poignantly of the issues of people-pleasing, one of the greatest sins in my life. You can read the lyrics to the song here and listen to the song here.

I hope to blog on a variety of topics including mental health. We’ll see what happens.