20:50.

Today, my immediate supervisor gave me another one of those discussions that veer into the boundaries of talking-tos.

We went through this, similar material, two months ago when I was passed over for confirmation, and when I got into trouble for my blog.

(I think I posted about the former on my old site.

As for the latter, yes, I was called into a room by another supervisor who basically, told me he thought my blog contained "sensitive material" about the company. He also made some remarks which sounded like judgements on my character. It hurted me a lot and I cried while in that room, 'cause I respected this journalist very much and at one time, even looked up to him as the war reporter I want to be and I didn't understand why he was judging me so harshly on a personal level. I used to feel akin with him because I thought our passion for our profession, or to me art, was same.

I never explained why I left my old squat. It's because of that. I don't expect utter privacy when I choose to put up a website with my real name - and now I choose not to - but I couldn't continue writing about my inner thoughts, my life at a place where I specifically know unwanted eyes would be looking at.

To cut a long story short, later on, I discovered it was very possible a colleague I trusted - the only colleague with my URL - had passed my URL to that supervisor. Maybe because she thought I slighted her in my blogs before. I still cannot bring myself to converse with her on a similar level or to trust her.)

Anyhow, back to today. Since the two double whammies - the blog thing happened first followed a week after by the confirmation - hit, I have reverted back to working life in a rountine.

But I do know I'm not over it. If I have to admit it, I think it took a lot more out of me than I care to think.

I like to be more unflappable. Sometimes I am.

Yet the past year I have been with the paper, I had cried more times over my work (in my workplace too, four times) than I had in totality during the entire course of last year.

It's really simple. I'm not supposed to cry over such things, I don't, just never did so before.

Guess I am not above it all, huh. But I never did believe I was. I just didn't... cry.

They say that it's the ones that you love most that hurt you most. Journalism, writing is one of my greatest loves. And forgive me if I am too sensitive, too precious about my job, but it hurts me like crazy to be the way I am now.

Maybe it's burn-out but I absolutely hate the way I cannot seems to be the way I was, to chase stories 24/7, to ALWAYS be on the lookout for stories, to be driven with that unspeakable newshound instinct because I absolutely love journalism.

I still love being a journalist. I will never give up writing and no, don't infer wrongly, I still love journalism itself too.

My immediate supervisor, though at times well intentioned, makes me tired. He doesn't realise it consciously but he is significant reason for my enthusiasm low.

But I'm tired. I can't go on. I cannot find the drive that I had. The love is still there but it no longer makes me move. I can't glide now. I still can write, I still can report, I still can work but where's the magic?

Maybe I talk of my job with a idealism that is foolish but we cannot lose our idealism. We cannot do so. This cannot be just a job. Otherwise, I become just like them.

I'm tired, and I want to be whole again. I need to be healed, Lord, I need to put down my bitterness. For I know there's bitterness inside, anger and spite at the unfairness of it all, at the split in the office now. I don't want to play anymore. I don't want to do the PR, I don't want to do this shite.

Help, God.

For I know "All things work together for the good of those who love God, who are called according to His Promise".

You are my Rock.

17:47.

My room faces the evening sun. Every day, while the sun gives off the last of its strongest rays, my room will be flooded with yellow light. My current bedsheet is a gentle navy blue and it caught the light fabulously.

It seemed that there was a large halo in my humble abode and where the halo fell seemed like where an angel would appear with a message.

:: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: ::

Yesterday, this popped into my mind: "I'll never be 18 again."

Yes, another one of those truism that suddenly leaps at you and make you look at it differently. And yes, why is it that these jumping phrases so often concern time and age.

Today, after watching Bend It Like Beckham on cable, the same thought blinked at me. Why should I want to be 18 again? No reason really. It was a good year, that year off school. A year which I look back upon as my spiritual revival and a year which was all bright and lit up so much you can see angels flying over every day.

But I digress. I think I get this 18 thoughts because I'm simply half-afraid that I will never be as carefree as I was then. I did have cares and worries then, it wasn't a Mary Poppin world but it had that teenage zest which coloured every single thing brightly.

I guess, wait, I know it's scientifically true that every day, we die a bit more, are that closer to the last breath.

I also know I want to die to self but do not believe this biblical dying is akin to that weary death time inflicts on living people. The latter, I'm referring to that increased deadness, that loss of a will to live and to love and rejoice, and dance with life.

I feel rather old at times like these. Gee, 18. I think I'm rather wistful that I never did go for the sports and team participation bit, mostly choosing (not that it seemed like a choice then) to go for angst, music and myself.

I always loved soccer. Quite liked basketball too. In fact, I believe I would like to do both now but am deterred by the fact that I'm as far from fit as one can get. Besides, how do I get into a team now? I want to play them as what they are, team sports. I'm untrained, which doesn't make me a candidate for pro or semi-pro teams.

There are always ways, I probably am just being inert. I like to start off with kicking a ball around and throwing some baskets for fun like we used to in primary school and even occasionally in secondary school (Darn, I feel old).

I want the discipline of participation sports, those you go all out for and get sweaty and dirty and a lot of team spirit.

Hah.

20:24.

Yesterday, someone killed himself. I seen him around before but never spoken to him so unlike those who were closer to him, I was spared from anguish.

Everyone was talking about it, discussing it, perhaps trying to get a grip on it. "It" - How one could commit suicide. Jump off a building when he was 25, and just starting his career.

But when you are a stage where nothing seems to be worth living for any more, Reason is that which you have already ran away from, and a device that's very far away.

I'm glad he didn't have to listen to all our speculations and guesses.

When someone chooses their own way out like that, it is a natural reaction to ask why, and to discuss and try together to understand it. But while I understand this auto reaction, I'm loathe to particpate.

'cause for me, I think whatever reason he had, whatever it was, he made his choice. And if we weren't there for him when he could still hear and evaluate, then we should be slient now too. As respect.

This is really not meant to criticise anyone. This suicide is not the first that happened near me these recent years. And I hate it.

I hope suicides will not be one of the things so common in my adulthood that I cease to be bothered.

So few things are really relevant but I keep forgetting.

20:44.

Go watch Pirates of The Carribean. I utterly love it and it's not just because Johnny Depp's in it.

Gosh, Johnny, Johnny, Johnny (!).

Umm, to be serious, it's good. Campy, hilarious, not very logical but a good ride throughout. Stellar cast, Johnny embodied weird fey Captain Jack Sparrow.

Several times today, I caught myself containing a laugh when I remembered some scenes. Hah.

Fey - That's my favourite word of the moment.

13:05.

Johnny Cash never was an artiste I seeked. Though he was one I admired. By the word "seeked", I simply mean I was not as acquainted with his music as I felt I should be. I often read about him, most notably in a U2 biography To The End Of The World.

He has gone home at the age of 73, about five months after his beloved wife and soulmate took the same journey. And as I - like millions others - read the articles, obituaries, tributes in cyberspace and newsprint, I'm solemn like those others. Not disturbed, because I believe He is now with Jesus (Heaven's an indefinitely better place).

I join his fans and friends in some moments of mourning.

Why? Simply because he was one of those examples whom I want to be like.

Jocelyn asked me why I like U2 so much.

I know why, though I articulate this poorly.

U2, Johnny Cash, these people represents to me people constantly running, running to stand still (to steal a line from U2). They are (were) Christians, and the passion for God evident, but they dared to bare their souls with a fury that I can't look away from. They fought (fight) demons, they swum in music, in the spirit of my beloved rock n roll.

They were (are) human, completely fallable but because they are (were) honest, they earned my respect. And they respected the art of music, made (make) amazingly great music and harnessed the rock n roll's power. Christians need not be cookie cuts of each other. Can faith exists in seemingly chaos and the devil's territory? Can faith lasts in fame?

Yes.

I like that brazen defiance. Why must the devil have all the good music? (To borrow a line from William Booth, salvation army's founder and I think, the Christian rock band Stryper who made the line into a whole song)

I like running on the edge of the ring of fire, getting burned but never having my spirit quenched.

But will I dare? (Anyhow, my ring of fire is different from that of rock n roll.)

They did.

And to that, I salute.

I will see Mr Cash in Heaven when I get there. Though mind you, my attention will be on Jesus.

00:32.

On my old site, I once posted this quote from a well-loved author, C S Lewis. You could call it a warning, I guess, to me as well as yourself. And since these words are still profoundly reverent to me and life, here they are again:

"Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket - safe, dark, motionless, airless - it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable."

23:59.

I like to teach the world to sing.


The Redemption Song - Bob Marley

Old pirates yes they rob I
Sold I to the merchant ships
Minutes after they took I
From the bottomless pit
But my hand was made strong
By the hand of the Almighty
We forward in this generation
Triumphantly

All I ever had, is songs of freedom
Won't you help to sing, these songs of freedom
Cause all I ever had, redemption songs

Redemption songs

Emancipate yourselves from mental slavery
None but ourselves can free our minds
Have no fear for atomic energy
Cause none of them can stop the time
How long shall they kill our prophets
While we stand aside and look
Some say it's just a part of it
We've got to fullfill the book

Won't you help to sing, these songs of freedom
Cause all I ever had, redemption songs
Redemption songs, redemption songs

Emancipate yourselves from mental slavery
None but ourselves can free our minds
Have no fear for atomic energy
Cause none of them can stop the time
How long shall they kill our prophets
While we stand aside and look
Yes some say it's just a part of it
We've got to fullfill the book

Won't you help to sing, these songs of freedom
Cause all I ever had, redemption songs
All I ever had, redemption songs
These songs of freedom, songs of freedom

22:27.

I wish I have the words to paint landscapes
Pretty hues and tragic tunes
It's not a fancy, or is it?

My hand's soaked with fabric and sore from brushing
On my walls my murals speak
Wait a minute, what is it?

Slowly, slower, the music slows me
Then beating quickly, the rhythm moves me
Is my reflection bloody?

Dorian Gray.

Lullaby, sweet sweet sound
Pray


Shhhhhhh

18:21.

Johnny Cash has died.

20:01.

I like: The way the sky merges into the sea, the way the sun colours the sky, the way the white fine sand gives way underneath my feet and get between my toes, the way the green-blue still sea water embraces my body, the way the clouds smile down at me. And how I see God in all these.

Swim, sunbath, eat, snack, watch tv, laugh, kid, jump on beds.

All in a day's work. Living on an island that's not urban. Where the beach is at my doorstep and beautiful pools and jacuzzi wait for me to jump in. Where I live with beautiful people whose company I enjoy.

A place where dreams looks plausible and my future is stretched all the way right along the bright path towards the horizon.

In that place, I dream on a deck chair just enjoying the sun kisses on my body. I didn't need to think. And I think a lot (during my massage, I caught myself thinking, "What should I think of?"). I normally enjoy it a lot. God forbid if I should ever stop thinking and questioning but recently, I think too much. Sometimes, my head hurts and I have to exert effort to push everything somewhere else.

So bintaN was very good.

And I remember the way we were. I stayed at Nirwana this time too.

I've got a tan, my nose is starting to peel.

Anne dropped a room key into the ocean. Heh. Yes, it's unfortunate but since it happened, let's laugh rather than moan.

There was a dead lizard on the window sill in Joce's room. It freaked me out. We contemplated calling room service, acting helpless and asking for help. In the end, we settled on trying to ignore it.

I want to spend more of my life in other places. Places where I don't have to deal with certain obligations.

I want to travel. It's feeling more and more like a need each day. I want to travel, see new things and people, live in new places and drink the experiences and knowledge and everything that comes from such. I want to learn.

Just now, I watched Gilmore Girls, last ep of season three. I like the show, cry over it and all that. Rory made valedictorian, is estranged from Jess, going to Yale. Dean's getting married, Luke's contemplating going on a trip with a lawyer he's seeing.

I missed too many episodes to catch up but my eyes were not dry when Rory gave her valedictorian speech. Come to think of it, I always tear whenever these graduation bits are shown. I cry for the innocence then try to remember was it that way for me. Poly was strangely adult. Detached by the time we got to the end. Secondary school, I remember the heartbreak as we huddled together and cried.

I cry too because I never had it as beautiful as they show it. I'm not bitter but it would be nice to do that gown and all. Hug classmates you loved and hated and remember it all in a bittersweet painful episode.

I appreciate that type of pain, though as I get older and encounter them more and more, it gets too painful and I get afraid I may dislike it and grow numb.

While watching the show, I had a wild idea that I would plug away so hard I can make valedictorian when I get to uni. But then I realise I don't even know if they still have that at that level and whether I would even qualify to take a shot at it as a student with advanced standing.

But I will try for the Dean's list, if my advanced standing status does not deter me.

No, nothing's finalised. I still don't know whether I am going to Melbourne. Am still waiting for the RMIT admissions director to get back to me on the exemption bit. If he confirmed (please pray!) that I do, then I have to call the IDP to arrange to sit for the Journ entrance test which cost $70. Gee. And if I aced that, I still have to go through a telephone interview. *nervous smile*

I cannot stay where I am for long. That's how I feel right now though I may change my mind. But now, I simply feel that I have to go. Go. Go. Go somewhere. Do something else. I need to be somewhere different so I can be simulated again. Perhaps I want to shake the dust off my feet.

Let's dance.

19:54:

I'm going to bintam tomorrow with Anne, Joce and Serene :) Haven't had a holiday since I started working. Let me see, that was... last June. Yes, I think I need this break. I'm going to lay on a nice deck chair on the beach, wade into the sea to see the fishes, and I will get my pasty white legs and trunk tanned. I WILL relax.

If it sounds like I'm trying to psych myself, I am. I am very much so looking forward to this trip. It's the first time the four of us are going for a holiday together, but I hope I can get out of work mode. Work has been delightfully busy this week. I've been productive, which always makes me want to be more productive. And when I am on a roll, I am on a roll.

When do you know if I'm on a workalcoholic (not)overload? When I am working on an empty stomach into the night, and yet deliriously happy. When my contact lens is dry and I can't help blinking every five second but I'm still vainly taking my time with my words. When I work late yet come into the office on time.

There are many more symptoms, but I have an article to finish now.

Do pray that I'll be able to get some good thinking time and journal writing this trip too. Must think (more) about my life.

Peace out.

:: Oh shoot, I forgot to get my photo byline retaken, I look darn dodgy in my usual one. Shooooot.