2157.
Fish stew with pita bread, gelare on waffles with maple sauce and cream, and now miso soup. Good food makes one feel pleasant, full and able to walk back from lygon street (where we had the waffles) in 9 degrees weather. I cooked fish stew for dinner and I just had to have instant miso soup when we got back. I didn't realise how much I miss it. Darn, I miss Jap food. I'm so going to have my fill of sashimi in Sydney when I go over in July.
....
All right, I recognise it too. This is one of those posts without much direction and I'm not in the moment to ramble and mull. There's a presentation to be done for Friday. Am talking about sex in the city-state, that's my working title any how, it's just about how modernity affected the way Singapore sees homosexuals and transgenders. Got to get back to it. Later and night.
Tuesday, April 27, 2004
Thursday, April 22, 2004
14:56.
I have been reading about the Nicoll Highway collapse. Three dead, one still missing - that's the count for now. If quantity is to be applied, this hardly merits as a crisis but it is. My country is so small physically that when things like this happen (and it seems they never do which adds to the shock), every one is involved.
"For whom the bell tolls, it tolls for me."
Tears well up in my eyes when I read about the whole incident, especially the reports about the victims' surviving kin. Dear God, please be with them. Please.
I have been reading about the Nicoll Highway collapse. Three dead, one still missing - that's the count for now. If quantity is to be applied, this hardly merits as a crisis but it is. My country is so small physically that when things like this happen (and it seems they never do which adds to the shock), every one is involved.
"For whom the bell tolls, it tolls for me."
Tears well up in my eyes when I read about the whole incident, especially the reports about the victims' surviving kin. Dear God, please be with them. Please.
Wednesday, April 21, 2004
13:23.
I've got a class excursion today so yeah, first time I would be soaking up some culture since I came here. This is what it's about.
Culture. Weird ideas. Creative juices. Counterculture, subculture, anti-culture. Fetish-culture, race culture, culture. I think uni is shaping up to proffer the things I thought it should.
Yesterday, in a lecture about the body as a social construct and Focault, a short video clip from a documentary, Fat Girls And Their Feeders, was shown. Masquerading as revolt against the social norm of thinness (which in itself is a good cause and valid argument), it showed the journey of a man who had the fantasy of "growing" a woman to as far as is humanly possible. His wife, whom he met through a personal ad, was 200-plus pounds when she met him. The first 13 years of their marriage was devoted to "growing" her to her eventual 800-plus pounds.
He took pictures of her in the nude in various positions, which she posed for along this "journey" and as he showed them to the camera, he talked about how turned on he was by how big his wife is and how "this (growing) is every thing he ever wanted".
She talked about how good she feels, being sexy in his eyes while he talks about how this feeding allows every girl to eat all she wants and not feel bad about it.
I hope the hypocrisy of it all, rising valid banners of argument to conceal a sick fetish, is as clear to you as it is to me. The bedbound woman had to be lifted up with a forklift of sorts to be put onto a weighing scale for large animals just so to be weighed. And of course, no, she couldn't even stand or take care of herself.
Yes, yesterday was interesting to me, the academic observer.
And there was a video in another lecture, a short story about idol worship gone extreme, that was darn funny with an Elvis wannabe, posters of Elvis and Little Richard and a pair of sisters bedding the same guy - separately, ahem - but so deluded they were in their minds shagging Elvis and Little Richard respectively.
The most funny quote must had been this, delivered as the poor dude realises why his lass was pushing his head aside to star at Elvis' poster on the ceiling: "You are not f***ing me, you are f***ing Elvis!"
Yeah, sick humour. I know.
I've got a class excursion today so yeah, first time I would be soaking up some culture since I came here. This is what it's about.
Culture. Weird ideas. Creative juices. Counterculture, subculture, anti-culture. Fetish-culture, race culture, culture. I think uni is shaping up to proffer the things I thought it should.
Yesterday, in a lecture about the body as a social construct and Focault, a short video clip from a documentary, Fat Girls And Their Feeders, was shown. Masquerading as revolt against the social norm of thinness (which in itself is a good cause and valid argument), it showed the journey of a man who had the fantasy of "growing" a woman to as far as is humanly possible. His wife, whom he met through a personal ad, was 200-plus pounds when she met him. The first 13 years of their marriage was devoted to "growing" her to her eventual 800-plus pounds.
He took pictures of her in the nude in various positions, which she posed for along this "journey" and as he showed them to the camera, he talked about how turned on he was by how big his wife is and how "this (growing) is every thing he ever wanted".
She talked about how good she feels, being sexy in his eyes while he talks about how this feeding allows every girl to eat all she wants and not feel bad about it.
I hope the hypocrisy of it all, rising valid banners of argument to conceal a sick fetish, is as clear to you as it is to me. The bedbound woman had to be lifted up with a forklift of sorts to be put onto a weighing scale for large animals just so to be weighed. And of course, no, she couldn't even stand or take care of herself.
Yes, yesterday was interesting to me, the academic observer.
And there was a video in another lecture, a short story about idol worship gone extreme, that was darn funny with an Elvis wannabe, posters of Elvis and Little Richard and a pair of sisters bedding the same guy - separately, ahem - but so deluded they were in their minds shagging Elvis and Little Richard respectively.
The most funny quote must had been this, delivered as the poor dude realises why his lass was pushing his head aside to star at Elvis' poster on the ceiling: "You are not f***ing me, you are f***ing Elvis!"
Yeah, sick humour. I know.
Tuesday, April 20, 2004
Sunday, April 18, 2004
23:32.
Just got off the phone with me mum. Among other things, she was telling me about the church band and its developments. My pastor emailed me a couple of days ago too telling me, among other things, about the band's development. Basically, I left them drummer-less with my decision to come here. And they lost a keyboardist and guitarist with me too.
Me, with my half-past six musical skills, was the best musician the chinese church had. Weird, yeah, I used to tell them no, I suck, every time they tell me how good I played at a certain song or session simply because I was aware of how good other bands are. Which is why playing in a new band intimidates me, I suppose, because from being the one who knew what was going on and what to do every time, I would then be the one who doesn't.
But yet, I miss playing so darn much. I miss the getting caught up and tearing even while playing, and drumming with my eyes squeezed shut tightly. I miss the falling into the music and moment and being surprised by how my fingers move in ways I didn't know I know on the keyboard.
I suppose I was spoilt, with three guitars at home and a keyboard and piano, and a drumset every Sunday in church. And I didn't even practise or work at it. I just did musical doodles and play when I feel like it. Now, I look and can't touch. I starve.
I starve so much I'm willing to try, to play in a new band, and if I make a mistake or can't make the standard, to bury myself some three feet underneath, or burrow myself into a dark corner, cringe and half-die of embarassment before I get over it and look people in the eye again.
When you are this hungry, you are willing to grab any thing.
Do I sound desperate? These are withdrawal symptons.
In your Hands, Lord, take me. In your Will, Lord, let me be.
Just got off the phone with me mum. Among other things, she was telling me about the church band and its developments. My pastor emailed me a couple of days ago too telling me, among other things, about the band's development. Basically, I left them drummer-less with my decision to come here. And they lost a keyboardist and guitarist with me too.
Me, with my half-past six musical skills, was the best musician the chinese church had. Weird, yeah, I used to tell them no, I suck, every time they tell me how good I played at a certain song or session simply because I was aware of how good other bands are. Which is why playing in a new band intimidates me, I suppose, because from being the one who knew what was going on and what to do every time, I would then be the one who doesn't.
But yet, I miss playing so darn much. I miss the getting caught up and tearing even while playing, and drumming with my eyes squeezed shut tightly. I miss the falling into the music and moment and being surprised by how my fingers move in ways I didn't know I know on the keyboard.
I suppose I was spoilt, with three guitars at home and a keyboard and piano, and a drumset every Sunday in church. And I didn't even practise or work at it. I just did musical doodles and play when I feel like it. Now, I look and can't touch. I starve.
I starve so much I'm willing to try, to play in a new band, and if I make a mistake or can't make the standard, to bury myself some three feet underneath, or burrow myself into a dark corner, cringe and half-die of embarassment before I get over it and look people in the eye again.
When you are this hungry, you are willing to grab any thing.
Do I sound desperate? These are withdrawal symptons.
In your Hands, Lord, take me. In your Will, Lord, let me be.
16:30.
"One thing I ask of the Lord,
this is what I seek:
that I may dwell in the house of the Lord
all the days of my life,
to gaze upon the beauty of the Lord
and to seek him in his temple." - Psalm 27:4
I went into Easter Camp with three things on my mind and heart. You can call them goals, aims... whatever, I don't have names for these, I just wanted them to be.
I wanted to worship.
I wanted to give.
I wanted to make real connections with people.
All three were given me, all three were met, all three were fulfilled.
I've come away with something which I do not have the words to describe. Without using words like "breakthrough" and "most", I will say something has happened.
Something, not just inside of me, but in the spiritual realm.
Something has changed.
"As they pass through the Valley of Baca,
they make it a place of springs;
the autumn rains also cover it with pools." - Psalms 84:6
On the last day of camp, during camp sharing - where any one who feels like it goes in front of the hall to testify or share - the verse above came to my mind. While every speaker spoke coherently of her/ his experience, I realised that I had no words to describe mine.
"Good" (ahem, existentially, truly, really) was the sum of it but I just didn't - and as you can tell, still don't - quite have the words to share coherently about my time.
It might have helped if I kept a daily journal but I didn't manage to write a single entry. There were 12 people in my bunk, and it was freezing in the mornings and nights so I could not scoot off and sit somewhere (tried that the first morning and turned into a icicle).
Any how, back to Psalm 84:6.
Baca means weeping. Read the verse again: "As they pass through the valley of weeping, they make it a place of springs. The autumn rain also cover it with ponds."
I feel like my tears, coming out from my years of wilderness and trying, have been turned into a spring, a spring of God as a dam inside of me, His instrument, has been broken. The last few years, I've been broken and have sowed tears and pain and sorrow even as I reaped the lessons that could be only be gained through such. While I grew as a person, the wounds of love (isn't the breaking done in love?) have been cut deep in my heart and spirit. A dam, a shield of defense against the world, my commitment phobia, a wall around myself has been built by own hands.
We have been trying to break down this wall and I believe it has been broken.
My tears have been transformed into springs, and the autumn rain (sweet sweet Spirit) has refreshed and filled me up.
When I was about 17 or thereabouts the period before the wilderness, I was open to the Spirit's direction in moving in Him. I remember praying for people and receiving messages from God for them. There was a closeness to the Holy Spirit that manifested in such ministry.
I don't know what you call such ministry. A mature Christian or two mentioned then that they think I have the gift of prophecy. I didn't dare to acknowledge it, I still don't but not because of fear or avoidance but because I think it wise not to treat such things of God casually.
But I had to struggle with questions and personal arguments - intellectual and emotional - about the spiritual gifts common in the charismatic circle I grew up in. I could not recouncil how some who operates in these gifts were not living holy. I had to question the gift of tongues in the church because I could not believe that all were genuine.
(This post is not about those struggles and my personal conclusions but if you are interested in a discussion about them, you know how to get hold of me.)
Why I was talking about them is because of this: I feel like I have been affirmed in the spirit about my spiritual gifts. By "affirmed", I don't mean that God told me straight in my face that I have gift A, B and C. I simply mean I am now comfortable with what I have been given, even though I'm not entirely sure of the measure and type of gifts I truly have, and I'm comfortable with exercising it.
Like I said, the dam has been broken.
I want to clarify that I have not been living in sackcloth and dust, with perpetual pain in my heart, head and soul. The wilderness I have been led through had its stages and while still in it, I learnt to smile, to laugh, to be contented and to look always at Christ... even through the turbulence but it feels so good because I know I'm leaving it behind now and moving on.
There will always be trials, persecution and all these but I know I'm now out of the valley of death and weeping that I have stumbled in for a long time.
So why won't I use the word "breakthrough" to describe something as wonderful as this?
'cause it felt like such a natural progress to me. It was meant to be so, and "breakthrough" doesn't quite sound right, to me any way.
The three things that I went into camp wanting are still true to me now.
I still want to worship.
I still want to give.
I still want to make real connections with people.
The last day of Easter Camp, I was aware of how I felt glad to be going home even as I wanted to continue spending time with my new-found friends and sisters and brothers. Somewhere in that feeling, God spoke to me about my time here.
I still don't know how long I would be staying in Melbourne and if God should open the way to stay on or to go to another country instead of home to Singapore, I would do so but whatever it is, that time will come when I must say goodbye. And I will simply have to leave. But I want to leave knowing I have given my heart, my time, my effort and friendship to people and worthy causes. Maybe I will cry, maybe I wouldn't but I will leave knowing that nothing is forever and only the things of God remain.
And hey, Christians never say goodbye.
"One thing I ask of the Lord,
this is what I seek:
that I may dwell in the house of the Lord
all the days of my life,
to gaze upon the beauty of the Lord
and to seek him in his temple." - Psalm 27:4
I went into Easter Camp with three things on my mind and heart. You can call them goals, aims... whatever, I don't have names for these, I just wanted them to be.
I wanted to worship.
I wanted to give.
I wanted to make real connections with people.
All three were given me, all three were met, all three were fulfilled.
I've come away with something which I do not have the words to describe. Without using words like "breakthrough" and "most", I will say something has happened.
Something, not just inside of me, but in the spiritual realm.
Something has changed.
"As they pass through the Valley of Baca,
they make it a place of springs;
the autumn rains also cover it with pools." - Psalms 84:6
On the last day of camp, during camp sharing - where any one who feels like it goes in front of the hall to testify or share - the verse above came to my mind. While every speaker spoke coherently of her/ his experience, I realised that I had no words to describe mine.
"Good" (ahem, existentially, truly, really) was the sum of it but I just didn't - and as you can tell, still don't - quite have the words to share coherently about my time.
It might have helped if I kept a daily journal but I didn't manage to write a single entry. There were 12 people in my bunk, and it was freezing in the mornings and nights so I could not scoot off and sit somewhere (tried that the first morning and turned into a icicle).
Any how, back to Psalm 84:6.
Baca means weeping. Read the verse again: "As they pass through the valley of weeping, they make it a place of springs. The autumn rain also cover it with ponds."
I feel like my tears, coming out from my years of wilderness and trying, have been turned into a spring, a spring of God as a dam inside of me, His instrument, has been broken. The last few years, I've been broken and have sowed tears and pain and sorrow even as I reaped the lessons that could be only be gained through such. While I grew as a person, the wounds of love (isn't the breaking done in love?) have been cut deep in my heart and spirit. A dam, a shield of defense against the world, my commitment phobia, a wall around myself has been built by own hands.
We have been trying to break down this wall and I believe it has been broken.
My tears have been transformed into springs, and the autumn rain (sweet sweet Spirit) has refreshed and filled me up.
When I was about 17 or thereabouts the period before the wilderness, I was open to the Spirit's direction in moving in Him. I remember praying for people and receiving messages from God for them. There was a closeness to the Holy Spirit that manifested in such ministry.
I don't know what you call such ministry. A mature Christian or two mentioned then that they think I have the gift of prophecy. I didn't dare to acknowledge it, I still don't but not because of fear or avoidance but because I think it wise not to treat such things of God casually.
But I had to struggle with questions and personal arguments - intellectual and emotional - about the spiritual gifts common in the charismatic circle I grew up in. I could not recouncil how some who operates in these gifts were not living holy. I had to question the gift of tongues in the church because I could not believe that all were genuine.
(This post is not about those struggles and my personal conclusions but if you are interested in a discussion about them, you know how to get hold of me.)
Why I was talking about them is because of this: I feel like I have been affirmed in the spirit about my spiritual gifts. By "affirmed", I don't mean that God told me straight in my face that I have gift A, B and C. I simply mean I am now comfortable with what I have been given, even though I'm not entirely sure of the measure and type of gifts I truly have, and I'm comfortable with exercising it.
Like I said, the dam has been broken.
I want to clarify that I have not been living in sackcloth and dust, with perpetual pain in my heart, head and soul. The wilderness I have been led through had its stages and while still in it, I learnt to smile, to laugh, to be contented and to look always at Christ... even through the turbulence but it feels so good because I know I'm leaving it behind now and moving on.
There will always be trials, persecution and all these but I know I'm now out of the valley of death and weeping that I have stumbled in for a long time.
So why won't I use the word "breakthrough" to describe something as wonderful as this?
'cause it felt like such a natural progress to me. It was meant to be so, and "breakthrough" doesn't quite sound right, to me any way.
The three things that I went into camp wanting are still true to me now.
I still want to worship.
I still want to give.
I still want to make real connections with people.
The last day of Easter Camp, I was aware of how I felt glad to be going home even as I wanted to continue spending time with my new-found friends and sisters and brothers. Somewhere in that feeling, God spoke to me about my time here.
I still don't know how long I would be staying in Melbourne and if God should open the way to stay on or to go to another country instead of home to Singapore, I would do so but whatever it is, that time will come when I must say goodbye. And I will simply have to leave. But I want to leave knowing I have given my heart, my time, my effort and friendship to people and worthy causes. Maybe I will cry, maybe I wouldn't but I will leave knowing that nothing is forever and only the things of God remain.
And hey, Christians never say goodbye.
Friday, April 16, 2004
11:59.
So it was
You loved me in spite of all my shame
Deemed me lovely when I was covered with dirt
So it was
when You looked at me
There was no reason
why You should come
give up every thing
for my sake and die
There was no reason
why I should live
when all I did
condemned
and killed Your Heart
But yet you came
loving me in spite of all my shame
You looked at me and saw my pain
and You said,
"Child"
"I love you in spite of who you became
I know who you are and who you can be
If you will come, I'll carry your sins."
So it was
on a dark day in history
The One without sin became my sin
So it was I was redeemed
So it was
while I was a wretch, a stray, lost
from the Father you were torn away from
For my sake
So it was
2000 years ago
So it was
You loved me in spite of all my shame
Deemed me lovely when I was covered with dirt
So it was
when You looked at me
There was no reason
why You should come
give up every thing
for my sake and die
There was no reason
why I should live
when all I did
condemned
and killed Your Heart
But yet you came
loving me in spite of all my shame
You looked at me and saw my pain
and You said,
"Child"
"I love you in spite of who you became
I know who you are and who you can be
If you will come, I'll carry your sins."
So it was
on a dark day in history
The One without sin became my sin
So it was I was redeemed
So it was
while I was a wretch, a stray, lost
from the Father you were torn away from
For my sake
So it was
2000 years ago
Thursday, April 15, 2004
18:28.
It's a good feeling, this. I've handed in both my essays, one due today and one tomorrow worth 40 and 30 percent respectively. School reopens for me today and I stayed up till 2am the last two nights to finish the former essay. I'm fairly pleased with it. It's not a mindblowing piece of work but it connected enough obscure, unseen points and poked at enough holes to look decent. Any how, they are both in God's hands now.
Feels like I finally have time to sit and linger. To allow myself to remember how Easter Camp was and smile at fond memories. Now, I have time to write about other things I want to fill you in on.
Erm, wait a while more, ok? I got to go somewhere in a while to meet my cell group, we are celebrating the birth of a new sister (read: she accepted Christ at Easter Camp). So rather than start writing and then tear myself away, I should just wait till laters when there are no deadlines or timelines so I could write, and stop and be distracted as and when I like before writing again.
And, by the way, the guestbook's back up.
It's a good feeling, this. I've handed in both my essays, one due today and one tomorrow worth 40 and 30 percent respectively. School reopens for me today and I stayed up till 2am the last two nights to finish the former essay. I'm fairly pleased with it. It's not a mindblowing piece of work but it connected enough obscure, unseen points and poked at enough holes to look decent. Any how, they are both in God's hands now.
Feels like I finally have time to sit and linger. To allow myself to remember how Easter Camp was and smile at fond memories. Now, I have time to write about other things I want to fill you in on.
Erm, wait a while more, ok? I got to go somewhere in a while to meet my cell group, we are celebrating the birth of a new sister (read: she accepted Christ at Easter Camp). So rather than start writing and then tear myself away, I should just wait till laters when there are no deadlines or timelines so I could write, and stop and be distracted as and when I like before writing again.
And, by the way, the guestbook's back up.
Wednesday, April 14, 2004
Tuesday, April 13, 2004
13:11.
Have you ever felt the limitation of your body?
Felt the restriction of your skin?
Longed to jump out of this earthly tent?
I have.
Easter Camp was amazingly wonderful. Every praise and worship, God's spirit was prevalent. From within me bursting and overflowing to hanging on my physical body, the glory of heaven weighing - not physically, and in no way constricting or unpleasant - on my arms and hands.
You should know - I took a real long time to decide to go for Easter camp. Last Thursday, I yoyo-ed between going and not going, and on Friday, during the OCF meeting, the camp's chairperson gave an impromptu speech. It was guilty of rambling but in it, he said something about how wonderful it would be, just imagine, worshipping God with 300 other people, it would almost be like heaven.
I think heaven would be indescribably better but what he said made an impact in my choice to go. On Thursday, I had told Hannah that one of the strongest pull factors for Easter Camp for me was starting and ending the days with praise and worship. On Friday, he said that.
I think I lost myself in worship.
Though there were 200-plus people all around and I was aware at the back of my mind that I was not alone, it felt like it was just God and me. Every time we praised and worshipped.
My poor (poor as in scanty, week, needy not sad or sorry) little heart felt like it was about to rapture.
I, was in rapture.
I was lost, I was almost helpless, desperate in my desire to worship and glorify God with all of me.
All Of Me - All In All. These were the words that kept popping in my mind. I wanted to give it all for the One who died for me, the One who made it possible for me to live, to hope, to love, the One who is my everything.
It was not enough to raise my hands, it was not enough to stretch my arms all the way up while almost tip-toeing, it was not enough to sing my lungs out. It was not enough to jump, or dance.
I felt the constriction of my body; my soul, spirit, and all of me wanted to jump out of my body and soar and worship God.
There was no start or end to where giving and receiving were. As I gave praise, worship, glory to my Jesus, I received. Like springs on a dry bed, like food to the starving, I was fed.
And I like to keep writing, to share of my Love's dearness but we have to do an essay that's due on Thursday together. I will get back to you and I do hope you had a good - existentially, truly, really, not good in a mundane obligatory way - Easter.
Love ya.
Have you ever felt the limitation of your body?
Felt the restriction of your skin?
Longed to jump out of this earthly tent?
I have.
Easter Camp was amazingly wonderful. Every praise and worship, God's spirit was prevalent. From within me bursting and overflowing to hanging on my physical body, the glory of heaven weighing - not physically, and in no way constricting or unpleasant - on my arms and hands.
You should know - I took a real long time to decide to go for Easter camp. Last Thursday, I yoyo-ed between going and not going, and on Friday, during the OCF meeting, the camp's chairperson gave an impromptu speech. It was guilty of rambling but in it, he said something about how wonderful it would be, just imagine, worshipping God with 300 other people, it would almost be like heaven.
I think heaven would be indescribably better but what he said made an impact in my choice to go. On Thursday, I had told Hannah that one of the strongest pull factors for Easter Camp for me was starting and ending the days with praise and worship. On Friday, he said that.
I think I lost myself in worship.
Though there were 200-plus people all around and I was aware at the back of my mind that I was not alone, it felt like it was just God and me. Every time we praised and worshipped.
My poor (poor as in scanty, week, needy not sad or sorry) little heart felt like it was about to rapture.
I, was in rapture.
I was lost, I was almost helpless, desperate in my desire to worship and glorify God with all of me.
All Of Me - All In All. These were the words that kept popping in my mind. I wanted to give it all for the One who died for me, the One who made it possible for me to live, to hope, to love, the One who is my everything.
It was not enough to raise my hands, it was not enough to stretch my arms all the way up while almost tip-toeing, it was not enough to sing my lungs out. It was not enough to jump, or dance.
I felt the constriction of my body; my soul, spirit, and all of me wanted to jump out of my body and soar and worship God.
There was no start or end to where giving and receiving were. As I gave praise, worship, glory to my Jesus, I received. Like springs on a dry bed, like food to the starving, I was fed.
And I like to keep writing, to share of my Love's dearness but we have to do an essay that's due on Thursday together. I will get back to you and I do hope you had a good - existentially, truly, really, not good in a mundane obligatory way - Easter.
Love ya.
Thursday, April 08, 2004
12:05.
It was 10 years ago today that his body was found, three days after Kurt Cobain shot up then pulled the trigger.
Or did he?
Sigh.
And here's a titbit. Darn, I couldn't find the actual issue in the shops here. Don't know if Aust is late or has a different edition.
It was 10 years ago today that his body was found, three days after Kurt Cobain shot up then pulled the trigger.
Or did he?
Sigh.
And here's a titbit. Darn, I couldn't find the actual issue in the shops here. Don't know if Aust is late or has a different edition.
Tuesday, April 06, 2004
17:30.
I'm sitting next to our living room window, at our dining table, eating out of a saucepan. Ain't cooking today. Dinner's this: tom yam instant noodles (which I love by the way lest this picture is less than rosy to you).
I have a picture of a fish in my mind.
Specifically, a grouper.
More specifically, a grouper spilt down the middle aka Chinese banquet style. A nice big grouper, steamed with salty vegetables, tomatoes, mushrooms and abundant fried ginger strips.
I miss Mom's cooking.
Sigh.
It's not that I'm starving and dreaming of home-cooked food (ain't we having home-cooked food here any how?). Nor am I terribly homesick or something.
But yeah, I'm only just starting to feel more homesick these two weeks.
As per me-norm, even my homesickness is weird.
Speaking in the now and now, I don't want to go back to Singapore. I don't particularly fancy the idea of working in Singapore. I like my life here. I've adapted and even found things I know I will miss when I leave Australia. I would even stay on here if God so wills but that doesn't change the fact that I miss home.
I want to hug Mom, I want to hug Dad, I even want to hug my brother though it's highly unlikely he allows it, macho male he is.
I like remembering the feeling of coming home from work to find Mom's cooking waiting for me. In fact, it was this old entry (last post on the page), which mentioned having dinner at 3.30am after a very late day at work that prompted me to start writing this.
People love saying that eating is Singapore's main religion but I've never been very into food. You can tell me that the fish head curry at Serangoon number so-and-what is the best you ever had, well good on you but you won't catch me going out of my way to grab a bite of it. For the longest time, I was thoroughly confused by people who are willing to spend time travelling (car, bus, MRT) to get somewhere to eat something, after which they would travel back (car, bus, MRT) to wherever they hailed from.
And then there's my mood swings, the periods when I lose interest in food and have to remind myself to eat because my body requires it.
So I guess missing that grouper is not really about missing its taste, but missing my family.
Yet I love too - even need in an awful manner - the feeling of being away from home, being away from all that was familar as clutch and comfort.
I do not dislike these feelings.
The sun has made its way over the horizon during the course of this post.
I'm: too full from the rather gorgeous tom yam noodles and spearing slices of peaches for dessert.
It is: Tuesday. One more day of school tomorrow then Easter break starts for me. Before I leave for Easter camp on Friday, I endeavour to have absorbed all my racism essay research, and produced my essay stucture and key points. By tonight, I will have my rough essay structure so I can email or show it to the tutor tomorrow for her approval. The essay's worth 40 per cent.
It has been forever since my work is graded. It is rather unnerving. Back at work, even when you put together a piece that's not stunning or rave-worthy whether because you were having a bad day, too many deadlines or just uninspired, it gets published.
That is probably a very high accolade of sorts to a writer.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A couple of days ago, I posted the lyrics to one of Rich Mullins songs. Called Hatching Of A Heart, the title sounds half corny yet full of potential.
When she read it, Hannah said it sounds like my theme song of sorts for the moment.
*squirms in my seat*
I feel the same. In a way, I had felt that I couldn't get attached to this place, the people I meet here because my stay is only supposed to be for a year. If I get attached, it would hurt when I leave and what's more, I want to work in other countries which means I will be continuously uprooting myself from one place to the next. Just doesn't seem wise to put down roots when I want to embrace a hermit life, innit?
It didn't mean I was not going to let God use my life, it didn't mean I was going to keep solely to myself (or did it?), I just didn't want to enter into a mentality of putting down roots.
God has been speaking to my heart.
I'm serious about serving Christ. I'm serious about giving my life away. I'm serious about wanting to make a difference for His kingdom and I want to put a smile on His face every day.
"Child, if you don't let people into your heart, how are you going to serve me?
"If you are not willing to love because loving means the possibility of hurt, then how are you going to serve me?
"If you want to give your life to me and serve people but am not willing to open your heart to my people, then how are you going to serve me?"
....
Guess we - God and me - are taking yet another step in killing my commitment phobia.
I'm glad I don't have my heart and God can give it - or parts of it - to whoever He wills.
Easter Camp is another step in opening my life I suppose to people. Over the years, shunning big gatherings have become part of the personification of me but I hate stereotypes and since I don't even quite know who I am any more, it's rather hard to adhere to any characteristic-type rules.
But I do know I want to get to know the people I have met.
Titbit: I actually already look forward to Fridays now in the same way I look forward to Sundays. After eight years in the mandarin congregation and never having peers for support, I will choose to embrace this new time. It is half-strange to me and yet, half-second-nature.
I don't quite get me, but I'm glad I know my God. And gosh, have I rambled.
I'm sitting next to our living room window, at our dining table, eating out of a saucepan. Ain't cooking today. Dinner's this: tom yam instant noodles (which I love by the way lest this picture is less than rosy to you).
I have a picture of a fish in my mind.
Specifically, a grouper.
More specifically, a grouper spilt down the middle aka Chinese banquet style. A nice big grouper, steamed with salty vegetables, tomatoes, mushrooms and abundant fried ginger strips.
I miss Mom's cooking.
Sigh.
It's not that I'm starving and dreaming of home-cooked food (ain't we having home-cooked food here any how?). Nor am I terribly homesick or something.
But yeah, I'm only just starting to feel more homesick these two weeks.
As per me-norm, even my homesickness is weird.
Speaking in the now and now, I don't want to go back to Singapore. I don't particularly fancy the idea of working in Singapore. I like my life here. I've adapted and even found things I know I will miss when I leave Australia. I would even stay on here if God so wills but that doesn't change the fact that I miss home.
I want to hug Mom, I want to hug Dad, I even want to hug my brother though it's highly unlikely he allows it, macho male he is.
I like remembering the feeling of coming home from work to find Mom's cooking waiting for me. In fact, it was this old entry (last post on the page), which mentioned having dinner at 3.30am after a very late day at work that prompted me to start writing this.
People love saying that eating is Singapore's main religion but I've never been very into food. You can tell me that the fish head curry at Serangoon number so-and-what is the best you ever had, well good on you but you won't catch me going out of my way to grab a bite of it. For the longest time, I was thoroughly confused by people who are willing to spend time travelling (car, bus, MRT) to get somewhere to eat something, after which they would travel back (car, bus, MRT) to wherever they hailed from.
And then there's my mood swings, the periods when I lose interest in food and have to remind myself to eat because my body requires it.
So I guess missing that grouper is not really about missing its taste, but missing my family.
Yet I love too - even need in an awful manner - the feeling of being away from home, being away from all that was familar as clutch and comfort.
I do not dislike these feelings.
The sun has made its way over the horizon during the course of this post.
I'm: too full from the rather gorgeous tom yam noodles and spearing slices of peaches for dessert.
It is: Tuesday. One more day of school tomorrow then Easter break starts for me. Before I leave for Easter camp on Friday, I endeavour to have absorbed all my racism essay research, and produced my essay stucture and key points. By tonight, I will have my rough essay structure so I can email or show it to the tutor tomorrow for her approval. The essay's worth 40 per cent.
It has been forever since my work is graded. It is rather unnerving. Back at work, even when you put together a piece that's not stunning or rave-worthy whether because you were having a bad day, too many deadlines or just uninspired, it gets published.
That is probably a very high accolade of sorts to a writer.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A couple of days ago, I posted the lyrics to one of Rich Mullins songs. Called Hatching Of A Heart, the title sounds half corny yet full of potential.
When she read it, Hannah said it sounds like my theme song of sorts for the moment.
*squirms in my seat*
I feel the same. In a way, I had felt that I couldn't get attached to this place, the people I meet here because my stay is only supposed to be for a year. If I get attached, it would hurt when I leave and what's more, I want to work in other countries which means I will be continuously uprooting myself from one place to the next. Just doesn't seem wise to put down roots when I want to embrace a hermit life, innit?
It didn't mean I was not going to let God use my life, it didn't mean I was going to keep solely to myself (or did it?), I just didn't want to enter into a mentality of putting down roots.
God has been speaking to my heart.
I'm serious about serving Christ. I'm serious about giving my life away. I'm serious about wanting to make a difference for His kingdom and I want to put a smile on His face every day.
"Child, if you don't let people into your heart, how are you going to serve me?
"If you are not willing to love because loving means the possibility of hurt, then how are you going to serve me?
"If you want to give your life to me and serve people but am not willing to open your heart to my people, then how are you going to serve me?"
....
Guess we - God and me - are taking yet another step in killing my commitment phobia.
I'm glad I don't have my heart and God can give it - or parts of it - to whoever He wills.
Easter Camp is another step in opening my life I suppose to people. Over the years, shunning big gatherings have become part of the personification of me but I hate stereotypes and since I don't even quite know who I am any more, it's rather hard to adhere to any characteristic-type rules.
But I do know I want to get to know the people I have met.
Titbit: I actually already look forward to Fridays now in the same way I look forward to Sundays. After eight years in the mandarin congregation and never having peers for support, I will choose to embrace this new time. It is half-strange to me and yet, half-second-nature.
I don't quite get me, but I'm glad I know my God. And gosh, have I rambled.
Monday, April 05, 2004
11:56.
Yawnn.
Stayed up till 3.30am to work on an essay. Woke up about 9.45am but am stilll rather sleepy. Good news is that I do think I should be able to finish this rock n roll and grunge music essay by today. Then, I got to vacuum, do laundry, relax a bit, cook dinner then submerged myself in the materials for my other essay, which is due next Thursday.
Am I starting on work too early? Nah, though the housemates were baffled by my efforts. I actually think I'm cutting deadlines rather close. My music essay's due on next Friday, my racism essay's due on next Thursday. Easter break for RMIT is from this Thursday to next Wednesday, and I will be going for Easter camp from this Friday to next Monday.
I doubt I can finish my racism essay before I go for camp, but ideally, it should be structured and planned and I should have started writing it before I go so I can finish it up with fair ease when I get back.
Yeah, I decided to go for Easter Camp.
Took me forever to make the decision, I know.
First, I didn't know whether to go or not, then I decided to go, then, I decided not to go, and then, I was persuaded to rethink my decision, and now, yeah, I'm going.
*Groan*
Does being indecisive come with age or something?
God forbid that I should continue to become more wishy washy. Doh, I didn't even know what was holding me back from making a speedy, firm decision.
I've never been to an Easter Camp, I believe. I only recall ever going for two camps related to my faith. One was the church camp in Desaru and another was a Campus Crusade camp during poly days. I can't remember if the former was over Easter or not.
I actually like camps, though people might find that surprising since I generally rather not play most group games which seem to be a fixture at camps.
I have a feeling this will be a good camp, and I can wander around with my SLR and tripod finally. The camp will be held here, an hour's drive out of Melbourne (finally, away from the city!). I won't deny that there are little niggling anxiety bits inside of me, wondering about fitting in and getting along with people and all so yes, do please pray for me.
I'm attending Parkville OCF, while the camp is an OCF Victoria (the state) effort so people from many other centers will be there. About 200-over folks, most of whom I do not as yet know.
There are really a lot more things I like to share with your, things on my heart, stuff that God has been showing me and I have been observing and learning but there is an essay to finish up.
Laters.
Yawnn.
Stayed up till 3.30am to work on an essay. Woke up about 9.45am but am stilll rather sleepy. Good news is that I do think I should be able to finish this rock n roll and grunge music essay by today. Then, I got to vacuum, do laundry, relax a bit, cook dinner then submerged myself in the materials for my other essay, which is due next Thursday.
Am I starting on work too early? Nah, though the housemates were baffled by my efforts. I actually think I'm cutting deadlines rather close. My music essay's due on next Friday, my racism essay's due on next Thursday. Easter break for RMIT is from this Thursday to next Wednesday, and I will be going for Easter camp from this Friday to next Monday.
I doubt I can finish my racism essay before I go for camp, but ideally, it should be structured and planned and I should have started writing it before I go so I can finish it up with fair ease when I get back.
Yeah, I decided to go for Easter Camp.
Took me forever to make the decision, I know.
First, I didn't know whether to go or not, then I decided to go, then, I decided not to go, and then, I was persuaded to rethink my decision, and now, yeah, I'm going.
*Groan*
Does being indecisive come with age or something?
God forbid that I should continue to become more wishy washy. Doh, I didn't even know what was holding me back from making a speedy, firm decision.
I've never been to an Easter Camp, I believe. I only recall ever going for two camps related to my faith. One was the church camp in Desaru and another was a Campus Crusade camp during poly days. I can't remember if the former was over Easter or not.
I actually like camps, though people might find that surprising since I generally rather not play most group games which seem to be a fixture at camps.
I have a feeling this will be a good camp, and I can wander around with my SLR and tripod finally. The camp will be held here, an hour's drive out of Melbourne (finally, away from the city!). I won't deny that there are little niggling anxiety bits inside of me, wondering about fitting in and getting along with people and all so yes, do please pray for me.
I'm attending Parkville OCF, while the camp is an OCF Victoria (the state) effort so people from many other centers will be there. About 200-over folks, most of whom I do not as yet know.
There are really a lot more things I like to share with your, things on my heart, stuff that God has been showing me and I have been observing and learning but there is an essay to finish up.
Laters.
Thursday, April 01, 2004
21:13.
On other notes, the other day I was buying more fresh mushrooms at Vic Mart, and the guy at the stall rattled something off in some foreign language. Huh? I said, and he did it again.
Me: "What language is that?"
Him: "Ooops, wrong language. Japanese."
Me: *amused look*
Him: "So where you from? Hong Kong..."
Me: *jumps in* Singapore
Him: *mental gymnastics as he tries to remember what language Singaporeans speak* Er, don't think I know the language.
Me: We speak English predominantly actually.
Yup.... Still, the guy was so chirpy and friendly and without any malice that I didn't take any offence at all though the transcript above may turn some folks off.
Interesting, all these.
On other notes, the other day I was buying more fresh mushrooms at Vic Mart, and the guy at the stall rattled something off in some foreign language. Huh? I said, and he did it again.
Me: "What language is that?"
Him: "Ooops, wrong language. Japanese."
Me: *amused look*
Him: "So where you from? Hong Kong..."
Me: *jumps in* Singapore
Him: *mental gymnastics as he tries to remember what language Singaporeans speak* Er, don't think I know the language.
Me: We speak English predominantly actually.
Yup.... Still, the guy was so chirpy and friendly and without any malice that I didn't take any offence at all though the transcript above may turn some folks off.
Interesting, all these.
20:56.
Argh. I'm writing an essay about the beginnings and growing up years of Rock n Roll and Grunge, and to compare and contrast these. You would think it would be easy but it's just coming. I'm writing like a fangirl, and I have to bring in the academia aspect of these in a way that doesn't sound stuffy. I have got to look beyond what I always know and feel and see beyond the box I'm in.
You fall in love with rock n roll and grunge because of certain things (or because of everything, but articulated to you in only a few words) - the freedom of its spirit, the idealism and its tragedy, of something bigger than you yourself, of something good rather unexplainably.
So your (or at least my) vocabulary is limited to these few things, as are your (my) ideas. SO, sigh, yes, I'm writing about stuff I love and I'm not getting it together.
Doesn't help I don't have my music books here or that the library has been ravaged by others like myself.
Ummm.
Argh. I'm writing an essay about the beginnings and growing up years of Rock n Roll and Grunge, and to compare and contrast these. You would think it would be easy but it's just coming. I'm writing like a fangirl, and I have to bring in the academia aspect of these in a way that doesn't sound stuffy. I have got to look beyond what I always know and feel and see beyond the box I'm in.
You fall in love with rock n roll and grunge because of certain things (or because of everything, but articulated to you in only a few words) - the freedom of its spirit, the idealism and its tragedy, of something bigger than you yourself, of something good rather unexplainably.
So your (or at least my) vocabulary is limited to these few things, as are your (my) ideas. SO, sigh, yes, I'm writing about stuff I love and I'm not getting it together.
Doesn't help I don't have my music books here or that the library has been ravaged by others like myself.
Ummm.
