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.

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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.