17:07.
"Yahweh, Yahweh
Always pain before a child is born
Yahewh, Yahweh
Still I’m waiting for the dawn
Still waiting for the dawn
the sun is coming up
The sun is coming up on the ocean
This love is like a drop in the ocean
This love is like a drop in the ocean"
- Yahweh, U2
"When the bell tolls, it tolls for me..."
Yet even as I bow my head and contribute to the tears already cried over the stories and realities of those whose lives have been irrevocably changed forever, the onset of the end of the 2004 have brought some clarity about my life and direction.
I am coming full circle.
I have walked through the desert and cried till my eyes were dry, I have swung from one end of the spectrum of Feelings and Word, faith and theology and have learnt to walk the balance (or try with more discernment and less cynicism than I would figure I ever could be capable of); and I am learning to ask again, to dare to dream again, and not not ask for fear of not receiving; to let people in and let people see me vulnerable, whingy and weak and not in control; to worship and not hide behind an instrument; to worship with as much of me cut loose without caring about surrounding people.
More: The spiritual affirmation has been given, I know again that I can minister to people and be used. I know I have been filled and given a lot and I have to learn to use what I have been empowered with.
God, music and writing. My big three. Every area that is precious to me has been requested to be placed on the altar. The more I gave, the more I received in ways that the world would deem useless but these ways have made me glad.
In music, I have been challenged and stretched.
With journalism, I have placed my craft on the altar. And after I did, the significance of my craft and the power of the word and the power and effect of writing in my life... have been shown me so clearly I am rather astounded.
With full-time, I have placed it on the altar.
But I perhaps digress, I have come full-circle.
At the end of this unprecented year, I sit here at the same kitchen table I have sat at since Feb, listening to Aimee Mann and two good friends in my kitchen trying to prepare dinner, and passions and purposes are as clear as they once were.
TS Eilot wrote:
"We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time."
That's how I feel now. Six hours and four minutes away from the new year.
Will write more.
May this new year surpasses the next one.
Friday, December 31, 2004
Wednesday, December 29, 2004
15:44.
It was a Sabbath morning, a day after Christmas, and they – all those who are now not – were living.
Those who lived and worked by the coastal areas were hard at work, at their daily toil, making a living out of fishery and tourism. Those they served – the tourists – were sleeping off hangovers or making merry, living the coveted life these coastal resorts advertised.
It is the end of the year. Finally a break from the grind. Holidays were being enjoyed, reflections were being made, life was being had at a slower pace by lovers, families, friends.
And then it all ended.
No lingering goodbyes were allowed; no last hugs or kisses; for some, no last looks and till now, for some, no chance to look upon a loved one’s face.
For too many, their loved ones are in the dust, swept out at sea, bodies mingling with debris and dead animals. For way too many, there is no closure and only torment.
Too much have happened in an unexplainable act of nature. And we all know science cannot explain away pain.
The sun still shines but it can no longer warm them. On those islands and in the countries where destruction has taken over, who can look up to enjoy blue skies and balmy weather? Death is the only thing you can smell, see and feel. The Grim Reaper has done his work in a glorious sweep and with death’s marks evident all around, you wonder if being alive now is something to be thankful for.
The only peace belongs to those whose lives were snatched from them but who now are in a better place. But not all are.
50,000 and counting. Numbers have never seem so loaded, never been so despised, never became such hated harbingers of doom.
And the world moves on, as linear time dictates. People still laugh and make merry, parties are thrown and wine are drunk, dreams are made and consumed. God is not a respecter of men, and His ways, who can understand?
Why, Lord? Why?
Entire islands now underwater, so much lost. And we don’t even care as much as we should. And linear time, one-way, carries us forward as if what happened on Sunday does not even require a respectful pause.
How is the world going to move on from these? It will. But it is still baffling. How could we move on from these when the right thing is to stop all clocks and traffic, still every humming bird and song, and be silent.
For they are gone.
It was a Sabbath morning, a day after Christmas, and they – all those who are now not – were living.
Those who lived and worked by the coastal areas were hard at work, at their daily toil, making a living out of fishery and tourism. Those they served – the tourists – were sleeping off hangovers or making merry, living the coveted life these coastal resorts advertised.
It is the end of the year. Finally a break from the grind. Holidays were being enjoyed, reflections were being made, life was being had at a slower pace by lovers, families, friends.
And then it all ended.
No lingering goodbyes were allowed; no last hugs or kisses; for some, no last looks and till now, for some, no chance to look upon a loved one’s face.
For too many, their loved ones are in the dust, swept out at sea, bodies mingling with debris and dead animals. For way too many, there is no closure and only torment.
Too much have happened in an unexplainable act of nature. And we all know science cannot explain away pain.
The sun still shines but it can no longer warm them. On those islands and in the countries where destruction has taken over, who can look up to enjoy blue skies and balmy weather? Death is the only thing you can smell, see and feel. The Grim Reaper has done his work in a glorious sweep and with death’s marks evident all around, you wonder if being alive now is something to be thankful for.
The only peace belongs to those whose lives were snatched from them but who now are in a better place. But not all are.
50,000 and counting. Numbers have never seem so loaded, never been so despised, never became such hated harbingers of doom.
And the world moves on, as linear time dictates. People still laugh and make merry, parties are thrown and wine are drunk, dreams are made and consumed. God is not a respecter of men, and His ways, who can understand?
Why, Lord? Why?
Entire islands now underwater, so much lost. And we don’t even care as much as we should. And linear time, one-way, carries us forward as if what happened on Sunday does not even require a respectful pause.
How is the world going to move on from these? It will. But it is still baffling. How could we move on from these when the right thing is to stop all clocks and traffic, still every humming bird and song, and be silent.
For they are gone.
Tuesday, December 28, 2004
14:58.
Pray for the tsunami waves victims, final toll for now is near 24,000.
I'm not scared of dying myself but seeing death at work scares me.
During Christmas Eve at service, we were asked to go out and hang a bauble on a bare Christmas tree for those who have left who we want to remember. I sat in my seat and cried. Cried for the newlyweds killed on their honeymoon in New Zealand, my pastor's brother and his bride whom I have not seen before. Cried for the tragedy and its irrationality, cried for their families' losses and cried for the comfort that they are in heaven, and the fact that this comfort does not answer why such has happened.
If I am clingy and emo more these days, maybe it's because I want to hold on to those I love because I am so aware that I can lose your.
Dear Lord, do not turn Your Face away.
Pray for the tsunami waves victims, final toll for now is near 24,000.
I'm not scared of dying myself but seeing death at work scares me.
During Christmas Eve at service, we were asked to go out and hang a bauble on a bare Christmas tree for those who have left who we want to remember. I sat in my seat and cried. Cried for the newlyweds killed on their honeymoon in New Zealand, my pastor's brother and his bride whom I have not seen before. Cried for the tragedy and its irrationality, cried for their families' losses and cried for the comfort that they are in heaven, and the fact that this comfort does not answer why such has happened.
If I am clingy and emo more these days, maybe it's because I want to hold on to those I love because I am so aware that I can lose your.
Dear Lord, do not turn Your Face away.
Monday, December 27, 2004
00:45.
It hailed three times yesterday, the last episode not two hours ago. Yesterday was the coldest day summer had, I reckon. I was in three layers when I went out for dinner - weather website said it was 13 degrees then and apparently 8 degrees feeling like 4 degrees now - and feeling like a wrapped up dumpling again was inconsequential in return for the warmth.
The first time it hailed, I stuck my hand out of the window like a kid and was thrilled to see the little icicles collect in my hands. And when it hailed again the last two times, I stood at the living room balcony door and stared in awe at the sheets of rain and howling wind going whrrr. Lamp posts shook and cars looked like they could be lifted off sideways. I was glad I was indoors and glad for the sight before me.
The last few days seemed to have ran away, escaped from me, blurred into a medley I can't quite distinct without some effort.
Christmas Eve was spent on church, dinner and a nice drive out to The Boulevard, a posh stretch where residents go all out with the Christmas decor to win a year's supply of electricity. As in, all out. Big houses with major decor and lights. Very pretty. Every decorated house seemed like a storybook.
Christmas was church, hung out at a friend's and learnt Bridge as we waited to go to lunch, lunch, a jam session at my house (heh, the bass and electric guitar - albeit with a snapped string - are at my place now), then went to Caulfield for a combined OCF dinner and a walkaround the neighbourhood carolling.
That was the first time in my life I carolled. And I did enjoy it. Remembering the significance of Christmas, walking in crisp cold air with friends and spiritual siblings, and a licence to sing aloud.
Then, Boxing Day was church, lunch, checking out the famed Boxing Day sales and shopping, hanging out at a friend's place and reading the newest issue of 8 Days and going "what?? so-and-so is now at 8 Days??!", then dinner at Blok M, a great Indonesian restaurant.
Yesterday, I lazed about, journal-led, chilled and went out for a Greek dinner.
As I get older, I learn the great importance of good conversation and being silent.
I have a feeling this would be a lesson that would continue.
For now, I need to crash. My glorious futon awaits.
It hailed three times yesterday, the last episode not two hours ago. Yesterday was the coldest day summer had, I reckon. I was in three layers when I went out for dinner - weather website said it was 13 degrees then and apparently 8 degrees feeling like 4 degrees now - and feeling like a wrapped up dumpling again was inconsequential in return for the warmth.
The first time it hailed, I stuck my hand out of the window like a kid and was thrilled to see the little icicles collect in my hands. And when it hailed again the last two times, I stood at the living room balcony door and stared in awe at the sheets of rain and howling wind going whrrr. Lamp posts shook and cars looked like they could be lifted off sideways. I was glad I was indoors and glad for the sight before me.
The last few days seemed to have ran away, escaped from me, blurred into a medley I can't quite distinct without some effort.
Christmas Eve was spent on church, dinner and a nice drive out to The Boulevard, a posh stretch where residents go all out with the Christmas decor to win a year's supply of electricity. As in, all out. Big houses with major decor and lights. Very pretty. Every decorated house seemed like a storybook.
Christmas was church, hung out at a friend's and learnt Bridge as we waited to go to lunch, lunch, a jam session at my house (heh, the bass and electric guitar - albeit with a snapped string - are at my place now), then went to Caulfield for a combined OCF dinner and a walkaround the neighbourhood carolling.
That was the first time in my life I carolled. And I did enjoy it. Remembering the significance of Christmas, walking in crisp cold air with friends and spiritual siblings, and a licence to sing aloud.
Then, Boxing Day was church, lunch, checking out the famed Boxing Day sales and shopping, hanging out at a friend's place and reading the newest issue of 8 Days and going "what?? so-and-so is now at 8 Days??!", then dinner at Blok M, a great Indonesian restaurant.
Yesterday, I lazed about, journal-led, chilled and went out for a Greek dinner.
As I get older, I learn the great importance of good conversation and being silent.
I have a feeling this would be a lesson that would continue.
For now, I need to crash. My glorious futon awaits.
13:20.
Who's Gonna Ride Your Wild Horses, U2
You're dangerous, 'cos you're honest.
You're dangerous, you don't know what you want.
Well you left my heart empty as a vacant lot
For any spirit to haunt.
You're an accident waiting to happen
You're a piece of glass left there on a beach.
Well you tell me things
I know you're not supposed to
Then you leave me just out of reach.
Who's gonna ride your wild horses?
Who's gonna drown in your blue sea?
Who's gonna ride your wild horses?
Who's gonna fall at the foot of thee?
Well you stole it 'cos I needed the cash
And you killed it 'cos I needed revenge.
Well you lied to me 'cos I asked you to.
Baby, can we still be friends?
Who's gonna ride your wild horses?
Who's gonna drown in your blue sea?
Who's gonna ride your wild horses?
Who's gonna fall at the foot of thee?
Ah, the deeper I spin
Ah, the hunter will sin for your ivory skin.
Took a drive in the dirty rain
To a place where the wind calls your name
Under the trees, the river laughing at you and me.
Hallelujah! Heaven's white rose
The doors you open I just can't close.
Don't turn around, don't turn around again.
Don't turn around your gypsy heart.
Don't turn around, don't turn around again.
Don't turn around, and don't look back.
Come on now love, don't you look back.
Who's gonna ride your wild horses?
Who's gonna drown in your blue sea?
Who's gonna taste your saltwater kisses?
Who's gonna take the place of me?
Who's gonna ride your wild horses?
Who's gonna tame the heart of thee?
Who's Gonna Ride Your Wild Horses, U2
You're dangerous, 'cos you're honest.
You're dangerous, you don't know what you want.
Well you left my heart empty as a vacant lot
For any spirit to haunt.
You're an accident waiting to happen
You're a piece of glass left there on a beach.
Well you tell me things
I know you're not supposed to
Then you leave me just out of reach.
Who's gonna ride your wild horses?
Who's gonna drown in your blue sea?
Who's gonna ride your wild horses?
Who's gonna fall at the foot of thee?
Well you stole it 'cos I needed the cash
And you killed it 'cos I needed revenge.
Well you lied to me 'cos I asked you to.
Baby, can we still be friends?
Who's gonna ride your wild horses?
Who's gonna drown in your blue sea?
Who's gonna ride your wild horses?
Who's gonna fall at the foot of thee?
Ah, the deeper I spin
Ah, the hunter will sin for your ivory skin.
Took a drive in the dirty rain
To a place where the wind calls your name
Under the trees, the river laughing at you and me.
Hallelujah! Heaven's white rose
The doors you open I just can't close.
Don't turn around, don't turn around again.
Don't turn around your gypsy heart.
Don't turn around, don't turn around again.
Don't turn around, and don't look back.
Come on now love, don't you look back.
Who's gonna ride your wild horses?
Who's gonna drown in your blue sea?
Who's gonna taste your saltwater kisses?
Who's gonna take the place of me?
Who's gonna ride your wild horses?
Who's gonna tame the heart of thee?
Friday, December 24, 2004
01:36.
"O holy night, the stars are brightly shining,
It is the night of the dear Saviour's birth.
Long lay the world in sin and error pining,
Till He appeared and the soul felt its worth.
A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices,
For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn,
Fall on your knees,
O hear the angel voices.
O night divine,
O night when Christ was born!
O night divine,
O night,
O night divine"
- O Holy Night
Blessed Christmas, every one. Remember the Reason for this season. Not crass commercialism, not even gifts and carols, but the Almighty laying aside His Majesty and taking on the restrictions of a human body. God Incarnate, Christ with us, Emmanuel, Jesus Christ. The indignity of a human form, the weakness and fragility of a human body, a baby... Jesus didn't skip the ugly parts of life.
I still don't understand why You did it, Lord.
But then, maybe that's why I don't understand love very well.
But Lord, though I can't get it, I love you so very much so for doing it. For coming and not leaving. For being and loving. For being Love and Goodness and all that is beautiful.
I love You, Lord Jesus.
"O holy night, the stars are brightly shining,
It is the night of the dear Saviour's birth.
Long lay the world in sin and error pining,
Till He appeared and the soul felt its worth.
A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices,
For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn,
Fall on your knees,
O hear the angel voices.
O night divine,
O night when Christ was born!
O night divine,
O night,
O night divine"
- O Holy Night
Blessed Christmas, every one. Remember the Reason for this season. Not crass commercialism, not even gifts and carols, but the Almighty laying aside His Majesty and taking on the restrictions of a human body. God Incarnate, Christ with us, Emmanuel, Jesus Christ. The indignity of a human form, the weakness and fragility of a human body, a baby... Jesus didn't skip the ugly parts of life.
I still don't understand why You did it, Lord.
But then, maybe that's why I don't understand love very well.
But Lord, though I can't get it, I love you so very much so for doing it. For coming and not leaving. For being and loving. For being Love and Goodness and all that is beautiful.
I love You, Lord Jesus.
12:01.
The international departure gates at Melbourne Airport are feelingless, disrespectful metal doors which slide shut after your loved ones step through. Effectively disenabling any lingering looks, walk-and-wave-until-you-are-out-of-sight precious rituals.
Dec 21, about 1640, when those doors separated my folks from me and closed, I stood still for a second, looked up to the ceiling, blew out, turned to go but spun a circle instead to stare at those metal gates once more, before - as tears welled - walking away. Towards the direction of the sign directing all and sundry to "Buses" and away from my folks who were not far yet so far, in the same building but away from access.
Bought my skybus ticket, and as I walked out of Tullamarine towards the skybus pick up point, that 150 metres was accompanied by head music in the form of some Christian song which lyrics go "I don't belong here" and yet I was vividly aware of an all-embracing, extremely real feeling of being at home. Just walking there, on that wide pathway with scattered random folks, I felt comfortable. Despite missing my folks, despite the doubts that did assault me, despite being alone physically, I did not feel the lone-ness during that walk.
In some part, it's like the embrace that the walk from the Bus 900 bus stop to my house back home, in Woodlands, in Singapore. It was like the night time walk home, when I would look up at the stars and walk, talk to God and feel peace and be held by that part of the world that was mine at those moments.
The skybus drops one at Spencer Street, which is near Telstra Dome and I found that every where I walked that evening, I was reminded of how now, my family is not with me.
I didn't want to go home 'cause I knew I would cry when I walked into an empty home.
[And all these coming from someone who always enjoyed having the house to herself]
So I made full use of my two-hour tram ticket and hit three Dangerfield shops looking for a bag I fancied two weeks ago, bought two tops from Melb Central, and Van Morrison's Astral Weeks from JB Hi Fi.
[I think I am listing the shop names so that one day, when I can no longer remember this place in detail, I can read about them]
When I finally reached home at about 8, I sat down at the sofa and sobbed.
Talk about being emo. Sigh.
And after eight days of either eating out or cooking for family, I went home to leftover rice in the fridge which I fried up. Nothing wrong at all but at that moment, it did seem, um, sad.
The strange thing is this - By Dec 22 morning, I was okay. Still missing those I love but sane, calm and stable, rational and able to feel the strangeness of being alone but not let it move me negatively.
Went for coffee with a good friend for some whinging. And when I got back at 2am, I walked through the door and into a quiet house - Hannah left the same day - and was at home with it. Vividly aware of the switch in moods.
I am immensely thankful that my parents and aunt were here, that they saw me graduate, that they lived with me, that I could cook for them, that they liked the food places and food I like (KOK, Nando's, Shanghai Dumpling, Seoul Garden, Thnak Thnak, Mars Cheese Cake, Corinthians wafer rolls, tim tams, quatros, starbursts, Red Rocks lime and black pepper chips, chinatown's egg tarts....).
[I cite same reason as last [] for listing all that]
For eight days, they lived in my world. And thank God they liked it.
And really, for that, I have no reason to be sad. Even while sobbing on that sofa three days ago, it wasn't driven by saddness, just displacement mostly. And in between wrecking sobs, I was thanking God.
I am - quietly so now... - happy.
The international departure gates at Melbourne Airport are feelingless, disrespectful metal doors which slide shut after your loved ones step through. Effectively disenabling any lingering looks, walk-and-wave-until-you-are-out-of-sight precious rituals.
Dec 21, about 1640, when those doors separated my folks from me and closed, I stood still for a second, looked up to the ceiling, blew out, turned to go but spun a circle instead to stare at those metal gates once more, before - as tears welled - walking away. Towards the direction of the sign directing all and sundry to "Buses" and away from my folks who were not far yet so far, in the same building but away from access.
Bought my skybus ticket, and as I walked out of Tullamarine towards the skybus pick up point, that 150 metres was accompanied by head music in the form of some Christian song which lyrics go "I don't belong here" and yet I was vividly aware of an all-embracing, extremely real feeling of being at home. Just walking there, on that wide pathway with scattered random folks, I felt comfortable. Despite missing my folks, despite the doubts that did assault me, despite being alone physically, I did not feel the lone-ness during that walk.
In some part, it's like the embrace that the walk from the Bus 900 bus stop to my house back home, in Woodlands, in Singapore. It was like the night time walk home, when I would look up at the stars and walk, talk to God and feel peace and be held by that part of the world that was mine at those moments.
The skybus drops one at Spencer Street, which is near Telstra Dome and I found that every where I walked that evening, I was reminded of how now, my family is not with me.
I didn't want to go home 'cause I knew I would cry when I walked into an empty home.
[And all these coming from someone who always enjoyed having the house to herself]
So I made full use of my two-hour tram ticket and hit three Dangerfield shops looking for a bag I fancied two weeks ago, bought two tops from Melb Central, and Van Morrison's Astral Weeks from JB Hi Fi.
[I think I am listing the shop names so that one day, when I can no longer remember this place in detail, I can read about them]
When I finally reached home at about 8, I sat down at the sofa and sobbed.
Talk about being emo. Sigh.
And after eight days of either eating out or cooking for family, I went home to leftover rice in the fridge which I fried up. Nothing wrong at all but at that moment, it did seem, um, sad.
The strange thing is this - By Dec 22 morning, I was okay. Still missing those I love but sane, calm and stable, rational and able to feel the strangeness of being alone but not let it move me negatively.
Went for coffee with a good friend for some whinging. And when I got back at 2am, I walked through the door and into a quiet house - Hannah left the same day - and was at home with it. Vividly aware of the switch in moods.
I am immensely thankful that my parents and aunt were here, that they saw me graduate, that they lived with me, that I could cook for them, that they liked the food places and food I like (KOK, Nando's, Shanghai Dumpling, Seoul Garden, Thnak Thnak, Mars Cheese Cake, Corinthians wafer rolls, tim tams, quatros, starbursts, Red Rocks lime and black pepper chips, chinatown's egg tarts....).
[I cite same reason as last [] for listing all that]
For eight days, they lived in my world. And thank God they liked it.
And really, for that, I have no reason to be sad. Even while sobbing on that sofa three days ago, it wasn't driven by saddness, just displacement mostly. And in between wrecking sobs, I was thanking God.
I am - quietly so now... - happy.
Monday, December 20, 2004
00:49.
Nougat swirls swallow me
Someone's sweetness stick to me
Cantaloupe smashes
Yellow and Red
Bring out the green
Water buffalo Team
Insensibilities
Mine to give but not to rein
Insensibilities
Is this me or who is she?
Cookies rain and honeydew pain
Make up my mind
Make up my mind
Little girl, all hair and eyes
Standing there just out of sight
Who.
What.
Yes,
Why.
Emotions are rather impractical stuff.
I will sleep and wake, to a morning with new mercies. Every morning has new blessings.
Nougat swirls swallow me
Someone's sweetness stick to me
Cantaloupe smashes
Yellow and Red
Bring out the green
Water buffalo Team
Insensibilities
Mine to give but not to rein
Insensibilities
Is this me or who is she?
Cookies rain and honeydew pain
Make up my mind
Make up my mind
Little girl, all hair and eyes
Standing there just out of sight
Who.
What.
Yes,
Why.
Emotions are rather impractical stuff.
I will sleep and wake, to a morning with new mercies. Every morning has new blessings.
Sunday, December 19, 2004
11:31.
I pack luggage with systematic clinical effectiveness.
No, I have not changed my mind regarding Feb 5 (that's my new departure date for those of your who have not been reading).
Last week, I packed up all my books and papers for my aunty to take back to Singapore. This week, I packed my winter stuff, boots, track shoes, and some clothes into a standard sized hard luggage case for my parents and aunt to take back to Singapore.
Systematic is the word I keep using to describe my method and way, seeing how I make up my mind regarding items and utilise all the space in the luggage.
Packing is an emotional affair.
As dresses and shoes and papers and CDs, toiletries and perfumes and memorable items goes into a box, it's as if every memory and routine and ritual and emotion associated with them goes right in there along with that physical item.
So I suppose I experience a slight dissonance when I am so... systemic with packing when I don't even know where I would be after Feb.
Nothing is quite happening here in Melb on the job front yet. Am still praying and am going to send out more resumes and such after Tuesday, which is when my folks leave.
And that is another thing.
They are leaving on the 21st, which is my original departure date. And they booked that date because they were hoping to leave along with me.
I suppose it's characteristically nostagic of me. Just now, I glanced at the couch - which has been my bed for the last few nights except for one - and my head and heart went like, "Sigh, only two more nights on that".
[When I lay down on that couch, my legs - from knees down - dangle or stick out... no, the couch is not 1.7metres; I use the rug on the couch as a blanket, one couch side arm as pillow and hug a pillow to sleep]
Having three people in your room and three new people in your house does mean I don't get the personal space I am so used to and so cherish, me being me, but yet, I know when they leave on Tuesday, I will feel very alone.
I probably will cry.
On the skybus home from the airport, I would probably just be sad and think of how uncertain every thing is from then on, and wonder - and try to push away - thoughts of why I did not leave with them. When I get home, I would probably look at the couch and my room, pull the sheets off to wash, and as I walk around home, be reminded of when they were with me here. I would see my loved ones and the evidence of their stay here in the extra food in the fridge, the position of a chair, maybe a left behind item and yes, I probably will cry.
Sigh. And I would cry harder and more when I think about how I know my dad probably enter the departure gates with a heavy heart, at the fact that his daughter is not with him and won't be with him until Feb 5.
Dear Lord, keep us and bless us and make Your Face shine upon us.
For without You, I wither and we die.
I am holding on, trusting and walking on.
And I love my parents very much and I really want to honour them and make them happy.
They are the most beautiful people in the whole flippin' world.
Whole.
*hugs*
I pack luggage with systematic clinical effectiveness.
No, I have not changed my mind regarding Feb 5 (that's my new departure date for those of your who have not been reading).
Last week, I packed up all my books and papers for my aunty to take back to Singapore. This week, I packed my winter stuff, boots, track shoes, and some clothes into a standard sized hard luggage case for my parents and aunt to take back to Singapore.
Systematic is the word I keep using to describe my method and way, seeing how I make up my mind regarding items and utilise all the space in the luggage.
Packing is an emotional affair.
As dresses and shoes and papers and CDs, toiletries and perfumes and memorable items goes into a box, it's as if every memory and routine and ritual and emotion associated with them goes right in there along with that physical item.
So I suppose I experience a slight dissonance when I am so... systemic with packing when I don't even know where I would be after Feb.
Nothing is quite happening here in Melb on the job front yet. Am still praying and am going to send out more resumes and such after Tuesday, which is when my folks leave.
And that is another thing.
They are leaving on the 21st, which is my original departure date. And they booked that date because they were hoping to leave along with me.
I suppose it's characteristically nostagic of me. Just now, I glanced at the couch - which has been my bed for the last few nights except for one - and my head and heart went like, "Sigh, only two more nights on that".
[When I lay down on that couch, my legs - from knees down - dangle or stick out... no, the couch is not 1.7metres; I use the rug on the couch as a blanket, one couch side arm as pillow and hug a pillow to sleep]
Having three people in your room and three new people in your house does mean I don't get the personal space I am so used to and so cherish, me being me, but yet, I know when they leave on Tuesday, I will feel very alone.
I probably will cry.
On the skybus home from the airport, I would probably just be sad and think of how uncertain every thing is from then on, and wonder - and try to push away - thoughts of why I did not leave with them. When I get home, I would probably look at the couch and my room, pull the sheets off to wash, and as I walk around home, be reminded of when they were with me here. I would see my loved ones and the evidence of their stay here in the extra food in the fridge, the position of a chair, maybe a left behind item and yes, I probably will cry.
Sigh. And I would cry harder and more when I think about how I know my dad probably enter the departure gates with a heavy heart, at the fact that his daughter is not with him and won't be with him until Feb 5.
Dear Lord, keep us and bless us and make Your Face shine upon us.
For without You, I wither and we die.
I am holding on, trusting and walking on.
And I love my parents very much and I really want to honour them and make them happy.
They are the most beautiful people in the whole flippin' world.
Whole.
*hugs*
Wednesday, December 15, 2004
00:50.
I graduated about three and a half hours ago at Telstra Dome, Melb. Supposedly, 30, 000 people were there - guests, graduating students and staff. I didn't take shots of the stadium 'cause I didn't want to have my bag with me but there's a shot of what it looks like here.
Spending three hours at a ceremony is not the way I norm enjoy spending my time and truth be told, boredom was spreading its dull fingers over me in the beginning. I spent about 5 bucks having sms conversations - each sms costs 25 cents - with good friends, and alternated that with shifting around uncomfortably in the plastic chair, and pulling and rearranging my gown and hat.
Felt really glad when I first saw a familiar face taking the stage, and felt my heart thumping and adrenaline rush when my turn drew near. Waiting on the carpeted pathway laid on the stadium's tuft and getting nearer and nearer to being the first in line, wheww.
They flashed your name on the screen and you go up to get your cert.
And during my time in the spotlight, when the presenter commented well done, a degree with distinction (!), I looked at the certificate - encased in a scroll like slip with a transparent cover and block coloured back - and realised waitaminute, I have just been awarded with a degree with distinction.
Whether that means I somehow make the top 10 per cent or top 5 per cent or top 15 per cent I am not sure, but it was a wow and a million because I thought my Credit for Philo screwed up chances of a degree with distinction. And I wasn't even sure if I could qualify since I was given two-year exemption.
I am just happy now. Very happy. Corny-ly, ridiculously happy. It was ridiculously good stuff, every thing, and some part of me think I felt the meaning of the scripture that says a woman in childbirth forgets the pain she has been through when the child is born.
This night is going down in the annals of S k y e T's history.
Dear God, thanks for every thing. Every little thing. Every single thing.
And for a great home cooked lunch. And dinners. And all that.
And at 0530, I have to wake up for Great Ocean Road. Daytrip with the parents on a coach.
Spread the love, people!
Wheeeee!
I graduated about three and a half hours ago at Telstra Dome, Melb. Supposedly, 30, 000 people were there - guests, graduating students and staff. I didn't take shots of the stadium 'cause I didn't want to have my bag with me but there's a shot of what it looks like here.
Spending three hours at a ceremony is not the way I norm enjoy spending my time and truth be told, boredom was spreading its dull fingers over me in the beginning. I spent about 5 bucks having sms conversations - each sms costs 25 cents - with good friends, and alternated that with shifting around uncomfortably in the plastic chair, and pulling and rearranging my gown and hat.
Felt really glad when I first saw a familiar face taking the stage, and felt my heart thumping and adrenaline rush when my turn drew near. Waiting on the carpeted pathway laid on the stadium's tuft and getting nearer and nearer to being the first in line, wheww.
They flashed your name on the screen and you go up to get your cert.
And during my time in the spotlight, when the presenter commented well done, a degree with distinction (!), I looked at the certificate - encased in a scroll like slip with a transparent cover and block coloured back - and realised waitaminute, I have just been awarded with a degree with distinction.
Whether that means I somehow make the top 10 per cent or top 5 per cent or top 15 per cent I am not sure, but it was a wow and a million because I thought my Credit for Philo screwed up chances of a degree with distinction. And I wasn't even sure if I could qualify since I was given two-year exemption.
I am just happy now. Very happy. Corny-ly, ridiculously happy. It was ridiculously good stuff, every thing, and some part of me think I felt the meaning of the scripture that says a woman in childbirth forgets the pain she has been through when the child is born.
This night is going down in the annals of S k y e T's history.
Dear God, thanks for every thing. Every little thing. Every single thing.
And for a great home cooked lunch. And dinners. And all that.
And at 0530, I have to wake up for Great Ocean Road. Daytrip with the parents on a coach.
Spread the love, people!
Wheeeee!
Monday, December 13, 2004
21:56.
It is the season of long posts. At least here on midair. Being in the revolution means never being in control and knowing that you are not driving the wheel, but walking on, giving your best, crying your heart out and getting attached because you don't stop loving. And in every test, you know the yes and amen is true.
With all that I am. And all I've got.
My parents and my aunt are asleep in my room. For the next few days, I would bunk on the living room couch.
For the next few days, I have family here in Melbourne, blood relations.
I want them to love my world, to feel welcome, to enter this world.
Slept at after 0230 in the morning, woke up at 0400. Got ready for their flight which was due to land at 0525. Possibly strange, how within three days, I have been to the airport twice, after the only time I have been at the airport was on Feb 10, when I landed.
0615, this morning - Even before I was through the glass sliding doors that are the airport doors, I saw my aunty then my mom sitting at those plastic chairs waiting, two luggage trolleys at the side of my Aunt Nan.
I walked faster, did the wave hands frantically thing and had on a smile so spontaneous I did not know it was there , quickened my steps even further as I got closer and hugged my Mom for a good dozen seconds.
Hugged my aunty, looked around for my Dad, paced about in the general direction they said he went off in and when I finally saw him, threw my arms around him and squeezed him while he repeated something - I think it was my name, in a glad tone - and kind of held his arms about himself awkwardly, not knowing how to hug me back.
If I ever have kids, I do want them to grow up in a culture where hugs and love are shown without embarassment or awkwardness. And that was written without any negativity, just to clarify,
A part of me can't believe they are really here.
The rainy weather today didn't allow much exploration. Seeing Dad enjoy Shanghai Dumpling was a grin.
I love my parents.
Dear Lord, help me honour them and love them more and give them all that they deserve to have.
It is the season of long posts. At least here on midair. Being in the revolution means never being in control and knowing that you are not driving the wheel, but walking on, giving your best, crying your heart out and getting attached because you don't stop loving. And in every test, you know the yes and amen is true.
With all that I am. And all I've got.
"To love is to be vulnerable",
so said CS Lewis while expounding on this very fruit of love.
so said CS Lewis while expounding on this very fruit of love.
My parents and my aunt are asleep in my room. For the next few days, I would bunk on the living room couch.
For the next few days, I have family here in Melbourne, blood relations.
I want them to love my world, to feel welcome, to enter this world.
Slept at after 0230 in the morning, woke up at 0400. Got ready for their flight which was due to land at 0525. Possibly strange, how within three days, I have been to the airport twice, after the only time I have been at the airport was on Feb 10, when I landed.
0615, this morning - Even before I was through the glass sliding doors that are the airport doors, I saw my aunty then my mom sitting at those plastic chairs waiting, two luggage trolleys at the side of my Aunt Nan.
I walked faster, did the wave hands frantically thing and had on a smile so spontaneous I did not know it was there , quickened my steps even further as I got closer and hugged my Mom for a good dozen seconds.
Hugged my aunty, looked around for my Dad, paced about in the general direction they said he went off in and when I finally saw him, threw my arms around him and squeezed him while he repeated something - I think it was my name, in a glad tone - and kind of held his arms about himself awkwardly, not knowing how to hug me back.
If I ever have kids, I do want them to grow up in a culture where hugs and love are shown without embarassment or awkwardness. And that was written without any negativity, just to clarify,
A part of me can't believe they are really here.
The rainy weather today didn't allow much exploration. Seeing Dad enjoy Shanghai Dumpling was a grin.
I love my parents.
Dear Lord, help me honour them and love them more and give them all that they deserve to have.
"Where can I go from Your Spirit?
Where can I flee from Your presence?
If I go up to the heavens, you are there;
if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.
If I rise on the wings of the dawn,
if I settle on the far side of the seas,
even there Your Hand will guide me,
Your right hand would surely hold me fast."
- Psalm 139: 7 - 1o
Where can I flee from Your presence?
If I go up to the heavens, you are there;
if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.
If I rise on the wings of the dawn,
if I settle on the far side of the seas,
even there Your Hand will guide me,
Your right hand would surely hold me fast."
- Psalm 139: 7 - 1o
Life feels like it has stopped and is moving at the same time.
Jesus, Jesus, I remember You.
I will remember, help me know, this is not the end.
No.
Jesus, Jesus, I remember You.
I will remember, help me know, this is not the end.
No.
Saturday, December 11, 2004
02:03.
December is fast disappearing.
Today is the 12th. Very early tomorrow morning - at 0525, to be precise - my parents and an aunt would arrive here in Melbourne. Two days after, I graduate at Telstra Dome.
Supposedly, six days after that, I would be en route home to Singapore on a Qantas/ BA flight at 1720.
Well, things don't always go as we suppose they will.
Yesterday - or really, the day before - as rain drizzled and then poured on the Melbourne streets, I was making my way to the Qantas office to get my return flight reticketed.
All the way forward to Feb 5.
Big difference, yes. I only made up my mind to do so on Monday and I only decided on Feb 5 before I went out of the house to put into action the decision made six days ago while sitting on a cold balcony at a resort at Port Campbell.
Monday, Port Campbell in a resort facing the bay while an all-day storm flooded places like Caulfield (or so, I heard on the evening news). It was raining, the weather was wintry and every thing seemed clear as I sat there staring at the mountains in the foreground, towering above the bay in which water raged and waves collide, while all around, rain danced and the tall pine trees swayed along. When the wind blew, rain droplets wet me. When the wind changed directions, it sometimes lashed me and stung my eyes, making me look as if I was crying further.
It was cold. I was reminded of July Camp. Some moments, I wanted to cry. I did tear as the wind froze me and there were times when a scripture or just something He says to my spirit made me tear and want to sob. With my journal, bible, a black ball point pen and a black felt fine marker, I sat there for the length of a football's match and alternate between scribbling, reading and looking at the sight before me. In awe and being.
I found peace in the Great Ocean Road trip. Every thing rages, buffered by winds, horizons disappeared for the mist and weather. It was storm and it was still. In chaos, I have order. I stood there staring at the 12 Apostles and knew all was in control.
Every thing in my life now seems totally transcient, unpredictable and unknown. Except for the Foundation on which I stand on, the Word who gives life and life to the fullest. And right now, having finally made the stay/ go decision after a few tumulous weeks, I can say with full faith that I am at peace and I know - in the now and now - that the choice to stay back is what is meant to be.
In many many ways, leaving on the 21st would be the practical choice. In fact, it is the practical choice. Every thing - finances, relationships - would end in a neat little box and bow. One year of great things and people - that would be the neat tag on that categorised box. Maybe, just maybe that would be easier to shelf somewhere in the memories cupboard too... you know, leave before you get even more attached, you fool.
There's a song called Elijah by Rich Mullins where the chorus breaks into: "But when I leave I want to go out like Elijah with a whirlwind to fuel my chariot of fire".
Since I always believe in ending with a blast, this would be a good time to go... you know, just in case the party dies down, the flames burn less fiery, and life in general becomes common should I stay on. But yet, I have brought my return date almost two months backwards.
People are leaving. Some for good. Leaving on the 21st kind of ensures in some twisted emotional sense that I won't have to witness the departures of those who surround me. It's a "safer" move.
But yet, I am staying.
When people ask me why, I cite the practical reasons of the unstable media industry back home and the fact that if I should return this month, I would be sitting around for a good period twiddling my thumbs waiting for a reply. Instead, I would stay here, send out resumes, work at a casual job in January,and... wait.
January will be that - a time of waiting.
Utterly scary. The decision I have to make involves two countries.
....
I just recalled rather vividly a scene from Secondary School when I told someone (not sure who) that yes, I will get PR somewhere else when I grow up. I am quietly surprised now at the recollection... since I figure I never quite think I would have to consider citizenship stuff and such.
Jan. It will be a time of waiting, scary good stuff. Finances wise, unless my freelance boss pay me and unless I get a job, it will be rather impossible. Let's not even consider the loan I have to repay.
You can think my choice utterly impractical, I see impractical factors in all the choices avail. But do you see how not taking the safe way out signifies how sure I am that right now, it's right for me to be here?
I am sure of nothing and no person except my God is faithful and I am called to great things and that my choice is accompanied by a peace I need to hold onto.
Everybody's changing. Every thing's changing.
My choice to stay on cannot be and isn't based on people factors. I know that full well and have that impressed upon me. It's not that I don't care about people, it's that I know that I can't make my decision based on who I would have around me simply because everything changes. That's the way of life. The only unchanging thing in my life is God.
Am I applying for PR? Some say it's practical because come March, the points system would be raised and it would be harder to secure PR. I am making that decision only in Jan, when exactly I do not know. I am knocking on doors and seeing which might open. And from then on, I make up my mind but my flight is booked for Feb 5 and I will leave by then, whether for only two weeks or for good or for a few years, again, I do not know.
This is a scary time. But the repeated reassurances from above have sunk in.
About three weeks ago, I could not see at all. The future was pitch black and I was blind. Now vision is restored. And I can picture myself both in Singapore and here, though my heart says I will return to Sg definitely after a while.
Maybe this extended period is a very slow process of saying goodbye. A preparation that the previous, half frenzied, push-everything-into-the-remaining-days rush could not fulfill.
Or maybe I am about to make an extremely big decision, potentially the second biggest in my life, about which land I would be on for my future.
Whatever it is, I am running to stay still. But I want to stop. And just be still.
I love you folks. Please pray for me.
December is fast disappearing.
Today is the 12th. Very early tomorrow morning - at 0525, to be precise - my parents and an aunt would arrive here in Melbourne. Two days after, I graduate at Telstra Dome.
Supposedly, six days after that, I would be en route home to Singapore on a Qantas/ BA flight at 1720.
Well, things don't always go as we suppose they will.
Yesterday - or really, the day before - as rain drizzled and then poured on the Melbourne streets, I was making my way to the Qantas office to get my return flight reticketed.
All the way forward to Feb 5.
Big difference, yes. I only made up my mind to do so on Monday and I only decided on Feb 5 before I went out of the house to put into action the decision made six days ago while sitting on a cold balcony at a resort at Port Campbell.
Monday, Port Campbell in a resort facing the bay while an all-day storm flooded places like Caulfield (or so, I heard on the evening news). It was raining, the weather was wintry and every thing seemed clear as I sat there staring at the mountains in the foreground, towering above the bay in which water raged and waves collide, while all around, rain danced and the tall pine trees swayed along. When the wind blew, rain droplets wet me. When the wind changed directions, it sometimes lashed me and stung my eyes, making me look as if I was crying further.
It was cold. I was reminded of July Camp. Some moments, I wanted to cry. I did tear as the wind froze me and there were times when a scripture or just something He says to my spirit made me tear and want to sob. With my journal, bible, a black ball point pen and a black felt fine marker, I sat there for the length of a football's match and alternate between scribbling, reading and looking at the sight before me. In awe and being.
I found peace in the Great Ocean Road trip. Every thing rages, buffered by winds, horizons disappeared for the mist and weather. It was storm and it was still. In chaos, I have order. I stood there staring at the 12 Apostles and knew all was in control.
Every thing in my life now seems totally transcient, unpredictable and unknown. Except for the Foundation on which I stand on, the Word who gives life and life to the fullest. And right now, having finally made the stay/ go decision after a few tumulous weeks, I can say with full faith that I am at peace and I know - in the now and now - that the choice to stay back is what is meant to be.
In many many ways, leaving on the 21st would be the practical choice. In fact, it is the practical choice. Every thing - finances, relationships - would end in a neat little box and bow. One year of great things and people - that would be the neat tag on that categorised box. Maybe, just maybe that would be easier to shelf somewhere in the memories cupboard too... you know, leave before you get even more attached, you fool.
There's a song called Elijah by Rich Mullins where the chorus breaks into: "But when I leave I want to go out like Elijah with a whirlwind to fuel my chariot of fire".
Since I always believe in ending with a blast, this would be a good time to go... you know, just in case the party dies down, the flames burn less fiery, and life in general becomes common should I stay on. But yet, I have brought my return date almost two months backwards.
People are leaving. Some for good. Leaving on the 21st kind of ensures in some twisted emotional sense that I won't have to witness the departures of those who surround me. It's a "safer" move.
But yet, I am staying.
When people ask me why, I cite the practical reasons of the unstable media industry back home and the fact that if I should return this month, I would be sitting around for a good period twiddling my thumbs waiting for a reply. Instead, I would stay here, send out resumes, work at a casual job in January,and... wait.
January will be that - a time of waiting.
Utterly scary. The decision I have to make involves two countries.
....
I just recalled rather vividly a scene from Secondary School when I told someone (not sure who) that yes, I will get PR somewhere else when I grow up. I am quietly surprised now at the recollection... since I figure I never quite think I would have to consider citizenship stuff and such.
Jan. It will be a time of waiting, scary good stuff. Finances wise, unless my freelance boss pay me and unless I get a job, it will be rather impossible. Let's not even consider the loan I have to repay.
You can think my choice utterly impractical, I see impractical factors in all the choices avail. But do you see how not taking the safe way out signifies how sure I am that right now, it's right for me to be here?
I am sure of nothing and no person except my God is faithful and I am called to great things and that my choice is accompanied by a peace I need to hold onto.
Everybody's changing. Every thing's changing.
My choice to stay on cannot be and isn't based on people factors. I know that full well and have that impressed upon me. It's not that I don't care about people, it's that I know that I can't make my decision based on who I would have around me simply because everything changes. That's the way of life. The only unchanging thing in my life is God.
Am I applying for PR? Some say it's practical because come March, the points system would be raised and it would be harder to secure PR. I am making that decision only in Jan, when exactly I do not know. I am knocking on doors and seeing which might open. And from then on, I make up my mind but my flight is booked for Feb 5 and I will leave by then, whether for only two weeks or for good or for a few years, again, I do not know.
This is a scary time. But the repeated reassurances from above have sunk in.
About three weeks ago, I could not see at all. The future was pitch black and I was blind. Now vision is restored. And I can picture myself both in Singapore and here, though my heart says I will return to Sg definitely after a while.
Maybe this extended period is a very slow process of saying goodbye. A preparation that the previous, half frenzied, push-everything-into-the-remaining-days rush could not fulfill.
Or maybe I am about to make an extremely big decision, potentially the second biggest in my life, about which land I would be on for my future.
Whatever it is, I am running to stay still. But I want to stop. And just be still.
I love you folks. Please pray for me.
Friday, December 10, 2004
12:49.
If winter ends
while summer reigns
and the trees, they fall
while puppy dogs weep
Where would we be?
Where do we go from here?
Bring me my guitar
Red hair, piano, standing straight
I stood where the earth falls apart
I stared at where no horizons separate time
I stopped thinking since it's blasphemous
And I simply be
Just standing side by side.
If winter ends
while summer reigns
and the trees, they fall
while puppy dogs weep
Where would we be?
Where do we go from here?
Bring me my guitar
Red hair, piano, standing straight
I stood where the earth falls apart
I stared at where no horizons separate time
I stopped thinking since it's blasphemous
And I simply be
Just standing side by side.
Wednesday, December 01, 2004
01:04.
Monday night. Or Tuesday morning. I was standing on St Kilda's beach for the first time, looking out into the sea and at the gulls and the night lights on the faraway coasts. City Of Blinding Lights came to mind and I started singing it softly.
Melbourne is far from being a city which you write such a song for. Apparently, U2 wrote the song with New York in mind. Yet still, the city lights - even with its lack of harsh glare - seemed to mean something. In its gentleness and softness, perhaps it reflects positively the city and its life to me.
I was with four carloads of OCF-ers and a good number of the boys got dumped into the water. Whether walking or sitting watching the drama, my mind moved to capture every thing photographically in my head and process them to vivid memories. I was aware that every thing that was happening would never again duplicate exactly and for that matter, even being on the beach at night might not happen again for a good long time... or ever.
So I remember, close my eyes and sing the song.
Monday night. Or Tuesday morning. I was standing on St Kilda's beach for the first time, looking out into the sea and at the gulls and the night lights on the faraway coasts. City Of Blinding Lights came to mind and I started singing it softly.
Melbourne is far from being a city which you write such a song for. Apparently, U2 wrote the song with New York in mind. Yet still, the city lights - even with its lack of harsh glare - seemed to mean something. In its gentleness and softness, perhaps it reflects positively the city and its life to me.
I was with four carloads of OCF-ers and a good number of the boys got dumped into the water. Whether walking or sitting watching the drama, my mind moved to capture every thing photographically in my head and process them to vivid memories. I was aware that every thing that was happening would never again duplicate exactly and for that matter, even being on the beach at night might not happen again for a good long time... or ever.
So I remember, close my eyes and sing the song.
