17:55.

"Forget the former things;
do not dwell on the past.
See, I am doing a new thing!
Now, it springs up; do you not perceive it?
I am making a way in the desert
and streams in the
wasteland."
- Isaiah 43: 18

16:52.

A pile of used tissues were next to my laptop by the time Planet Shaker's Evermore dvd finished playing last night (and a shout of "I love you!" to r a y for sending it to me).

There was me and You. And that is more than enough reason to give it up: Sing out Loud, jump around, raise my hands, fall on my knees in worship with tears creating a little puddle on the white tiled floor.

It's about You. It's all about Jesus.

"When my world is falling down, in You I will be found"

We all reach and go through places when the world indeed falls apart. Don't take what you have now in your world for granted and remember, it's a.l.l about Him.

Meet Him in the secret place in Australia, Singapore, Malaysia, Indonesia, US, any and every where. Meet Him when you have the best church and spiritual support you ever have ever and when you have none of these. Meet Him.

Mohammed Ali said the fights were won before he even entered the ring, before that in the locker room away from the crowds and cheers and expectations.

Aggie quoted Mel Fletcher saying the road to recognition passes by obscurity.

GOD says Seek first the kingdom of God and all these things will be added unto you as well.

Know whose you are, and then you will know who you are, Chad shared with R a y.

Know GOD, know yourself. Knowledge of the Almighty and your identity in GOD will make you unshakable.

So much so that when the world around you (not you) shakes, you will still be found in Him.

Yet will I praise You is a powerful thing.

I have no idea what's going to happen next year.

Yup, fundamentally, the truth is that none of us can claim to know any bit of the future, even what's going to happen a second from now, but you know what I mean.

I have no idea what's going to happen next year. Do pray alongside r a y and myself as we are midway through a fast for direction (yup, there's the geographical matter) and us.

I have no idea what's going to happen next month, when my contract ends.

I have no idea what's going to happen in this life; I hold on only to His Word, that He will bring me from glory to glory and He is giving me hope and a future, that I have been called for such a time as this, that I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me and all things work together for the good of those who love God.

There is one thing that I know for sure - How much I love YOU yet YOU love me more!

I have but one life and the deed to it is not mine. The blank cheque has been cross signed and given to the Author and Finisher of my faith and life, and again and again, our convenent has been renewed. I'm Yours.

So whatever it takes.

From the Amplified version of the Bible, Hebrews 13:5:
"He [God] Himself has said, I will not in any way fail you nor give you up nor leave you without support. [I will] not, [I will] not, [I will] not in any degree leave you helpless nor forsake nor let [you] down (relax My hold on you)! [Assuredly not!]"

Let us remember and live out the songs we sung.

16:19.

Three news events have been unceasingly in the local spotlight these days. They defied the usual shelf life of news, gripped Singapore and inspired countless coverage and words, whether printed or spoken or unspoken by the professionally involved or the non.

There's that Project S u p e r star (I can't find a good article that summarised recent developments but here's some background, some mid-way drama for the Idol-esque programme which is down to the final two participants, and here) ... the only positive news item in stark contrast to the two murder cases of two little girls.

H u a n g Na case (Here's the most current print article, click on the pdf file to read), where the accused, a Malaysian veg packer in a wholesale market was sentenced to death yesterday...

and S i n d e e case... (Here's the latest report of the last session in court, trial resumes on Monday)

It seems wrong to put the first one alongside these two, so different are they and so positive is the first one that it almost seems like scorning the murdered. But, ah, in cosmic irony, death alongside life, hope alongside despair, happiness alongside uncomprehendable pain... all the co-existence of conflicting emotions make meaning in life.

It is not my intention to do any reporting here, take these as jumbled thoughts to the already wide pool of opinions and feelings spread across the island over these three cases.

The first article our paper ran on Project S u p e r s t a r (hereafter referred to as Proj S because scrambling words to avoid search engines is troublesome) was reported by myself. I went down to the studios during the first trials, saw the myraid hopefuls in various garbs and shapes and sizes, everyone adding to the hope and fear tangible in the atmosphere.

People getting guided here and there to the proper audition room, shown out, yada yada. Some folks loners and looking focus and trying to look not out of place; others, yakking away with new found friends. Guys and girls, crying after rejection, coming out of audition rooms shell shocked at the failure or success, having cameras always on them and the pesky reporter (me) hovering quietly on the edges and pouncing on folks I decide are interesting enough for my story.

*shrugs*

I felt for them, even as I dispend my duties the way it is second nature to. Feeling for them is not meant to be second nature though for journos but I did.

Not sympathy or whatever elitist vague thought, just that I understand that kind of drive, I know the hope and fear, and I see both the woods as well as the trees.

Called a couple of them when I got back to the office that Saturday to write it up. Listening to the self-recorded demos they have on their voice mail, the twinge in my heart for them and the fulfillment of what they feared - the dashing of hope, more.

But what's positive about this whole singing contest/ reality programme thing is how it has come out thus far. I caught one episode the week before while my parents were watching and I was glad when the underdog in the men's category came up tops.

If you read the links, yup, the guy's a blind busker. 24 years old, and honestly blessed with great pipes. The camera panned to his parents when his win was announced and my heart swelled on their behalf too. They were a normal family, typical, pretty much like mine. I looked at the Mom's face, she looked somewhat dazed though happy and proud.

Imagine how she felt - The son she worried about all his life (he was born blind) was standing on stage, cheered by hundreds, going to release a single then singing at the 11,000 capacity Indoor Stadium next Saturday (I think) to compete with the winner from the female category for that 50/ 50 chance to win that record deal, that contract, that fame and career.

He's getting his shot to live life out of the box society and himself might had drawn for him all his life. Every thing that happened before his break through now is like, moot. He had dared to dream, and wow, now, he's at a place maybe nobody could 100% believe he ever could be before.

I'm not ashamed to say I had tears in my eyes those few moments.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

H u a n g Na's mother was here from China to work for a better life, so was her convicted killer, T o o k, only 23, who left his wife and 2-year-old son to come here from Penang.

S i n d e e was the only daughter of a local karung guni man and his Thai wife, who left her country and family to stick by her man here, despite his infidelities throughout their marriage. She died five days after falling many storeys down the highrise flat her home was at, allegedly thrown down after the ex-air stewardess, allegedly with a history of mental conditions, her own father was having an affair with grabbed her from her bed one night, where she was sleeping in between her mom and dad.

She was 4. H u a n g Na was 9.

Could any thing they have done justify their deaths? No. They were pawns who fell.

These stories disturb me. I scorned at S i n d e e's father who was unfaithful so many times to his wife; felt for the wife who broke down in court screaming at her daughter's alleged killer why did you have to kill my daughter, who had to have the man she loves' betrayal known to the whole darn world; found the alleged killer a contradiction, bitter, confused and not very happy or in control herself either.

Who's to blame? Even if I am in the position to judge, I can't say. So many tragedies, tragic lives and wrong decisions, all wound up now in the murder case everyone reads about, which court kaypohs attend court for just to catch glimpses of them in real life, as if they are some reality star and their flicking tragic tales are just some sad sob on the soap.

It's the same for H u a n g Na's case. Of course you feel for the mother, who returned to China after the accident but returned for the trials. Does she have to live with guilt, knowing if she had not left her daughter alone at her workplace like she often did, the girl may be alive today? Is her heart and mind mixed with some unusual gladness that sympathetic members of the public have given her enough money that she now has a proper house in her homeland? Does she hate herself for that inexplicable thankfulness for the windfall, which is understandable for everyone who ever been so poor they had to leave their country, work at some menial job overseas where you receive your fair share of stereotyped labels and behaviour?

But T o o k, that 23-year-old Msian... those who seen him or read about him and cared enough to try to formulate a grasp of his character are divided. Some think him madman because he smile in court and act nonchalent, never guilt-strickened. Some think him simply a country bumpkin with a lower IQ who doesn't understand what's going on in the English-speaking court even though he has a translator, and who honestly reacted way wrongly and badly when (he claimed) his victim hit her head and started foaming at the mouth while they played hide and seek and he panicked that others would think he was responsible and subsequently lost touch of his actions. Some believe that he is indeed schizophrenic and didn't really know what he was doing when he then throttled the little girl, stomped on her and assaulted her sexually.

He didn't react when the whole court stood and the judge read the verdict to "hang him until he is dead".

His parents, wife and siblings, those who painstakingly been taking a bus up and down from Penang to here and back throughout the trial, did.

Everything changes.

Everything changes for all these people who might not have directly been involved in the actual act.

I don't know how people can joke or discuss the murder cases over meals or around the watercooler without feeling affected.

I fall back on stolen words - "For whom the bell tolls, it tolls for me."

And I haven't even mentioned the honeymooning Singaporean couple (the wife, pregnant) who died in a car crash in Perth this month.

Jesus, come again. Please.

14:12.

LOL!




:D

Or...



Just some fun I got off Germie's LJ. And because I'm so amused, I ran my first name through it too.



*chuckles chuckles chuckles*

16:57.

There is something about 5 o clock that I really like.

Maybe it draws back to the five years (three years of afternoon sessions in primary school, then two in secondary school) of getting off from school around 5pm.

Everytime I am outside in the open at 5pm-ish, nostagia wraps itself around me automatically. And whether consciously or not, almost casually, images of that much younger me with schoolbag on, school uniform, white shoes and socks making my way home in Ang Mo Kio floats to a heightened awareness.

5 o clock - I remember the paths home, remember lopping home chatting to other kids sharing the same path home, remember walking past the shops I do during the secondary days, remember the record store, the store with the catch-a-soft-toy machine I spent too much money on, the other store which stood apart from the rest out of the line where I parted with too much money from my posb account on those (groan) celebrity cards dispensers.

The evening sun, an orange glow which turned so gloriously beautifully blue if I lingered till past 6.30pm and 7pm is when the sun goes out.

I remember the walks home.

Seems like walks home are always special to my heart and head.

There's a magic at 5pm which I feel, even when all I did five minutes ago was to stand at the window next to the lift landing and stare out at the world outside.

See the 5pm sights - day slowing down to a close, people going home, the air becomes languid as does the heart.

Homebound is a great trip to be on.

So very precious.

*muack* to GOD.

I'm so very glad so many of us are on the same journey home.

16:49.

there are moments in life - you know them if you ever tried to live honestly and see - when your head and heart wars. they both hurt, even as they both strive for understanding beyond what is possible. if the mind and heart have hands, they would had been stretched out wide to the max. gripping any thing they can reach in hope of some relief.

some days, i fancy my non existent mental and heart tentacles could indeed be and in my mind's eye, i see them stretch, spread, enfold... like some scene from x-men of enroaching storms... the room i am in, the building, geography wider than the eye can see.

fancy that.

i could lift the top off this roof so i can see the sky again. and if it's dark, to see orien's belt, which has eluded my eyes for quite a while, though i seek it almost every time i walk home in the dark.

i suppose there are many manifold reasons why i am a comics fan.

but even on paper, the story doesn't end when you close the page. the emotions linger, the pain lasts, the surrealness of overlapping worlds exist in the minds and hearts of those who choose to allow the touch.

sometimes, i can see myself from outside of myself. like just now, during lunch hour, when i sought quietness and refuge at a corner where some of us in the office go to pray on wednesdays. for a while, it was as if my eyes disentangled and travelled and i could look at where me where i sat, in that corner, next to the floor to ceiling window wall.

at those moments where nothing makes sense, i stop and feel like the world stops with me. w h auden protested at the contrast of reality during those moments. i share those protests but yet feel increasingly the world come to a period when i do. like a 2d comic page, where i stand at the edge of a battered cliff, painted in hues tinged with blue and grey, overcast skies, soundless wind blowing not that i can feel it, head bowed and mind and heart ruptured at what i can't understand. still.

still can't understand.

and still, is the girl known by this name.

at those moments.

when your head's not right
and your heart's on fire
when understanding's a lie
and everything's a fight
all i know
all i know
is i find rest in You

17:48.

Worship was awesome today. We broke out of what was practised a few times and I'm glad. Can't bop from behind the keys 'cause I always use the pedal but it was a great celebration and declaration. And mom decided to go for the China mission trip :> And I got to drum too for the last song after the sermon since the drummer returned to the English congregation.

I. had. fun.

And it's my turn at drums next week.

Come on.

G O D is omipotent, omniscient and omnipresent. As real in Antarctic as in Melbourne as in Singapore. As able to touch and heal and deliver no matter the church communicates in English, Mandarin, dialects, Eskimo.

I refuse to live my life always with only as much of YOU in my life right now as in the future. More than there must be more than this, I KNOW there is more than this.

I refuse to settle for second best.

I refuse to bow down.

Grrrrrr.

17:10.

Rain down on me
Wash away
The tears I cry
for another day

Drip drop
smish a flop
Understanding entirety
Exercise in fulity?

Brother amah
sista jem
talk to the hand
hdb block's jammed

of the world in motion
and your head's not right
of all the world's a stage
and you turned out the lights

boo to the postman
squash the time zones
let me have the button
forward, backwards, go or hold

my G O D is bigger than who i am
i detach my head
lay it down
now, burn.

17:44.

"I'm woman, hear me roar"

That's the tagline on the pink T-shirts Women Make a Difference (WMD) is selling to, well, make a difference. Click here for more info about WMD.

Singaporeans take note and do your part? :)

The tees are on sale at 77th Street.

According to the website, net proceeds go to the "National Committee for UNIFEM, Singapore to fund shelters that rescue and restore women and children trafficked for sex".

They are aiming to sell 900 Tees and it seems tees are not moving as fast as they should. It's really for a good cause and the tee's cute. Do help.

Cheers.

:)

12:24.

Christianity Today: Excerpt with Bono from a new book.

Thanks to Hannah for the alert.

16:14.

It is way overdue but pictures from the Sydney trip are up at here.

19:37.

Pretty long entry, transcript from my journal, appearing here because while writing it in the early hours of the morning, I was seized with a feeling of revelation and clarity, scribbling everything furiously. Without ego or self pride, I am convicted there are God stuff here that is worth something good. Thus hey ;) it is worth a read. Cheers.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Sharing with Ray just now about something that struck me and stayed in my mind’s eye from my June Melb trip till now.

Sat night then, at leadership with Glen Berteau, Ps Russell was launching into an almost tirade on stage, which eventually had the whole church clapping. But before anyone else started clapping, before the people showed their vocal agreement yet, Ps Sam – sat right at the front, about directly in front of her husband on the small stage – stood up.

She leapt to her feet and clapped and cheered. I couldn’t hear her from where I sat, about seven metres away a few seats away from being directly behind hers, but like her body language, I’m sure her words were of affirmation and encouragement (like “Come on” “Yeah, that’s right”) and her actions, words and the spirit of them prompted other people to clap and stand up till the whole theatre was cheering our senior pastor on.

What stayed with me was that stark image of her jumping to her feet, clapping, cheering. A fluid move which with its subsequent actions all together exemplified “not ashamed”.

It said – “I’m not ashamed to cheer for my man”

”I’m not ashamed to show appreciation, affirmation and encouragement to my man in front of so many people”

”I’m not ashamed of our love and how we feel, how proud I am of him, how I think he got it right”

And as a woman, the scene spoke to me on one more level…

”I’m not ashamed… of other people seeing me and thinking I’m a ‘yes’ woman or thinking I’m pandering to my man’s ego or that I’m sadly subservient”

[Men and women, that’s knowing who you are in Christ instead of falling to the fear of gender type judgement]

I told Ray this – I want that. I see myself and want to see myself being “not ashamed” of him or our love that way. Not ashamed to be… a cheerleader for my man.

By cheerleader, I don’t mean any of the fluff or the ra-ra stuff. I mean I want to cheer him on. I want to spur him on. I want to be there for him and affirm him and encourage him and say “come on”, believing in his God given potential and the things he can do for God through the greatness of Christ who lives in him.

Not ashamed to show I’m proud of him.

You know how out of politeness, people generally – perhaps Asians more so – tend to downplay our loved ones. Heck, but if someone makes a comment about my man, that I think it’s true like “he’s doing a great job in urban life” or even “he’s quite cute” :P well, I want to nod and say “yeahhhh, he is” (delivered in varied tones in answer to the two questions of course). I don’t want to be like, “hahaha, no lah, so-and-so is doing better” or “oh, you are being nice”.

Like no way. Don’t want. Lord help us not have that kind of attitude.

Iron sharpens Iron – That was something we were talking about even when he told me – and I, him – that I motivate him and inspire him. Well, he – Ray Chuah, that awesome man of God – motivates and inspires me.

[Disclaimer: Please rem and be assured that God is first in all things with us. That’s what we seek and have built our foundations on so far. Ultimately, God is the motivation and inspiration for us :) ]

Iron sharpens Iron.

We are called in this family in Christ to spur each other on, to love and exhort, to hold up and run with, sometimes to carry or be carried in times of need.

This is family. This is love. We are called to love. And in a romantic relationship, all these should be as alive as or even more alive in your intensity and devotion surely.

Iron sharpens Iron.

If I’m in a relationship where I call someone my boyfriend and he calls me his girlfriend but I’m not making any positive impact in his life then that’s totally wrong. It’s not meant to be that way! No!

Iron sharpens Iron.

When you take time and seek God’s heart for you before committing, you get iron to match your own. The scriptures say don’t be yoked with an unbeliever. The maximum of the potential of the wonders and good a relationship can do comes through in its right environment and setting when you are both on the same grounds – both on fire, both in love most with God, both not looking at a relationship because of casual need, both saying and asking oneself “how do I be the best for him/ her?” “God, am I the best for him/ her? Can I be?”.

That is love.

L. O. V. E

And I’m going to say it again – I love R a y m o n d C h u a h.

he is amazing :)

12.49am
08/08/05

12:35.

"Majesty, Majesty
Your Grace has found me just as I am
Empty handed but alive in Your Hands

Majesty
Majesty
Forever I am changed by Your Love
In the beauty of Your Majesty"

- Delirious

Come on, Jesus. Rock our minds. We LOVE You.

:)

16:47.

Esther.

One of two women of the bible to have a book named after her life, her deeds, her name, her legacy.

Admittedly, oft, I don't really know how to cite inspiration from the books of Ruth and Esther. I found it easier to cite Debra as an example of courage and leadership, or Rahab as a inspiration of pure faith, or Mary or Mary Madagalene or the unnamed Samaritan woman by the well... for their various deeds and the characters unveiled.

But Esther... I didn't really know what to say. Her act of standing up for her people was lauded, definitely and deservingly so, but her life before that defining deed were wordless for me.

See, Esther was common.

Except for one thing - Her beauty.

Now, that is not a trait that you note alongside godly traits like faith and courage.

Esther's elevation from commoner to queen seemed chiefly through her beauty.

And come on, be honest now, though we admire celebrity for their beauty, we never accord the same courtesy to those among our ranks who leave our shared status quo through their looks.

Very probably, young Esther got snide remarks for her accension. Maybe the young women who used to know her were catty and scornful about their once upon friend or neighbour now new found richness. Also possible, her fellow Jews might had viewed her poorly for her marriage to a pagan king.

She lived her life like all of us commoners did, except in more luxurious surroundings, but see, Esther was like us.

Like you, like me.

Look at her, the queen in the palace. When admired, you can be sure it's not for her godliness or stellar character.

Not like the pastor or the preacher or prophet.

She was a girl, her fame was her looks (phiff), she lived in the system.

Like the journalist, like the designer, like the accountant, like the student. She lived in a role that wasn't directly linked to the ministry.

Maybe she wondered many times why she was in the palace. She certainly didn't seem to be a character who was rejoicing in her lavish surroundings and delighting in ordering many roasted er birds (?) (well, pigs were considered vile to the Jews) for feasts with dancing boys present.

Maybe she felt helpless and dejected at times, even despised her own good looks since all it got was a marriage to a pagan king (did she had to leave dreams of happily ever after in love, not arranged marriage behind? or someone she liked? ). Doesn't seem like that kind of glided life has much purpose.

Let me tell you something you probably already know or may find out soon.

When you are stuck in the rut of rountine in a lifestyle that doesn't seem connected very much to God and the higher purpose you want to fulfill with your days, it sucks to live sometimes.

And with every mundane day that goes by, it gets hard to hold on to the belief that you are where you are for a purpose.

*shrugs*

We could ask her one day but I'm guessing Esther had bouts of that.

But she was faithful, she pressed on, and held on enough to her faith and guarded her heart from becoming hard... well enough that when the time came for her to rise up, when her time came, she stood up for God.

All the mundane greyness of previous days, all the laid down dreams and dictated lifestyle change, all the personal battles that nobody else sees she had to fight with her faith... all that came to a stop.

And Purpose was unveiled.

The day I saw Esther as a fellow fighter in the system who held on and run the race well was the day she was transformed for me. We all live in the system, not all of us make it. We all live in the system, many of us get weary and tired and lose some faith. She made it.

Before she stood up for the Jews, she fought many battles alone.

Battles we never read or see.

That's the tale of all our heroes. We see their defining moments, we don't see the processes that made them the people with nuff character to become heroes.

But they all had to deal with the mire and muck. They all have to fight the mundane and rountine. They all, we all have to live within the system to change the world.

She won. She held out. She remained true to her calling.

It's so fascinating how even in the told stories, there are untold stories.

Dad, I want to make it too. I want to hold on and fight on. Rest in Your shadow, soar on Your Wings. I want to believe - always - in the conviction that there is more than this, that I have purpose in the system and process.

Dearest Jesus, sweetest Holy Ghost, make me the stuff of legends. Mould me the character of heroes. I have but one life to live and I want to live it one way - Your way.

Amen.

And this is beyond late but these are what he sent me for my birthday :)
- A vinyl of Miles Davis' My Funny Valentine with his own design (with messages) pasted over the vinyl. He has a copy of the vinyl himself too so one day, we can actually play it when we have a turn table.
- Songbird, an Eva Cassidy CD which was playing during one of our milestones ;)
- A Quick Brown Fox bag which we saw on our shopping trip on June 16 :)
- Photos we took together in Melb, which doubled up as cards he wrote on.
- A sweeeet card
- A red nose. hehe. From Red Nose Day. I mentioned I wasn't out on the streets during Red Nose Day last year and never saw people wearing it, but how hilariously creative I think the idea is.
- Cookies N Creme black tea, tied up with a green ribbon too. Heh.

R a y m o n d Chuah really rocks big time :)

You have to be someone close to me to know what appeals to me and my man got everything totally right.

15:20.

Drizzly Wed noon. At home. Singapore.

Am on the last day of my 2-day MC. After resisting a trip the doc's for over five days, I finally made a stop yesterday and realised oh, this must be worse than I thought when she went, "Oh my dearrr, this is very bad" after looking at my swollen tonsils.

But bygones on that. It will pass any way.

It was Ray's :) birthday on Sunday and when he told me about how Matt announced his birthday on stage and the whole congregation sung him happy birthday, I was so gleeful I amuse myself. But see, dearest, it's very important to me that you have a happy birthday. Very :)

We tell each other that the next time our birthdays come around, we would spend it with each other.

Till we are back in the same country again, hey, we will hold on tight to Dad and each other. Things will work out. They always do. God watches over us, and watches our backs. We are covered.

En route to take a land (re: Joshua 1), and thus we are fighting, thus we are in the waiting, thus we go through every thing we do. Because we are not going to carelessly settle on a land to be in, because the land we are going in to take has to be part of our calling. When we go there, when we enter together, we want to be sure it's in God's plan A and we are meant to be there. 'cause as for us and our households, we are going to serve the Lord.

I'ven't blogged in a while. Work has been busy, and I was even reluctant to see the Doc 'cause I want to stay on top of stuff and keep working but I know this break does me good. I've slept so many hours over the last two days their combined number probably make up what I get over a usual three-day period.

A recent article I did caused some cyber waves. I suppose me, the journalist is used to such stuff. But yes, me as a person gets bothered. Not very, but I guess I sigh and wish they understand how the industry works.

The local media's deflectors are oft schooled in the prejudice of S T = hallowed broadsheet, T N P = scum of the earth tabloid.

Sadly, not many have examined both papers to test this stereotype that the system has impinged on our general mindsets. Those who do might find to their surprise that the content differs not in the expected way. And that the tabloid - free of the responsiblilites of a national broadsheet - employs its freedom to not only resist acting as the g o v mouthpiece (it doesn't report on every announcement and when it does report on the official stuff it deems important enough, the tabloid offers alternative coverage to the straight coverage of the broadsheet), but goes out on its limb to push the envelope to bring you the heavy news you whinge that our local media should report.

(Btw, the tabloid's reporters has made their ways to war zones and crisis areas very promptly, in recent events, even faster than the broadsheet)

Of course, we do take liberties with headlines and photographs to draw you in but again, examine the broadsheet. They have used far more graphic photographs than we have.

There is too, of course the irony known to industry people who have worked on both publications - that the tabloid's newsroom is the family friendly one, where editors protest over content being too salicious, where the style of socially responsible journalism is preached and practised.

Not many people bothered to notice but it's official - the broadsheet is changing its writing style to mirror the tabloid's. But since size matters, it's more acceptable for the broadsheet to employ a similiar breezy style of telling the news.

I don't really want to get into work stuff on this blog but prejudice does puzzle me at times. Sometimes, more than others.

I accept gladly that the journo belongs to the public in so many ways. After all, the highest ideal of this craft is to serve the public, to get the news for the readers so our society can be educated with the power that information and knowledge can bring. So, I am cool with criticism and such.

The reporter gets the crap, it's understood. Hey, it's your byline on the report, even though very often, the photos and headlines are the choice of the sub-eds who lay out the pages. And there are so many stages the rep's raw copy goes through and so many factors that determine whether it gets touched much that sometimes, reps don't see it that right or fair that we carry the blame.

But it's cool by me, really 'cause I know the cost and I made the choice. And I still enjoy this job immensely and believe in it too.

But I guess at the end of the day, I am a person fighting on to carry out the ideals of this craft and when you fight your editors for your story's integrity (and the eds are only doing what they should when they question) and the many stages a story goes through before it gets printed, when you defend your newsmaker (in the situations when you are convinced it's worthwhile), it does seem rather well, sad that readers who don't see the whole process and who don't understand it, ends up slamming you. You end up fighting both sides when you are trying to do the right thing. That's not the most fun.

Any how, I am not fighting both sides. A few arrows come my way is no big deal.

This is still far off from a lynch. Guess it's all good prep for when folks actually come after my head for my writing one day.

Bygones.

It is a humid Wed noon and my cuppa black tea with honey is finished.

Yesterday, I read through my journal started in the last few days of last year.

*shakes head*

Has it been that long?

And: Dearest Lord, You have really brought me - and us - so far.

It is 1619 my time and 1819 Melb time. I remain: thankful.

Cherish the days, folks.