22:57.

Just watched Troy with the housemates. A movie ticket cost about $11 here so I've been very disciplined. With Troy, this afternoon Germaine spotted some Vietnamese student association at her uni selling tickets for $6 each, sms-ed slaving-over-essay-me who decided very promptly with Hannah in the affirmative.

They didn't quite like the movie, I think, though they giggled away at some scene of a certain Bloom shooting arrows like a certain elf (ahem, ahem)... but me, I was actually quite taken with it. Yes, at certain points I had to consciously suspend disbelief or brush away some cynical thought at "hollywoodization" in action but on the whole, Troy was decent, even good yeah despite me finding fault almost right from the beginning with something, specifically a too-clean horse carriage. But before that particular carriage (which rightfully should be dirtier since it had carried a king and his flunky across many sands), another scene had won me over.

The opening scene, when the narrator intoned some lines about how eternity haunts men and how we thus seek our immortality while we live grabbed me and pulled me into the movie screen. Figuratively, of course.

"Throughout time, men have waged war. Some for power, some for glory, some for honor - and some for love."

That tagline might do it for some, but I didn't see Troy as a love story. At least, the way this version of the story was shot, it was not about love to me.

It was about the fear of nothingness; the fear that when you live your limited years, you leave nothing here and possibly go to nothing. And thus you seek - in desperation to find meaning and in defiance - to make some meaning, to leave an indent in the pages of history for for whatever that's worth, it would give you something to hold on to and possibly... maybe comfort you before you close your eyes for the world to come. So you seek glory. And if your fear is strong enough, you would die for this glory.

Achilles served not his king or country but his desire to be remembered. He seeked glory so his name will still be on people's tongues a thousand years later.

I know where I'm going when my time here is done but I also know how it is like to be haunted by eternity.

There was a hollowness in the movie. The heroes, Achilles and Hector, doubted the gods their kings speak of and served, and indeed in the movie, the impotence of these gods juxtaposed against the heroes' sceptism birthed a painful hollowness overall. It was a lackness not due to the lack of a soul in the movie but a lackness due to an awareness of emptiness in existence. A tragic emptiness filled out the face of the Trojan king who decided on attacking the Greeks on the beach on the advice of his Apollo high priest. Tragic emptiness filled the girl who asked, "When will it all end?" and the sobbing princess who watched her husband failing and heard him die. But you see, it all makes sense because the pursuit of glory is hollow in itself. Achilles' drive and motivation was at its core empty. "Everyone dies," he said. Everyone dies, it is true.

And if someone's going to watch Troy soon, please help me note that opening line? Somehow on the way home, its entirety escaped me.

Thanks.

21:32.

History class today was about The Stolen Generation.

While watching a video with footage of interviews with Aborigines who were taken away from their families as children, tears welled up in my eyes a couple of times.

The horror they had to face, both parent and offspring, when the white man just came and take the children away. What horrors they have to face, parents lost and helpless and children just as so in missions and government institutions miles and miles away from home.

Brought up to be slaves. Brown babies to assimilate into white society. Black folks to be segregated.

Those taken lied to about their real families, given new names, brainwashed, inculcated into the homogenous lives the official agenda would have them live. Which weren't lives at all really.

What barbarous behaviour. What inhuman perpetuation. What evil was done unto the original people of this land on which I am residing on.

My racism course is not easy, not easy because every lecture and readings, you confront the evil of men, the wrongs we have done.

The church played a role in the stolen generations. It seems that so many times in history, the church, the body of Christ confused Christ with race or economics. So much wrong was done in the name of right.

Did those who perpetuate it know? The sisters and reverends, were they genuinely misguided? How could there be folks who preached justice in slavery because they believe the black race to be descendents of Ham who was cursed?

What wrongs have been done in the name of right indeed.

What number of hearts and homes broken, what number of souls turned away from the narrow path, what amount of tears have been shed.

When wrong is commit in the name of right.

My heart was heavy when I watched the video. Again, as in previous times when I was aware of the blood on the church's hands due to unjust events like the crusades, I felt shame.

Not shame at being a Christian.

Not shame at being part of the body of Christ.

But shame that we have been so wrong, and are so wrong at times.

So tell me that Christians should not exercise their intelligence. Tell me that we should be unquestioning. I can't. Won't. Refuse. Absolutely.

We can't right a wrong already committed but we can be serious and love. Serious and learn to really do God's will. Close to God so that we won't see man's propaganda as truth. Exercise discernment and God-given brains to see the influence of everything on everything else, and then with God's strength and grace, to pick through the chaff to glean the gold.

I'm sorry.

21:29.

They are together. They finally got together for good. A happy ending. Forever in the last page of immortality. Ross and Rachel. Friends finale. Aaahh, 10 years, 10 years. I was only 13, 12, something like that. Now it's over. Over. Augh. The theme song still plays in my head. It's remarkable how a sitcom feels like it was part of my life but 10 years, we walked some path together. Au revoir, Friends.

13:34.

It's official. I'm a uni student, an undergrad, a da xue sheng. And pray tell, you ask with amusement and not without some sarcasm, what brought that on after 10 weeks of school and more than three months after leaving the corporate world?

A trip to the school library on a Saturday afternoon. Specifically, this Saturday afternoon, as in like, today, like, you know a few hours ago.

Yesterday, I spent 90 minutes in the library, grabbing more books for the three essays on my plate. When I finally got to the checkout counter, I discovered I couldn't borrow any book while an overdue book I took out for a friend was outstanding. Working with what I could, I, ahem, proceeded to go to a dusty, isolated end of the library to stuff my precious books in some hidden corner so I could retrieve them collectively without repeating the gathering process.

So that was what I was doing in a library on a weekend morning. And somehow, doing it made me feel very, uni-ish (new word! copyright!).

It's strange how good service can add on to one's day. From the grouchy, unsmiling librarian yesterday, I faced a helpful, warm librarian today who went to manually find and check out the overdue book I dropped into the bin five minutes before I appeared at the check-in counter with a pile of 10 books.

It was just small talk, about the music books I was borrowing, whether I could sing, and how those who could not end up writing about songs instead, but it added a ray of sunshine to my day.

There was a solace involved, walking to RMIT on a Sat noon, seeing few students along the way or in the library, and seeing in my journey both to and fro lots of fellow walkers with trolleys and bags for and fro VicMkt. There was a freedom, a sense of liberty of having time, being able to spend my day as I wish to. Deadlines could not spoil the immense still joy inside of me as I simply walked along, hoops earrings, my trusty retro-ish Topshop bag, light blue sports jacket covering a pink (!) peasant blouse totally unlike me but which looked ahem, rather good on me, colourful toe socks and puma sneakers on.

I loved the weather, 13 degrees but pleasant without cold wind.

Somehow, I felt at peace. Peace with myself and the world.

Peace.

While crossing one of the traffic lights on my usual route to school, a thought bounced into my mind and surprised me even as I was and still am unsure of its truth - "I'm falling in love with Melbourne".

Umm....

As I walked back from school, six books in hand and four stuffed in bag, I looked into a reflective window I passed and again, with the same feeling as if the thought jumped me instead of originating from me, I thought, "I really like being a student again."

And Germaine, who also went on a minor sojourn to her school's library at the same time I did, and myself then congregated back home and went out to VicMkt. She got a very nice jacket with a hood and a scarf. Me, I got a scarf and gloves for five bucks each. Darn, I like VicMkt.

11:05.

I woke up at 7:58, glanced at my handphone, and snuggled into my warm futon while pulling my comforter closer. My body felt like it could do with more sleep but my mind was strangely awake. I had breakfast, took a bath, then spent a leisurely morning devotion at the breakfast table as the sky though the picture window changed a hundred times moving from left to right.

It has been a good start to the day. Lecture's at 11:30. I'm starting to feel sleepy again. Thank God, the fever and sore throat are almost gone but I still feel the effects of the former making me tired... very tired. And I think I might be having a chill, since I got a bit of a runny nose going and a slight bit of the sneezes. All right, got to go to class now. Have a good day, people.

13:33.

Sigh. Wake up, wake up, wake up.

14:24. The 33rd Missionary Convention at Swanston Street Church Of Christ concluded today. It was a week long event.

For me, it started on the Friday before last, when Ross Paterson, the speaker for the convention spoke to OCF at our combined meeting. It was a cold rainy night when the temperature apparently dropped to 6 degrees by the time I got home at 2am (No, the meeting didn't last that long but I won't go into a separate story now).

There was a call at the end of the meeting during prayer, to stand up if you are willing to give your all for Christ, even if you don't know what that "all" would require of you. Midway through the meeting, I already decided that if a response was asked for, I would respond. So I stood. I needed the re-affirmation, perhaps it was a re-dedication, but I wanted to tell God publicly again that yes, You have me.

After that, previous varied similar scenes ran through my mind. From how I accepted Christ, responding to the invitation to "give God 100 percent"; the Joshua 21 seminar when I was 17 when I kneeled on stage and gave God "a blank check", the currency being my life; when I was 18 at a bu tao hui held in Ngee Ann and I was with Anne, Simin, Joce and Gerald and I went up front to the affirmative call to "go where He wants you to".

I still want to give more. And I know this sounds utterly foolish and is utterly foolish and dangerous to utter but I do. I do because I recognise that even though I have surrendered, even though I know my life is not my own, even though I am on the altar, there are areas in my life which I have mentally given to God but emotionally have not. The stuff that makes me go, ummm.... yeah God you can have this too, I give it to you but ummm....

That same day, while Ross was speaking, a thought, a question came to me: "Can you handle it if you never return to journalism?"

I have given my writing to God, and desire to use this gift as He wills but the question jolted me.

Despite the warts during the time I had in the newsroom, both in Tribune and the daily, I still love journalism. Next to journalism, I don't see any other career. I can see stuff like working in a family run B & B, or teaching in a foreign land but these are not stuff I see myself staying in or even wanting to stay and continue in for significant periods. Maybe I will change but next to journalism, I don't see any other career. Besides missions.

I don't think I'll ever cease to be a journalist, somewhere in my heart and the way I work. Nor do I think I will ever stop loving it. But yes, I told God my umm, yeah... if that's how You would have it, Lord, I give it to you. The "umm" was in my answer and heart but gave I did. And I was aware that there would be more of such, the hidden things which I must give to God if I'm serious about giving Him all. All.

[Disclaimer: I'm not saying God is calling me not to go back to Singapore and journalism. The possibility of such is still very valid and high and real.]

God is still working in my life, even post-Easter Camp, in a very real fashion and I'm very glad for I really detest the spiritual-high syndrome of Christian events after which you lapse back into normalcy.

Normalcy scares me and during the past week, hearing about how ordinary people can make a difference, and being reminded that one has to be different to make a difference, something that begun stirring in my heart a week or so after Easter Camp was articulated.

As I start to be integrated into OCF, as I even code switch with each person to meet him/ her at a place comfortable to him/ her, I'm afraid of something. I'm afraid of normalcy, that I become the opposite of "different". I'm becoming very comfortable here. I feel incredibly blessed and I have taken ownership of my cell group, having started fasting once weekly to pray for various things and my cell group and endeavoring to continue this. I feel for my cell group and care for these people, even though we have some way to go before we truly start to know each other more. I'm not complaining, I'm utterly thankful for all these but well... in some way, I have resisted joining a youth group all these years, choosing to stay in the Mandarin congregation where the majority are 50 and above because I didn't want to be in the Christian youth subculture.

If you ask me to define what I mean, I cannot truly do so. Maybe it's that when one is integrated into a subculture, one moves with the flow, with the crowd and I can't be comfortable with that. Maybe it's when you are in a group, it's harder to walk against the current.

I'm not too coherent here but how do you be different then? What is difference? Maybe my fever is working against me here (been running a slight temperature since Sat noon).

On other notes, my cell group went up to the mountains to a place called Dandenong on saturday. Beautiful place but it was raining and at a point, hailing, and quite misty all round too. I was rather happy with it since I never seen hail.... Had lunch at a quaint English cottage looking place called Miss Marples, named after one of Agatha Christie's characters. I had soup with sourdough, fruit scone with home made jam and fresh cream and a trifle for dessert. I was full after just having soup but I recklessly wanted more (hey, the place's an hour drive away).

Would post pictures soon, and those from Easter Camp too. Would put them all on a website then let you guys know. And yes, I will try to do it soon.

It's 18 degrees outside but it feels a lot colder to me. Oh well, I did always want to live in cold Brit weather. Only this is Australia. I can imagine how miserable London can get. And it's still only Autumn.

2157.

Fish stew with pita bread, gelare on waffles with maple sauce and cream, and now miso soup. Good food makes one feel pleasant, full and able to walk back from lygon street (where we had the waffles) in 9 degrees weather. I cooked fish stew for dinner and I just had to have instant miso soup when we got back. I didn't realise how much I miss it. Darn, I miss Jap food. I'm so going to have my fill of sashimi in Sydney when I go over in July.

....

All right, I recognise it too. This is one of those posts without much direction and I'm not in the moment to ramble and mull. There's a presentation to be done for Friday. Am talking about sex in the city-state, that's my working title any how, it's just about how modernity affected the way Singapore sees homosexuals and transgenders. Got to get back to it. Later and night.

14:56.

I have been reading about the Nicoll Highway collapse. Three dead, one still missing - that's the count for now. If quantity is to be applied, this hardly merits as a crisis but it is. My country is so small physically that when things like this happen (and it seems they never do which adds to the shock), every one is involved.

"For whom the bell tolls, it tolls for me."

Tears well up in my eyes when I read about the whole incident, especially the reports about the victims' surviving kin. Dear God, please be with them. Please.

13:23.

I've got a class excursion today so yeah, first time I would be soaking up some culture since I came here. This is what it's about.


Culture. Weird ideas. Creative juices. Counterculture, subculture, anti-culture. Fetish-culture, race culture, culture. I think uni is shaping up to proffer the things I thought it should.

Yesterday, in a lecture about the body as a social construct and Focault, a short video clip from a documentary, Fat Girls And Their Feeders, was shown. Masquerading as revolt against the social norm of thinness (which in itself is a good cause and valid argument), it showed the journey of a man who had the fantasy of "growing" a woman to as far as is humanly possible. His wife, whom he met through a personal ad, was 200-plus pounds when she met him. The first 13 years of their marriage was devoted to "growing" her to her eventual 800-plus pounds.

He took pictures of her in the nude in various positions, which she posed for along this "journey" and as he showed them to the camera, he talked about how turned on he was by how big his wife is and how "this (growing) is every thing he ever wanted".

She talked about how good she feels, being sexy in his eyes while he talks about how this feeding allows every girl to eat all she wants and not feel bad about it.

I hope the hypocrisy of it all, rising valid banners of argument to conceal a sick fetish, is as clear to you as it is to me. The bedbound woman had to be lifted up with a forklift of sorts to be put onto a weighing scale for large animals just so to be weighed. And of course, no, she couldn't even stand or take care of herself.

Yes, yesterday was interesting to me, the academic observer.

And there was a video in another lecture, a short story about idol worship gone extreme, that was darn funny with an Elvis wannabe, posters of Elvis and Little Richard and a pair of sisters bedding the same guy - separately, ahem - but so deluded they were in their minds shagging Elvis and Little Richard respectively.

The most funny quote must had been this, delivered as the poor dude realises why his lass was pushing his head aside to star at Elvis' poster on the ceiling: "You are not f***ing me, you are f***ing Elvis!"

Yeah, sick humour. I know.

09:53.

It's 11 degrees outside. I'm cold....

23:32.

Just got off the phone with me mum. Among other things, she was telling me about the church band and its developments. My pastor emailed me a couple of days ago too telling me, among other things, about the band's development. Basically, I left them drummer-less with my decision to come here. And they lost a keyboardist and guitarist with me too.

Me, with my half-past six musical skills, was the best musician the chinese church had. Weird, yeah, I used to tell them no, I suck, every time they tell me how good I played at a certain song or session simply because I was aware of how good other bands are. Which is why playing in a new band intimidates me, I suppose, because from being the one who knew what was going on and what to do every time, I would then be the one who doesn't.

But yet, I miss playing so darn much. I miss the getting caught up and tearing even while playing, and drumming with my eyes squeezed shut tightly. I miss the falling into the music and moment and being surprised by how my fingers move in ways I didn't know I know on the keyboard.

I suppose I was spoilt, with three guitars at home and a keyboard and piano, and a drumset every Sunday in church. And I didn't even practise or work at it. I just did musical doodles and play when I feel like it. Now, I look and can't touch. I starve.

I starve so much I'm willing to try, to play in a new band, and if I make a mistake or can't make the standard, to bury myself some three feet underneath, or burrow myself into a dark corner, cringe and half-die of embarassment before I get over it and look people in the eye again.

When you are this hungry, you are willing to grab any thing.

Do I sound desperate? These are withdrawal symptons.

In your Hands, Lord, take me. In your Will, Lord, let me be.

16:30.

"One thing I ask of the Lord,
this is what I seek:
that I may dwell in the house of the Lord
all the days of my life,
to gaze upon the beauty of the Lord
and to seek him in his temple." - Psalm 27:4

I went into Easter Camp with three things on my mind and heart. You can call them goals, aims... whatever, I don't have names for these, I just wanted them to be.

I wanted to worship.

I wanted to give.

I wanted to make real connections with people.

All three were given me, all three were met, all three were fulfilled.

I've come away with something which I do not have the words to describe. Without using words like "breakthrough" and "most", I will say something has happened.

Something, not just inside of me, but in the spiritual realm.

Something has changed.

"As they pass through the Valley of Baca,
they make it a place of springs;
the autumn rains also cover it with pools." - Psalms 84:6

On the last day of camp, during camp sharing - where any one who feels like it goes in front of the hall to testify or share - the verse above came to my mind. While every speaker spoke coherently of her/ his experience, I realised that I had no words to describe mine.

"Good" (ahem, existentially, truly, really) was the sum of it but I just didn't - and as you can tell, still don't - quite have the words to share coherently about my time.

It might have helped if I kept a daily journal but I didn't manage to write a single entry. There were 12 people in my bunk, and it was freezing in the mornings and nights so I could not scoot off and sit somewhere (tried that the first morning and turned into a icicle).

Any how, back to Psalm 84:6.

Baca means weeping. Read the verse again: "As they pass through the valley of weeping, they make it a place of springs. The autumn rain also cover it with ponds."

I feel like my tears, coming out from my years of wilderness and trying, have been turned into a spring, a spring of God as a dam inside of me, His instrument, has been broken. The last few years, I've been broken and have sowed tears and pain and sorrow even as I reaped the lessons that could be only be gained through such. While I grew as a person, the wounds of love (isn't the breaking done in love?) have been cut deep in my heart and spirit. A dam, a shield of defense against the world, my commitment phobia, a wall around myself has been built by own hands.

We have been trying to break down this wall and I believe it has been broken.

My tears have been transformed into springs, and the autumn rain (sweet sweet Spirit) has refreshed and filled me up.

When I was about 17 or thereabouts the period before the wilderness, I was open to the Spirit's direction in moving in Him. I remember praying for people and receiving messages from God for them. There was a closeness to the Holy Spirit that manifested in such ministry.

I don't know what you call such ministry. A mature Christian or two mentioned then that they think I have the gift of prophecy. I didn't dare to acknowledge it, I still don't but not because of fear or avoidance but because I think it wise not to treat such things of God casually.

But I had to struggle with questions and personal arguments - intellectual and emotional - about the spiritual gifts common in the charismatic circle I grew up in. I could not recouncil how some who operates in these gifts were not living holy. I had to question the gift of tongues in the church because I could not believe that all were genuine.

(This post is not about those struggles and my personal conclusions but if you are interested in a discussion about them, you know how to get hold of me.)

Why I was talking about them is because of this: I feel like I have been affirmed in the spirit about my spiritual gifts. By "affirmed", I don't mean that God told me straight in my face that I have gift A, B and C. I simply mean I am now comfortable with what I have been given, even though I'm not entirely sure of the measure and type of gifts I truly have, and I'm comfortable with exercising it.

Like I said, the dam has been broken.

I want to clarify that I have not been living in sackcloth and dust, with perpetual pain in my heart, head and soul. The wilderness I have been led through had its stages and while still in it, I learnt to smile, to laugh, to be contented and to look always at Christ... even through the turbulence but it feels so good because I know I'm leaving it behind now and moving on.

There will always be trials, persecution and all these but I know I'm now out of the valley of death and weeping that I have stumbled in for a long time.

So why won't I use the word "breakthrough" to describe something as wonderful as this?

'cause it felt like such a natural progress to me. It was meant to be so, and "breakthrough" doesn't quite sound right, to me any way.

The three things that I went into camp wanting are still true to me now.

I still want to worship.

I still want to give.

I still want to make real connections with people.

The last day of Easter Camp, I was aware of how I felt glad to be going home even as I wanted to continue spending time with my new-found friends and sisters and brothers. Somewhere in that feeling, God spoke to me about my time here.

I still don't know how long I would be staying in Melbourne and if God should open the way to stay on or to go to another country instead of home to Singapore, I would do so but whatever it is, that time will come when I must say goodbye. And I will simply have to leave. But I want to leave knowing I have given my heart, my time, my effort and friendship to people and worthy causes. Maybe I will cry, maybe I wouldn't but I will leave knowing that nothing is forever and only the things of God remain.

And hey, Christians never say goodbye.

11:59.

So it was
You loved me in spite of all my shame
Deemed me lovely when I was covered with dirt
So it was
when You looked at me


There was no reason
why You should come
give up every thing
for my sake and die

There was no reason
why I should live
when all I did
condemned
and killed Your Heart


But yet you came
loving me in spite of all my shame
You looked at me and saw my pain
and You said,
"Child"

"I love you in spite of who you became
I know who you are and who you can be
If you will come, I'll carry your sins."


So it was
on a dark day in history
The One without sin became my sin
So it was I was redeemed
So it was
while I was a wretch, a stray, lost
from the Father you were torn away from
For my sake
So it was

2000 years ago

18:28.

It's a good feeling, this. I've handed in both my essays, one due today and one tomorrow worth 40 and 30 percent respectively. School reopens for me today and I stayed up till 2am the last two nights to finish the former essay. I'm fairly pleased with it. It's not a mindblowing piece of work but it connected enough obscure, unseen points and poked at enough holes to look decent. Any how, they are both in God's hands now.

Feels like I finally have time to sit and linger. To allow myself to remember how Easter Camp was and smile at fond memories. Now, I have time to write about other things I want to fill you in on.

Erm, wait a while more, ok? I got to go somewhere in a while to meet my cell group, we are celebrating the birth of a new sister (read: she accepted Christ at Easter Camp). So rather than start writing and then tear myself away, I should just wait till laters when there are no deadlines or timelines so I could write, and stop and be distracted as and when I like before writing again.

And, by the way, the guestbook's back up.

13:30.

Sorry folks, something's wrong with the guestbook's server, not too sure what and the administrator's not getting back to me. If your have something to comment on or say, can mail me at scribbledo@hotmail.com. I'm really not too sure when the guestbook will be back up. Cheerios, ya.

13:11.

Have you ever felt the limitation of your body?

Felt the restriction of your skin?

Longed to jump out of this earthly tent?

I have.

Easter Camp was amazingly wonderful. Every praise and worship, God's spirit was prevalent. From within me bursting and overflowing to hanging on my physical body, the glory of heaven weighing - not physically, and in no way constricting or unpleasant - on my arms and hands.

You should know - I took a real long time to decide to go for Easter camp. Last Thursday, I yoyo-ed between going and not going, and on Friday, during the OCF meeting, the camp's chairperson gave an impromptu speech. It was guilty of rambling but in it, he said something about how wonderful it would be, just imagine, worshipping God with 300 other people, it would almost be like heaven.

I think heaven would be indescribably better but what he said made an impact in my choice to go. On Thursday, I had told Hannah that one of the strongest pull factors for Easter Camp for me was starting and ending the days with praise and worship. On Friday, he said that.

I think I lost myself in worship.

Though there were 200-plus people all around and I was aware at the back of my mind that I was not alone, it felt like it was just God and me. Every time we praised and worshipped.

My poor (poor as in scanty, week, needy not sad or sorry) little heart felt like it was about to rapture.

I, was in rapture.

I was lost, I was almost helpless, desperate in my desire to worship and glorify God with all of me.

All Of Me - All In All. These were the words that kept popping in my mind. I wanted to give it all for the One who died for me, the One who made it possible for me to live, to hope, to love, the One who is my everything.

It was not enough to raise my hands, it was not enough to stretch my arms all the way up while almost tip-toeing, it was not enough to sing my lungs out. It was not enough to jump, or dance.

I felt the constriction of my body; my soul, spirit, and all of me wanted to jump out of my body and soar and worship God.

There was no start or end to where giving and receiving were. As I gave praise, worship, glory to my Jesus, I received. Like springs on a dry bed, like food to the starving, I was fed.

And I like to keep writing, to share of my Love's dearness but we have to do an essay that's due on Thursday together. I will get back to you and I do hope you had a good - existentially, truly, really, not good in a mundane obligatory way - Easter.

Love ya.

12:05.

It was 10 years ago today that his body was found, three days after Kurt Cobain shot up then pulled the trigger.

Or did he?

Sigh.

And here's a titbit. Darn, I couldn't find the actual issue in the shops here. Don't know if Aust is late or has a different edition.

18:49.

I want to lose myself in worship forever.

17:30.

I'm sitting next to our living room window, at our dining table, eating out of a saucepan. Ain't cooking today. Dinner's this: tom yam instant noodles (which I love by the way lest this picture is less than rosy to you).

I have a picture of a fish in my mind.

Specifically, a grouper.

More specifically, a grouper spilt down the middle aka Chinese banquet style. A nice big grouper, steamed with salty vegetables, tomatoes, mushrooms and abundant fried ginger strips.

I miss Mom's cooking.

Sigh.

It's not that I'm starving and dreaming of home-cooked food (ain't we having home-cooked food here any how?). Nor am I terribly homesick or something.

But yeah, I'm only just starting to feel more homesick these two weeks.

As per me-norm, even my homesickness is weird.

Speaking in the now and now, I don't want to go back to Singapore. I don't particularly fancy the idea of working in Singapore. I like my life here. I've adapted and even found things I know I will miss when I leave Australia. I would even stay on here if God so wills but that doesn't change the fact that I miss home.

I want to hug Mom, I want to hug Dad, I even want to hug my brother though it's highly unlikely he allows it, macho male he is.

I like remembering the feeling of coming home from work to find Mom's cooking waiting for me. In fact, it was this old entry (last post on the page), which mentioned having dinner at 3.30am after a very late day at work that prompted me to start writing this.

People love saying that eating is Singapore's main religion but I've never been very into food. You can tell me that the fish head curry at Serangoon number so-and-what is the best you ever had, well good on you but you won't catch me going out of my way to grab a bite of it. For the longest time, I was thoroughly confused by people who are willing to spend time travelling (car, bus, MRT) to get somewhere to eat something, after which they would travel back (car, bus, MRT) to wherever they hailed from.

And then there's my mood swings, the periods when I lose interest in food and have to remind myself to eat because my body requires it.

So I guess missing that grouper is not really about missing its taste, but missing my family.

Yet I love too - even need in an awful manner - the feeling of being away from home, being away from all that was familar as clutch and comfort.

I do not dislike these feelings.

The sun has made its way over the horizon during the course of this post.

I'm: too full from the rather gorgeous tom yam noodles and spearing slices of peaches for dessert.

It is: Tuesday. One more day of school tomorrow then Easter break starts for me. Before I leave for Easter camp on Friday, I endeavour to have absorbed all my racism essay research, and produced my essay stucture and key points. By tonight, I will have my rough essay structure so I can email or show it to the tutor tomorrow for her approval. The essay's worth 40 per cent.

It has been forever since my work is graded. It is rather unnerving. Back at work, even when you put together a piece that's not stunning or rave-worthy whether because you were having a bad day, too many deadlines or just uninspired, it gets published.

That is probably a very high accolade of sorts to a writer.

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

A couple of days ago, I posted the lyrics to one of Rich Mullins songs. Called Hatching Of A Heart, the title sounds half corny yet full of potential.

When she read it, Hannah said it sounds like my theme song of sorts for the moment.

*squirms in my seat*

I feel the same. In a way, I had felt that I couldn't get attached to this place, the people I meet here because my stay is only supposed to be for a year. If I get attached, it would hurt when I leave and what's more, I want to work in other countries which means I will be continuously uprooting myself from one place to the next. Just doesn't seem wise to put down roots when I want to embrace a hermit life, innit?

It didn't mean I was not going to let God use my life, it didn't mean I was going to keep solely to myself (or did it?), I just didn't want to enter into a mentality of putting down roots.

God has been speaking to my heart.

I'm serious about serving Christ. I'm serious about giving my life away. I'm serious about wanting to make a difference for His kingdom and I want to put a smile on His face every day.

"Child, if you don't let people into your heart, how are you going to serve me?

"If you are not willing to love because loving means the possibility of hurt, then how are you going to serve me?

"If you want to give your life to me and serve people but am not willing to open your heart to my people, then how are you going to serve me?"

....

Guess we - God and me - are taking yet another step in killing my commitment phobia.

I'm glad I don't have my heart and God can give it - or parts of it - to whoever He wills.

Easter Camp is another step in opening my life I suppose to people. Over the years, shunning big gatherings have become part of the personification of me but I hate stereotypes and since I don't even quite know who I am any more, it's rather hard to adhere to any characteristic-type rules.

But I do know I want to get to know the people I have met.

Titbit: I actually already look forward to Fridays now in the same way I look forward to Sundays. After eight years in the mandarin congregation and never having peers for support, I will choose to embrace this new time. It is half-strange to me and yet, half-second-nature.

I don't quite get me, but I'm glad I know my God. And gosh, have I rambled.

11:56.

Yawnn.

Stayed up till 3.30am to work on an essay. Woke up about 9.45am but am stilll rather sleepy. Good news is that I do think I should be able to finish this rock n roll and grunge music essay by today. Then, I got to vacuum, do laundry, relax a bit, cook dinner then submerged myself in the materials for my other essay, which is due next Thursday.

Am I starting on work too early? Nah, though the housemates were baffled by my efforts. I actually think I'm cutting deadlines rather close. My music essay's due on next Friday, my racism essay's due on next Thursday. Easter break for RMIT is from this Thursday to next Wednesday, and I will be going for Easter camp from this Friday to next Monday.

I doubt I can finish my racism essay before I go for camp, but ideally, it should be structured and planned and I should have started writing it before I go so I can finish it up with fair ease when I get back.

Yeah, I decided to go for Easter Camp.

Took me forever to make the decision, I know.

First, I didn't know whether to go or not, then I decided to go, then, I decided not to go, and then, I was persuaded to rethink my decision, and now, yeah, I'm going.

*Groan*

Does being indecisive come with age or something?

God forbid that I should continue to become more wishy washy. Doh, I didn't even know what was holding me back from making a speedy, firm decision.

I've never been to an Easter Camp, I believe. I only recall ever going for two camps related to my faith. One was the church camp in Desaru and another was a Campus Crusade camp during poly days. I can't remember if the former was over Easter or not.

I actually like camps, though people might find that surprising since I generally rather not play most group games which seem to be a fixture at camps.

I have a feeling this will be a good camp, and I can wander around with my SLR and tripod finally. The camp will be held here, an hour's drive out of Melbourne (finally, away from the city!). I won't deny that there are little niggling anxiety bits inside of me, wondering about fitting in and getting along with people and all so yes, do please pray for me.

I'm attending Parkville OCF, while the camp is an OCF Victoria (the state) effort so people from many other centers will be there. About 200-over folks, most of whom I do not as yet know.

There are really a lot more things I like to share with your, things on my heart, stuff that God has been showing me and I have been observing and learning but there is an essay to finish up.

Laters.

21:13.

On other notes, the other day I was buying more fresh mushrooms at Vic Mart, and the guy at the stall rattled something off in some foreign language. Huh? I said, and he did it again.

Me: "What language is that?"

Him: "Ooops, wrong language. Japanese."

Me: *amused look*

Him: "So where you from? Hong Kong..."

Me: *jumps in* Singapore

Him: *mental gymnastics as he tries to remember what language Singaporeans speak* Er, don't think I know the language.

Me: We speak English predominantly actually.

Yup.... Still, the guy was so chirpy and friendly and without any malice that I didn't take any offence at all though the transcript above may turn some folks off.

Interesting, all these.

20:56.

Argh. I'm writing an essay about the beginnings and growing up years of Rock n Roll and Grunge, and to compare and contrast these. You would think it would be easy but it's just coming. I'm writing like a fangirl, and I have to bring in the academia aspect of these in a way that doesn't sound stuffy. I have got to look beyond what I always know and feel and see beyond the box I'm in.

You fall in love with rock n roll and grunge because of certain things (or because of everything, but articulated to you in only a few words) - the freedom of its spirit, the idealism and its tragedy, of something bigger than you yourself, of something good rather unexplainably.

So your (or at least my) vocabulary is limited to these few things, as are your (my) ideas. SO, sigh, yes, I'm writing about stuff I love and I'm not getting it together.

Doesn't help I don't have my music books here or that the library has been ravaged by others like myself.

Ummm.

15:35.

And the stars could fall in shades of red
While the moon, she sees it fit to turn away
Then televisions out of windows
Saucepans out of doors

I fall right straight through the floor

And I saw the people
Faces with stories etched deep
Pain and wonder and jaded gaze
As if every day’s just like today

Take the piano flying through the sky
Stop the blackbird flying by
The key it holds, what is it made for
Stop the world for I can’t speak

White sleeping gowns from MTV
Unreal gothic band sold out its faith
Closing time
Baby good night

13:21.

I'm re-reading Pilgrim's Progress, that classic by John Bunyan and it is an enjoyable read to say the least. I remember when I first read it, when I was about 15, it so inspired me in some unexplicable way that I modelled a composition on it. The topic was about going on a journey, and I asked the teacher if I could write about a metaphorical journey, a spiritual journey. She was rather excited and very approving but when I gave her the finished compo, I think she didn't like it a lot, saying something like I can't write in this style or something. Any way, bygones.

There's a sense of contentment in my belly, as the world outside continues on this slightly grey 18 degrees-max day. School lessons resume in about two hours time, so I will have some time to do some readings and online library catalogue searches before I drop by the library after lessons.

Since daylight savings ended, the evening falls sooner. When I first came, I was thrown off by how the sun only sets after 8pm. Not conduive for studying, I said, since I tend to buckle down to work after evening falls. But now that evening falls sooner, the way I was used to, I am again thrown off. Hah, the wonders of living in a place with seasons. Any how, with God's grace, I guess I will get used to the fewer hours of daylight so I could be more productive.

I've been properly domesticated. I catch myself searching for recipes and planning what day to cook what for dinner. Gosh. And hah, it amuses me more than any thing.

I break into little jigs now and then, happy for inexplicable unknown reasons. And if I'm alone, I allow myself to laugh out loud. Um, should do that one day while the other two are around... freak them out :)

I have been rather irrationally hungry these two days. My tummy makes weird noises and I actually feel proper hunger pangs, which I seldom do.

Anyhow, if the weighing scale we bought is to be trusted - the readings are different if you shift its location, the bathroom floor is not very flat - I lost about one to two kilograms since I came here. I'm eating well - and snacking on more chocolate than I consumed in the whole of the last six months - so I guess it's all the walking about since I walk everywhere basically.

We are buying fish and chips tonight. It has been about 50 days since I reached here and can you believe I have not stepped into any proper western eateries yet? Well, they are not cheap and somehow, we have tended to go for Asian food when we do eat out but yeah....

Aslan (from Chronicles of Narnia) just popped into my mind. I'm not sure why.

Have a good day, folks. Your deserve it. And stick close to God.

15:30.

Spoken For, by Mercy Me


Take this world from me
I don't need it anymore
I am finally free
My heart is spoken for

Oh and I praise you
Oh and I worship you...

Covered by your love divine
Child of the risen Lord
To hear you say "This one's mine"
My heart is spoken for

Now I have a peace
I've never known before
I find myself complete
My heart is spoken for

Oh and I praise you
Oh and I worship you...

Covered by your love divine
Child of the risen Lord
To hear you say "This one's mine"
My heart is spoken for

By the power of the cross
You've taken what was lost
And made it fully yours
And I have been redeemed
By you that spoke to me
Now I am spoken for

Covered by your love divine
Child of the risen Lord
To hear you say "This one's mine"
My heart is spoken for

Take this world from me
Don't need it anymore.

2051.

"Be sure that the ins and outs of your individuality are no mystery to Him; and one day they will be no longer a mystery to you… your soul has a curious shape because it is a hollow made to fit a particular swelling in the infinite contours of the Divine substance, or a key to unlock one of the doors in the house with many mansions.” - C S Lewis

19:59.

Today at 3am, daylight savings ended so now, we are two hours ahead of Singapore time instead of three.

17:26.


Darling, it seems that you belong in Gone with the
Wind; the proper place for a romantic. You
belong in a tumultous world of changes and
opportunities, where your independence paves
the road for your survival. It is trying being
both a cynic and a dreamer, no?


Which Classic Novel do You Belong In?
brought to you by Quizilla

20:41.

Now and then, you read true love stories like this and you don't quite know what to think though you do acknowledge its beauty.

I had the privilege once to do a positive article, on a normal couple who were still in love after about 20 years. The wife, who was about 39 if I recall correctly, donated a kidney to her husband. They talk of how their romance unfolded, they kiss for the camera, and every now and then, she had to wipe away tears as he spoke about how he loves her, and when she speaks of the ordeal - and various ordeals, including a separation in their life together - they just went through.

Let's not talk about news value and such. As I write this, I can't be bothered.

That was the only proper love story I ever written and I agonised over it because I know my article would be in print, a proof and testimony of their love.

I don't quite know where I'm going with this. Nowhere in particular really, the story floated into my mind after I linked the Boundless article. Just think they are all - God, Love Himself, included - is quite the amazing.

Have a good Sabbath, folks, tomorrow.

20:28.

Language nazis we all are, here.

21:43.

Watched a weekly programe Songs That Changed The World just now. This week's song was Smells Like Teen Spirit by Nirvana. It has been 10 years since Kurt Cobain shot himself. 12 years since Smells Like Teen Spirit was released. Did you know Nirvana actually visited Singapore before? That was in 1992, I think, thereabouts.

At the closing of the show, I realised that probably, within the span of a decade, it will actually be true that every band I love will be dead (either a member died and the band spilt, or the band spilt and some members are dead, or the band will be defunct). How long will U2 actively continue? 3 more albums? I don't know.

Any how, then, I will feel really old.

By the way, my website with pictures is up. I emailed the URL to some of your already. But for those I forgot, it's here.

Cheers.

Nights out.

1251.

Came across these song lyrics, of a song I've never heard before, but which boosts awesome lyrics. Is it any wonder why I'm a Rich Mullins fan? The guy takes the words of faith and struggle out of my own mouth! How amazing it must be to have such a gift. I think a part of my heart is starting to wake again.

Hatching Of A Heart, Rich Mullins

Well the night was cold and my heart was
Hidden very safely in a shell
But I knew somehow I'd have to run that risk
Have to open up myself

Look at the stars on the face of the sky
They're the same ones Abraham saw
Come under my wings I will make you shine
Give you strength enough to love

Oh now I'm getting strong enough
You helped me chip my way out and open myself up
And for the snow that comes with winter
For the growth that comes from pain
For the joke I can't remember
Although the laughter long remains
For the faith that brought to finish
All I doubted at the start
Lord I give you praise for all that makes
For the hatching of a heart

Well my face was smooth and featureless
Just like an egg
And if I was moved you would never guess it
By the look upon my face

But You said man looks without but I look within
I can see the love you hide
It's a matter of doubt it's a symptom of sin
It's a problem of too much pride

And I now I'm opening up wide
Wet feathers pulled out from beneath me
And You're teaching me to fly

For the strength that comes with friendship
For the warmth that comes with hope
And for the love time can't diminish
And for the time love takes to grow
And for the moonlight on the water
And for the bright and morning star
Lord I give you praise for all that makes
For the hatching of a heart

And for the moonlight on the water
And for the bright and morning star
Lord I give you praise for all that makes
For the hatching of a heart

1157.

I think God is trying to cheer me up the previous post's unfortunate incident.

I'm typing this at our living room's dining table. Hannah and Germ are both out at school. Me, I've got to start on neglected schoolwork today. Been up since 9am. Had breakfast, did QT and the laundry and here I am.

Back to the Divine providence and concern.

It's really a simple matter - I had a good weekend. Can't say I quite remember where Saturday went but I enjoyed my Fri, Sat and Sun quite so. Back home, the weekends are easily spent with good friends in town. Here, since I have to watch my budget and since I'm not surrounded by friends though surrounded by school work, I tend to spend weekends more or less in.

They are my favourite time of the week really.

So what was special about this weekend? Nothing quite actually but somehow, I feel... happy. I enjoyed last Friday's cell group and I could see how God helped me be cheerful and more extroverted. I was impressed by my cell leader's confession and apologies that she had not prepared the materials very well because she was spiritually down that week. And somehow, I suppose I feel more sense of familiarity with these folks whom are my family here in Melbourne.

Last Sunday, I went to church and the Mercy Ministry - which helps the refugees seeking asylum in Australia - was presenting. I felt an urge to join, knowing this is something really worthwhile.

And God help me, while I have completely, absolutely no idea of where I am going and what the future holds, knowing that the future always hold God and indeed, he holds my yesterdays, today, and tomorrows is not just assuring, but so very very much for me.

How long would my stay in Australia be? That popped through my mind while I sat in that service, looking at and hearing the Mercy Ministry's presentation.

The thing is, for me now, any thing can be. I've left the life I built up behind and from here, I know I can go any where, God willing and in His leading. I've reliquished control. I think all the plans I've made before have crumpled to a pile of dust. Is this brokenness? I don't quite know who I am and I do not know in detail what I want in my life except to truly live and honour God with my every work.

"Growing Young" by Rich Mullins has been going round in my head. That's somehow how I feel, that I am growing young, maybe just learning to be God's child again

Growing Young, Rich Mullins

I've gone so far from my home
I've seen the world and I have known
So many secrets
I wish now I did not know

'Cause they have crept into my heart
They have left it cold and dark
And bleeding
Bleeding and falling apart

And everybody used to tell me big boys don't cry
Well I've been around enough to know that that was the lie
That held back the tears in the eyes of a thousand prodigal sons
Well we are children no more we have sinned and grown old
And our Father still waits and He watches down the road
To see the crying boys come running back to His arms
And be growing young

Growing young

I've seen silver turn to dross
Seen the very best there ever was
And I'll tell you it ain't worth what it costs

And I remember my father's house
What I wouldn't give right now
Just to see him and hear him tell me that he loves me so much

And everybody used to tell me big boys don't cry
Well I've been around enough to know that that was the lie
That held back the tears in the eyes of a thousand prodigal sons
Well we are children no more we have sinned and grown old
And our Father still waits and He watches down the road
To see the crying boys come running back to His arms

And when I thought that I was all alone
It was your voice I heard calling me back home
And I wonder now Lord
What it was that made me wait so long
And what kept You waiting for me all that time
Was Your love stronger than my foolish pride
Will You take me back now take me back and let me be Your child

'Cause I've been broken now I've been saved
I've learned to cry and I've learned how to pray
And I'm learning I'm learning even I can be changed

And everybody used to tell me big boys don't cry
Well I've been around enough to know that that was the lie
That held back the tears in the eyes of a thousand prodigal sons
Well we are children no more we have sinned and grown old
And our Father still waits and He watches down the road
To see the crying boys come running back to His arms
And be growing young

Growing young

Growing young

1154.

So. I went to OCF just now and after the whole thing, while we were lingering outside the church where we meet, Hannah and myself were talking to one of the guys, a FIFTH-year medical student. The dude was 24 years old, I asked him how old he was, and he actually said, "I think you are older than me."

Arghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

I'm younger, you doon! I'm younger, you loon!

I then attempted to push him onto the road (we were on the pavement) but of course, nice and kind as I am, I didn't quite. Any way, after I went, "I am younger than you!!!" (and here I was dressed all retro 50s, in 80s-type black tube, funky green cardigan, pants, black and white dangly ball earrings, and Elvis Presley black and white small tote bag), I then engaged in the mock push-you-toot-onto-the-road, any way, hmmph.

The dude - bless his heart, I know he meant no harm - then went, "No, I heard you were working so I thought you would be older". Dude, backtracking ain't gonna help too much. Then, he went, "Noo, you don't look old at all!!" after I made various sounds.

Hahhaha.

Bleh.

He then tried to guess how old I was but I beat him by saying "a year younger than you". My housemate then said, "You should have let him guess." I countered, "No, he probably feel guilty and he would try to guess a younger age like 18." Bless the honest dude's heart, he admitted yeah, he already had the figure "19" in his head, and he was going to say that.

Gosh, so help me God. I'm already introducing myself as 23 when people ask my age even though, technically, I AM still 22!!

That's an awful lot of exclaimation marks for one post. Very unusual for me.

To balance this all up though, last evening, someone thought I was a year-one uni student which meant I was 18 or 19.

So there.

Wah.

21:32.

Early morning this morning (I knew it was morning because I only retired after midnight), while it was still dark, I woke up to loud strains of "Be Thou My Vision".

A very grand, majestic and impassionated rendition.

Thing is, all was dark and the song was kind of unexpected, if not unscheduled. A lovely hymn but it was an abrupt awakening.

Rather um, disrupted, the just-awake me looked across at the roommate's mattress parallel to mine. She was rather lost and sprawled out flat under the comforter and in the dark, I had the impression she wasn't there.

Was she then playing music loudly at whatever hour this was? I thought. Um, maybe she's in a bad mood, I thought, groping to find my handphone to check the time.

It was 645 or there abouts, and in the light of my handphone screen, I noticed a tuft of hair from said parallel comforter.

Wait, that means Eliza was sleeping and since my other housemate, Hannah, was away on a retreat for the weekend, who's playing loud music in my house?

Maybe Eliza left her iBook on and it went to some screensaver which played music, maybe Hannah came back suddenly, I didn't quite know what to make of it so I got up and ventured out of my warm comforter and room.

No body was in the living room, wait, the music came from Hannah's room.

I walked over, peeked in, aiyah.

It's her hi-fi cum alarm clock. That girl forgot to programme off her morning call before she left.

Aiyoh.

Yeah, I know.

Rather surreal, and Eliza slept through it.

16:25.

So yesterday, I had my first cell group in Overseas Christian Fellowship (OCF). This, at my fifth time joining their meetings. It has been three weeks since school officially started for me, two weeks for the folks who attend Melb Uni but it feels like finally, the beginning for my time with OCF is here.

That sounds cryptic, I know. I just simply mean to say I'm glad the cell groups are starting proper (I arrived in Melb at the end of their summer time programme which didn't include cell groups).

To be truthful, I have not made any friends in the Fellowship (ooh, sounds like LOTR) despite having attended for a while. Yes, I know faces and names and so do them me, and I have made chit chat and such. A more extrovert type would have gleaned more contact, conversation and perhaps in the process, friends. But it's not quite me to make the rounds, is it?

The thing is: despite the last paragraph, I feel fairly comfortable in the place. Yeah, I may feel slightly squirmy before everything starts proper during the period when everybody's chatting with everybody but then, I've always been like that.

When the worship starts, I am not aware of myself any more. Or merely aware on a different level. The band's smacking - I don't fancy "spanking" - good and since I have been here, I find myself almost desperate to touch God every praise and worship session.

The "format" of the Friday meetings are unusual to me. Everyone gathers at an old rented church for praise and worship, then we break up into different cell groups, after which we might or might not regather for any more important news, then as the various cells finish, people linger and mingle and some go for supper.

I went once to supper and liked the banter enough but have not ventured to another since I want to save money, I'm not a supper person, and supper's normally at places a couple of streets away and I live directly opposite the old church so yeah, I'm rather um, energy efficient.

Why am I glad about yesterday?

I need the symbolic actuality perhaps, for a new beginning to be articulated in form.

I still have my inhibitions, I do feel rather old still since the average age of the OCF-er in this group is about 20 or 21. The age thing, the way I feel inhibited because of it, baffles me since it's really about two years difference and I never quite have difficulty communicating with younger folks.

Maybe it's part of my emotional baggage from having ventured and returned from the working world?

Could it possibly be that I actually wear some sort of invisible battle dirt and grime and corporate scars on my person unknowingly?

Is this the same reason why I have fallen comfortably into the mode of school life but yet am not reaching out to people to know them, and indeed, I don't feel the urge to reach out and make contact with classmates?

I think I should just quit examining myself under my own telescope.

Let's change a ramble topic.

I'm glad too because after struggling with whether to make it known to the OCF band that I can play and would like to join them if they would have me, I did so yesterday through a little slip of paper which I indicate desire to serve in the area of music ministry - with a footnote, saying: "Drums, keyboards, guitar. I played in church but would need further coaching. You guys are too good" - and proofreading or writing for and with any publication.

I still haven't decided or found the church I want to settle down in but I really want to do more than what I'm doing now.

A month has already passed. I do want to give my best shot and squeeze every last ounce of life I could lead in the remaining nine months or so.

Whew.

22:17.

Hallo, can you hear me?

I'm restless, restless, restless. Is there something I want? Maybe everything, I'm not too sure but now is not the time for me to talk priorities with me.

It's the 3rd week of school and today, for what I believe to be the first time, I walked home from school feeling contented and happy. It was just after a short rain which must had fell while I was in lecture watching a documentary about the British beat boom which included a lot of The Beatles.

"I like this weather" - That was one of the first thoughts I had. The weather was refreshingly biting and fresh but not cold enough for me to feel uncomfortable in my jeans, tee and a fairly thin jacket.

I was wondering at the breakfast table this morning if I'm already too cynical, too jaded, and if these could be the reasons why I'm not excited and feeling alive.

Yeah, it has been bothering me - my lack of excitement.

This year - already given to God a few times over - was seen as, and is, a clean break away from the life I led for a while. The life that was devoted to work, and when work got too tough, I indulged in shopping therapy.

The life that was fulfilling when I finished a spanking article by 2am, the life when I had the license to probe into strangers' lives, a life when I was finding comfort in the little things.

I suppose I sound like I'm looking over my shoulder. Am I? I'm not too sure really. As I sit here typing this, my heart is aching. Sounds like a bad song but I'm not too sure why my heart is saying something I just don't understand.

I like my life now though I miss especially getting calls and being able to call people, arrange meetings or talk about nothing.

Be still and know I'm God. Be still, be still.

Thrice now, once while eating breakfast one day, once more today while walking home, and once just staring out of the balcony - The silent thought, swift and fleeting, raced through my mind: I'll be sad to leave. And it's just eight months more to go.

So soon, it will be gone.

Life is like that, at least, it has been so to me. Increasingly, with each and every day, time seems to bear down on me.

It's not just about getting older, turning 23 in four months time, though getting older is symbolic and representative of the continuity of time.

Psalm 39 speaks of numbering my days. I'm all too aware of the limited span life holds and now and then, at moments like this, it's like I bow in weight of this truism.

I wish I can express this all better but maybe it's part of some holy mystery at work in me but life, oh life.

I have flown away and indeed I am midair. But I'm not too sure of the world I am in here. Where can I go and what can and can't I do? I'm alone, with God, but the wind rushing pass my ears and into my eyes obscures my vision and hearing.

More than ever, I'm using my legs. More than ever, I'm sure and unsure all at once. More than ever, I feel secure but yet, yes, I'm not quite sure where I am.

I'm only sure of one thing - that God is with me, that He who has started a good work in me will complete it.

All things else - my heart included - I'm afraid I'm not sure of them.

21:47.

I am feeling awfully sated.

It's that home-made mocha-cum-suckao, I tell you.

I just boiled some milk, threw in chunks of Lindt's 85 percent cocoa dark chocolate, stirred till they all melt into a glorious smelling rich brew, poured it into a mug, add coffee and a bit of sugar, and then gulped it all - foam and chocolate remnants -down.

Guess this was enough fuel to get me to finish this short presentation I'm supposed to be doing tomorrow of an article summary.

On the same note of school, we watched a documentary of the development of rock n roll for the course, Popular Music & Society. From Buddy Holly to Bill Haley and The Comets and Elvis Presley to Jerry Lee Lewis, along with the history of how rock n roll developed from the black man's blues (genre, not mood), it was the kind of stuff I read about.

After the documentary, the lecturer was talking about some of the points the documentary made and he mentioned that Jerry Lee Lewis' 13-year-old bride was his cousin. At that, a wide percentage of the students gasped, laughed or made general expressions of shock and amusement.

I smiled and was somehow surprised that it seemed that so many people didn't know that.

This is not meant to sound superior or arrogant but I honestly felt somewhat lifted up after that episode. I felt verified, validated somewhat even maybe. I know my stuff. I'm not a walking encyclopedia of music, nowhere even near being a poor one but I felt assured somehow now that I know I know my stuff better than my fellow students.

Be still my soul, be still my soul and smile more.

14:47.

The fish is bloody and I am a walrus.

The sun is shining, the weather about 19 degrees and my hands are cold.

Such irony aside, I had meant to fill you in on the tragic events on my laptop, the injuries (internal) I inflicted on my hard drive unknowingly, specifically on my C drive.

It all begun with a virus, or more specifically, darn those inventions, a worm, I am told.

So what this worm (how apt a name) did was manifest in a pop up window five minutes after I get online to inform me that a certain programme has problems and I have to go offline. In that little, innocuous looking window, a timer watch will start its count down and in 30 seconds time, I will be booted offline.

My roommate, bless her tech-ly soul, identified the worm's blasted name immediately and helped me downloaded something to eradicate it off my less than a month new laptop.

After running that and a few virus scans to be careful, rightfully, it should had been mission accomplished, right?

Nope, wroonggg.

Somehow under the impression that my office software was original - actually, only the OS is - I ran winupdates since it was advisable.

That evening, sated in the knowledge I finally have a net account after about 10 days of randomly borrowing Hannah's account, I was just sitted at my laptop.

Like right now actually. Laptop on small square white Ikea table at the end of my mattress, me cross-legged on the mattress, typing.

I organised all the photos I have taken since the 9th, when I left Singapore, into neat respective folders then thought it wise to start an accounts document to keep tabs of my spending.

So there I was, that fateful night on the 19th last month, at peace and happy while my housemates were chatting gaily away in our room.

Then, a pop up window appeared and could not be cancelled.

I had to restart my laptop twice and when all seemed finally calm again, the whole of my Microsoft Office suite was gone.

Not quite knowing what to do and silently baffled by the suddenness of it all, I tried searching for the programmes and when the search proved futile, I decided to run the system recovery discs that came with the laptop.

I understood its workings to be that it would restore the laptop's everything to an earlier time. This is not entirely incorrect, just that system recovery actually restores the laptop back right to the beginning when you bought it.

I lost my office suite already, that wrong move wiped out my C drive.

Thankfully, my D drive was untouched and I had some of the old documents in my C drive on a CDRW from when I was transferring files from my desktop to my laptop.

When one does something that stupid and wrong, one has to pay a price of course.

What did I lose?

All the photos I took with my loved ones at the airport, at reunion dinner, my only family portrait.

Also, stuff whose loss I can swallow - Albums which I painstakingly transferred, Adobe software, Icq, Nikon View (all software replaceable any how).

I was really completely flabbergasted. Rather surreal, when your laptop takes on a life of its own like that. It wasn't until a day later while talking to the laptop's customer service people that I was told that Office wasn't included in it. That was when I grasped what most likely happened. That when I downloaded winupdates, Microsoft, the corporation, noted the pirated office and somehow installed something that wiped out the whole suite when office was activated.

This is really a tale of how much one person can get things wrong and shoot herself in the foot three times.

First was downloading winupdates when I was using a pirated programme.

Second was running System Recovery without backing up my drives.

And third? Please read on and share my pain.

So in the days that followed after the apocalypse (insignificant when compared to the real coming apocalypse), I was downloading programmes that promises file recovery.

And I. Found. One. That. Shows. Up. Almost. Every. File. I. Lost. After. I. Run. A. Scan. With. It.

Wow, right?

Again, I was flabbergasted since I was operating on minimum hope but doggedly Must-At-Least-Try-ness and perhaps I did not expect to actually find a programme that does so much.

Well, I did but it cost about $50 to buy online.

So, I did the practical thing. Don't buy yet, surf around, try to see if there are any other way to get my hands on it without buying.

Then school started and I didn't had the time to pursue all the retrieving business.

But I was commiting my third mistake throughout the week - I continued to use the laptop, I installed programmes I lost, I downloaded songs.

Why was this a mistake?

Because all of that meant that these new files were being written over the fragile, already-formated-once, files I wanted to retrieve.

So the day before, I tried a couple of programmes a new friend lent me, found them not as good as the original one that gave me hope and reassured me, and I decided to buy the original software.

That's when the folly of my ways came back to haunt me.

This has been a long post already. To summarise on my third wrong, basically, even the programme that could once trawl up almost all the lost files could no longer do so.

Some files, it seems, are gone forever.

I can still see the photos of my loved ones at the airport. That is a day that will never again come. Those captured moments were time which time can never reverse for.

So I grieve.

My heart hurts in a numb manner, my grieve stronger because I'm in this situation because I screwed up.

It was my own hands which pulled the plug. Perhaps that's why the pain is so mute but nevertheless painful.

So I think of the one-linear flow of time and how one can never get back what one lost.

Sigh.

That's why I am a walrus.

I wish I can have those pictures back, so I can look at the faces of people I love, so I can remember in physical form a significant day that will never repeat.

I wish.

It was been some time since my photos were torn away from my heart. The resignation is starting to sink in.

I've got one more chance. I'm going to try to recover the photos from the memory card itself. That needs new programmes and a memory card reader and lots of prayer.

The memory card, a CompactFlash, has been overwritten on about three or four times or perhaps even five before.

Be still my soul.

It's strange but I can actually say I have learnt very valuable lessons. I suppose when a lesson is this costly, you learn faster.

And I can give thanks because God - though I don't understand why this happened and if there are reasons - has showed me the right programmes to use and given me people who can aid in the process.

For now, it still hurts but you never know.

Let's try with the memory card.

And to end, today is the first day of Autumn.

"When the oceans rise and thunders roar,
I will soar with You above the storm.
Father, You are King over the flood.
I will be still, and know You are God."

- Still, Hillsong

21:09.

I feel like having honey on toast but I should resist. Will just have it tomorrow morning if I still have the urge :) Eating honey on toast - learnt from my housemate Eliza - makes me feel like a happy Winnie The Pooh. Hah, but I am an Eeyoh at heart.

(Why am I likening myself to a donkey here? Umm.)

We - Hannah, Eliza, Jessica and myself - just had a good dinner [pepper and garlic sausages (Ah! The delight of sausages in real skin) cooked in olive oil with garlic, mushrooms, string beans, parsley, real tomatoes and tomatoes paste; and cai xin with oyster sauce].

At least, I had a good one and they tell me so too. I cooked, haha. Have been doing that a bit these past two weeks. I like it actually and thank God, every thing has been edible so far.

Don't freak out at me or laugh your guts out but last week, after cooking a simple clear veggie soup successfully, I was feeling so contented and happy I felt rather... fulfilled.

And today, yes, I had two classes. My first - as in first class of the semester - class was from 1130 to 1230. I then met a friend (meeting a familiar face on campus is quite an amazing feeling) for lunch and came home so I can return to base and chill a bit for an hour before going back to school for another lecture at 330 to 530.

Now, during that time when I was home, I was just feeling rather nippy for a nap. I almost never take afternoon naps - save for on sunday noons - but I really felt like having one then.

I was in Hannah's room waiting to use the internet and looking at myself in the mirror (I need to focus on something, righhhtt? Besides, we have sliding full length mirrors as wardrobe doors) and we were talking about what to cook for dinner (not me). Out of almost nowhere, I said something like, "Ah, I half wish I can be a housewife and stay home. Then, all I need to do every day is plan the cooking and cook" *half-pout*.

Freaky? Yeah, I know. Especially when I know a homemaker's life is hardly that simple and easy, and very unappreciated, I do add.

I think I also half-whined about "where's my tall, good looking husband who adores me". And then, Hannah and me started a short banter about his (the non-existent husband, figment of my imgination) profession. Like, no doctors since he will never have time to spend with me; writers (royalities could possibly pay well) are welcome.

Umm.

Shhhhhh... bygones.

Nooooooooooooooooo, I'm not a girl who goes for big buckeroos making men or stiff white collared types.

(I go for sensitive poetry and song writing rebels in leather jackets who stand at 1.8metres and above).

No, no, no, seriously, forget you ever read all that. I'm just in a bit of a flopping type mood. Don't ask me what "flopping" is though.

Okay, to embark on a serious note about the first day of school.

I had two lectures: Reading Media Texts [my only compulsory course (subjects are called courses while courses, as in "What course are you taking?" "Media Studies" are called programmes in RMIT), and Popular Music & Society.

The former was an hour while the latter was two.

I'm glad to share that I enjoyed both though I was feeling rather sleepy in the latter.

In both classes, I sat alone at a corner seat but no, I didn't feel lonely. It would have been sweet if I have my good friends there with me like in poly and we could discuss under our breath a certain video or something the lecturer said.

But you know, things, life is never constant and tt's fine. In fact, the unpredictability is what makes the ride interesting going.

Tomorrow, I have my first tutorial. It's for Reading Media Texts. And this will be a more interactive setting. Again, I ask and covet your prayers.

Okie, okie, I got to end this post now. I have got readings to do so till next, love ya :)

22:45.

In less than 12 hours, I should be sitted in a lecture theatre for my first class. Perhaps feeling a bit nervous, perhaps hoping to meet a familiar face, or perhaps just feeling strangely detachedly assured.

That last has been a familiar feeling these days, recurring or just turning around to face me and smile a small smile. It's part of me but yet at times it's like a separate entity that goes before me, seemingly.

Hope that didn't sound too weird.

This - studying - is what I came here for, among other things. And honestly, I do feel I want to start lessons now. It has been two weeks. Enrolment, setting up the room, marketing, and exploring the place only took so much time, and could be done in certain doses.

I haven't been bored. In fact, I have been enjoying having time. At time, I didn't even feel like I had enough time to do all the things I want to get done.

It was perhaps, a simple life, though right in the middle of an urban setting. The apartment, right next to Vic Mart, is just on the fringe of the city area.

It was (should I use this tense?) an idyllic time. I was contented but yet, I need more activity, perhaps some routine, and I should be able to find this in school opening... again after two years.

Please keep me in prayer and pray for continued favour, strength, wisdom and love. Love for people and new academics, increased love for God. And for a teachable spirit.

At certain moments, more strongly in the first week, my spilt personalities (working adult and student, and spilt personalities is really not quite accurate) had a few quiet face-offs.

But my heart is (perhaps) getting more quiet.

In church yesterday, I rededicated this year to God. Ok, it's already dedicated a few times but when I made that dedication yesterday during worship, it was more than words or quiet emotions. It was emotions pouring out, it was surrender.

I have two wonderful housemates and they have been amazing. If not for Hannah, it would have been a lot harder for me to ease into this new life, new roads and streets and all.

I have also attended, twice now, Overseas Christian Fellowship (OCF) meetings. Knowing I have family here spiritually is very assuring.

Dear God, you are real to me. And I want You to be even more real to me, in every single aspect of my life, in my head, my mind, my heart and soul.

Two years ago, I wrote for my scriptwriting class a short essay about who I am, what drives me and what I want. I remember writing about gladly giving my life, if I can be consumed by a cause.

I want to be consumed.

14:14.


Your man is King Aragorn (The rating takes place
below)
Perhaps its because hes so world-weary but Aragorn
is upfront and honest with no time for mind
games. Hes attentive and devoted, as well as
sensitive to your needs.


The last 'WHICH LOTR GUY IS FOR YOU?' quiz you'll ever have to take UPDATED WITH BETTER PICS & RESULTS
brought to you by Quizilla


:)

13:54.


You are Form 3, Unicorn: The Innocent.

"And The Unicorn knew she wasn't meant to
go into the Dark Wood. Disregarding the advice
given to her by the spirits, Unicorn went
inside and bled silver blood.. For her
misdeed, the world knew evil."

Some examples of the Unicorn Form are Eve
(Christian) and Pandora (Greek).
The Unicorn is associated with the concept of
innocence, the number 3, and the element of
water.
Her sign is the twilight sun.

As a member of Form 3, you are a curious
individual. You are drawn to new things and
become fascinated with ideas you've never come
in contact with before. Some people may say
you are too nosey, but it's only because you
like getting to the bottom of things and
solving them. Unicorns are the best friends to
have because they are inquisitive.


Which Mythological Form Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla


So. Yes, I'm here taking quizzes instead of blogging or sending any of the other many emails I should but... so.

Apparently, the school gave me a wrong student number. Thus - and plus the fact that it's orientation (I'm not attending of course) today - I cannot log in to my school email account, book my tutorials online or go down to the submit my enrolment variation form (basically, putting in the paperwork to change two courses. My first combo was chosen on the spot a few hours after I landed).

The school is supposed to call me back, "hopefully today". I hope - and pray so too.

I'm feeling bo liao. But school starts next week and I really like to get all the above sorted out first. Wait, correct that, it's not a "like", it's a "must". If I don't get to book my tutorial classes, I won't know where to go when.

Be still my heart.

Waah. Breuph. Pook.

15:26.
Melb time.

The first thing I see in the morning is the ceiling of my room in Singapore. When I open my eyes after blissful slumber, for the slightest fraction of a second, I see that ceiling instead of the one I now wake up to. And then, again for the slightest fraction of a silent second, the sentence "this is not home lah" may roll past in my mind.

I'm not even sure if I see my old room in my mind's eye, with eyes shut, or whether I see it superimposed over reality.

It has been a full week now since I arrived.

I have enrolled and chose my subjects. Am taking:

- Reading Media Texts (compulsory)
- Popular Music & Society
- Asian Modernities
- Race, Ethnicity & Racism

for first semt and:

- Understanding Philosophy: Themes From Popular Culture
- Creative Writing
- Asian Cinema
- Either Culture & Business Practice Japanese or International Approaches To Journalism

for second semt.

I'm inclined to take Japanese since I target to speak five languages by the age of 25 and I'm nowhere near this lofty aim. I also like the language and believe fluency in it will be useful but it is an examinable subject and I prefer not to take any subjects with examinations. None of my other courses require exams.

And Jap is not offered for first semt, which ups the risk factor.

Please pray along with me to make the best choices.

Okay, "work" aside (since studying is now my work of sorts), I am doing well enough. I like my new home, my housemates and I do like the weather.

The price of eating out is disgusting, and the tags on some simple pleasures - $2 for a piece of bak qua - are cut throat but the cool crisp wind - no perspiration! - is very enjoyable.

The days are are long with sunrise at 6-ish and sunset at 8-plus. Since I like evenings and nights, and tend to get work done during this time, seeing the perpetual light was disorientating.

I should or ought to get my internet account in two or so days time. Talk to ya again.

12:17.

Hi folks, I'm alive and well in Melbourne, just so you know.

Have not been able to update or send mail 'cause my internet connection is not yet up. Am using my housemate, Hannah's account now.

I have such to say (what's new eh?) but will do so later.

:)

*hugs*

12:15.

Okay, I'm into my last 24 hours (over the next 10 months or so) here in Singapore. I've been sleeping late the past few days, after 2am every day. Last night - or this morning - packing took me up to 3.30am.

I've exceeded my luggage allowance....

Am now checking on the penalty per kg for that.

I'm about 5 kgs over, for check-in luggage.

Whew. All in all. I'm carrying a load just 10kg lesser than my body weight.

You know how those poor primary school kids with oversized bags look like they could fall over backwards?

Yeah, I feel like that when I carry my bagpack.

Thank God for the bagpack though. I bought it yesterday and it's really useful, It's holding my laptop, various PC periphels, my cameras and lens, my CDs, tape recorder, and many many other knick knacks.

It weighs.... 10 kg.

Yeah, so I'm 3 kg over for hand luggage too but I hope they won't weigh it.

There are books I want to bring but don't have space or weight allowance for. If I had time, I would go to the post office and check out the costs of mailing it all to myself, along with some stuff which I'm now checking in. But I don't think I have time to go to the post office at the central. It's not far but it's not that near either and there's the imminent lunchtime crowd.

Oh well, I'll see what I can do but it looks like I definitely have to freight stuff back when I come back at the end of the year.

This. All these - packing, sweating, sniffing (got a cold) and worrying (do I have everything?) - is quite amazing.

I think I will start missing every one and every thing proper only after I get to Australia. Yes, there's a tingle of "argh" mixed with "aww" at the side of my heart (Those are the sounds I feel when I think about leaving loved ones).

Last night, as I take my routine sip of water before going to bed, I found myself wishing I can take a leisurely goodbye, a leisurely last night with my loved stuff (chair, windows and all included).

Leisure and time - These seems lacking from the last couple of days but it's okay. It's perhaps what I need to gain momentum and not stop and falter. And the lack of it will make my first few days in Melbourne, the days before school starts, better because I will be able to get peace. Get leisure. Hold time.

There's really a lot that I want to blog about. Every moment that passes now exists only in the now and after that, only in the memory. This minute, this minute that you spend reading this post, will never repeat again. Such is the uniqueness and one-way stream of time and life.

I can't capture the time and have not been able to give form to the numerous thoughts in my head over the past few days but I do promise you, dear friend and faithful reader [ :> ] that I will blog and continue to unleash ramble upon you.

Pray for me.

And take care, because you are loved.

19:37.

It feels like I'm packing up my life.

After five days of lunches and dinners with various lovely people, I finally had time to just stay in at home today.

I'ven't even started putting things into my luggage; I'm just packing stuff into neat bags and containers, but I'm already realising I have a lot of things to take along.

Thus the feeling like I'm packing up my entire life. Or at least some.

And I have a lot more packing, organising and some buying to do.

It's Thursday evening.

Monday evening I fly.

Whew. Time sure gallops along.

But thank God, things are falling into place. I finally got my student visa on Tuesday, and I have bought my air tickets.

Thank God I got a PC laptop instead of a Mac. Was installing programmes and configuring stuff just now in the noon, and I was already frustrated enough when I couldn't get some stuff done the way I wanted them to be.

With a Mac - the last time I actively used one was 18 months ago in my first job - I would definitely be more helpless.

Leaving On A Jet Plane has been playing in my head. Tuesday night, I karaoke-d with Qihui, Yi Ling and Shuhui.

Was going to sing that David Gates classic but we ran out of time. Too many David Tao, Jeff Chang - yeah, my choices. It's amazing to me how I've learnt most of the Mandarin songs I know from karaoke - and obscure old English classics.

I think I'll miss karaoke, hehe, though I can always sing out loud at (the other) home in Australia and entertain (...) Hannah and Germaine.

There isn't much time left now.

I realise I have to make a conscious effort to spend time with my family. Considering how much I know I will miss them, I've not been too good with the family quality time effort.

I'll miss Mom's cooking too, especially the soups.

I'll miss my utterly comfortable bed, bloster, support pillow and my stuffed animals.

Yeah, it's the little things that I will miss even as I get used and find new beautiful little things to appreciate.

I'm sure it won't be hard.

The hard part is putting into form - in this case, words - every scene that captures my heart and makes me smile.

There were nights when I would just sigh happily and thank God when I lay down on my bed (it's that comfortable).

And every time past the last two months when I walk home from the MRT and look up at the sky to see twinkling stars I didn't realise were there, I laughed and felt unspeakable joy rush from my heart.

And the moments when I rush into the rain, and two to five seconds later, truly feel the impact of the raindrops go through my clothes and touch my skin, I chuckle as if sharing a private joke with the Spirit.

Coming home hungry after work days to find Mom cooked.

And looking out at the night traffic scene on the road in front of my house.

So, so many little things, too beautiful for me to justify.

I will miss them, but I know they will always be mine.

Wow.

12:32.

Han Kui.