23:48.
"How happy is the blameless vestal's lot! The world forgetting, by the world forgot. Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind! Each pray'r accepted, and each wish resign'd." - Alexander Pope
But that is not my lot. That is not our lot.
Finally got around to watching Eternal Sunshine Of The Spotless Mind after having it for so long. People have so much pain we want to forget but to erase them? That is not our lot. As this little excerpt from the movie encapsulates.
Joel, before the memory erasing procedure to rid his mind of memories of his girlfriend who had her memories of him erased: "Is there any risk of brain damage?"
His doctor: "Well, technically speaking, the procedure is brain damage but it is not on par with a night of heavy drinking."
Our lot is not to forget by erasing, not to attempt to move on by avoiding the obstruction on the road.
Our lot is to face stuff. Because only then can we move on.
By the way, darn brilliant show, that. Not too happy. Utterly beautiful but not happy.
Monday, January 17, 2005
Sunday, January 16, 2005
01:10.
"Going on from that place, he went into their synagogue, and a man with a shriveled hand was there. Looking for a reason to accuse Jesus, they asked him, "Is it lawful to heal on the Sabbath?"
He said to them, “If any of you has a sheep and it falls into a pit on the Sabbath, will you not take hold of it and lift it out? How much more valuable is a man than a sheep! Therefore it is lawful to do good on the Sabbath.”
Then he said to the man, “Stretch out your hand.” So he stretched it out and it was completely restored, just as sound as the other. But the Pharisees went out and plotted how they might kill Jesus."
- Matthew 12: 9 - 13
~ ~ ~
Imagine that - You are without an arm.
You have one good arm, and one stump where the other is supposed to be.
You are in the synagogue, the temple, the church. Along came this man so many have been whispering about. With him is a crowd of the most well-known teachers of the temple. You looked at the scene before you, just like every one else around you. Suddenly, one of those teachers - you recognised he is important because of his robes and the phylacteries on his forehead and left arm - glanced at you and walked over, jabbing his fingers at you.
All eyes turn to you.
The man pointed at your stump of an arm.
"Is it lawful to heal on the Sabbath?" The whole group of teachers asked the only one among them not adorned in robes or wearing phylacteries.
You felt embarassed. All of them were looking at your handicap. And all around you, even without looking up, you knew that every other boy and men in the temple were staring at you. You felt a blush of shame come on and lowered your head, in case any one sees.
Then He spoke.
"Stretch out your hand."
And for some reason, you stretch out your stump of an arm. You didn't know why. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw one of the teachers flinch disapprovingly at the shriveled mess of tissues that you proffered at the One some said is the Messiah. You look at that same sight, the lack of your limb, the source of much emotional pain and more tears than you care to admit.
You don't know why you proffered that stump.
Why would a disabled man offer his disabled arm when someone says to stretch out his hand? Wouldn't stretching out the good hand be the natural reaction? That other hand has nothing to hide, no shame and could actually obey any instructions this Jesus might ask. This good hand is the hand that he used to do every thing day to day. The stump... is no good. It cannot do... any thing. Yeah sure, he can use the stump to push little objects about sometimes but that's nothing, nothing compared to what proper arms can do, and there's no way he wants any one to see the emphasis of his handicap if he is to attempt to use the stump.
The stump... he just wants to forget. Not have every one stare at it. But here we are, for some reason, between him and the only man in the room looking at him without pity or scorn is this... his outstretched stump.
And as every one looks at this part of him that has only ever been a hinderence, the shriveled hand grew and filled out.
Suddenly, he was whole.
~ ~ ~
What God wants is your hurt, your disability, your pain. He wants you to hold it out. Not hide it away. 'cause He wants to make you whole again.
What would it take you to stretch out your stump?
Do you want to be healed? Or have you got comfortable with that perpetual hurt, sin in your life? Won't you just trust me... He's not going to laugh at your injury, He's not going to scorn your tears, He's not going to ignore you like so many have done so before.
He wants to change your life.
~ ~ ~
Pastor Reggie Dabbs was at City Church today and he touched on the above scripture. I never saw the significance of that man's stretching out his disabled arm as opposed to the healthy one. It never dawned on me - how hard it is to show your lack to God yet this unnamed man did.
Sometimes, responding to an altar call, confiding in a friend, crying during worship... all these stuff we avoid. Just in case people, or worst God sees the fullness of your inadequacy.
Sod people. God is not going to condemn you. He wants to make you whole. He wants you to want Him to make you whole. And honestly, as for people's stares and what-nots, most are preoccupied with their own problems. Others have the same problems as you. And whoever judges you, you can ignore, because we all have to answer to the same God one day.
If you are in right with the King of Kings, you are in right. Sod people.
I was at the altar today. Had to lay down something that would keep me looking back at Melb otherwise, and had to choose to let go of something in Sg that I probably have to face when I go back.
As I sobbed away during worship at how hard every thing seems, He said - and I am blogging this so I will remember always when I read my posts - the Lord Almighty, my King and Saviour, Lover of my soul and my Tower of Refuge said,
"Remember I have a call on your life."
Because You are in charge and You are Love and I can trust You, so I let go. So I lay bare my wound. So I respond.
My God is big....
"Going on from that place, he went into their synagogue, and a man with a shriveled hand was there. Looking for a reason to accuse Jesus, they asked him, "Is it lawful to heal on the Sabbath?"
He said to them, “If any of you has a sheep and it falls into a pit on the Sabbath, will you not take hold of it and lift it out? How much more valuable is a man than a sheep! Therefore it is lawful to do good on the Sabbath.”
Then he said to the man, “Stretch out your hand.” So he stretched it out and it was completely restored, just as sound as the other. But the Pharisees went out and plotted how they might kill Jesus."
- Matthew 12: 9 - 13
~ ~ ~
Imagine that - You are without an arm.
You have one good arm, and one stump where the other is supposed to be.
You are in the synagogue, the temple, the church. Along came this man so many have been whispering about. With him is a crowd of the most well-known teachers of the temple. You looked at the scene before you, just like every one else around you. Suddenly, one of those teachers - you recognised he is important because of his robes and the phylacteries on his forehead and left arm - glanced at you and walked over, jabbing his fingers at you.
All eyes turn to you.
The man pointed at your stump of an arm.
"Is it lawful to heal on the Sabbath?" The whole group of teachers asked the only one among them not adorned in robes or wearing phylacteries.
You felt embarassed. All of them were looking at your handicap. And all around you, even without looking up, you knew that every other boy and men in the temple were staring at you. You felt a blush of shame come on and lowered your head, in case any one sees.
Then He spoke.
"Stretch out your hand."
And for some reason, you stretch out your stump of an arm. You didn't know why. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw one of the teachers flinch disapprovingly at the shriveled mess of tissues that you proffered at the One some said is the Messiah. You look at that same sight, the lack of your limb, the source of much emotional pain and more tears than you care to admit.
You don't know why you proffered that stump.
Why would a disabled man offer his disabled arm when someone says to stretch out his hand? Wouldn't stretching out the good hand be the natural reaction? That other hand has nothing to hide, no shame and could actually obey any instructions this Jesus might ask. This good hand is the hand that he used to do every thing day to day. The stump... is no good. It cannot do... any thing. Yeah sure, he can use the stump to push little objects about sometimes but that's nothing, nothing compared to what proper arms can do, and there's no way he wants any one to see the emphasis of his handicap if he is to attempt to use the stump.
The stump... he just wants to forget. Not have every one stare at it. But here we are, for some reason, between him and the only man in the room looking at him without pity or scorn is this... his outstretched stump.
And as every one looks at this part of him that has only ever been a hinderence, the shriveled hand grew and filled out.
Suddenly, he was whole.
~ ~ ~
What God wants is your hurt, your disability, your pain. He wants you to hold it out. Not hide it away. 'cause He wants to make you whole again.
What would it take you to stretch out your stump?
Do you want to be healed? Or have you got comfortable with that perpetual hurt, sin in your life? Won't you just trust me... He's not going to laugh at your injury, He's not going to scorn your tears, He's not going to ignore you like so many have done so before.
He wants to change your life.
~ ~ ~
Pastor Reggie Dabbs was at City Church today and he touched on the above scripture. I never saw the significance of that man's stretching out his disabled arm as opposed to the healthy one. It never dawned on me - how hard it is to show your lack to God yet this unnamed man did.
Sometimes, responding to an altar call, confiding in a friend, crying during worship... all these stuff we avoid. Just in case people, or worst God sees the fullness of your inadequacy.
Sod people. God is not going to condemn you. He wants to make you whole. He wants you to want Him to make you whole. And honestly, as for people's stares and what-nots, most are preoccupied with their own problems. Others have the same problems as you. And whoever judges you, you can ignore, because we all have to answer to the same God one day.
If you are in right with the King of Kings, you are in right. Sod people.
I was at the altar today. Had to lay down something that would keep me looking back at Melb otherwise, and had to choose to let go of something in Sg that I probably have to face when I go back.
As I sobbed away during worship at how hard every thing seems, He said - and I am blogging this so I will remember always when I read my posts - the Lord Almighty, my King and Saviour, Lover of my soul and my Tower of Refuge said,
"Remember I have a call on your life."
Because You are in charge and You are Love and I can trust You, so I let go. So I lay bare my wound. So I respond.
My God is big....
Saturday, January 15, 2005
Thursday, January 13, 2005
21:43.
It’s finally night out and me, partly driven by the warmth in the house, have taken to sitting on the metal balcony door with my laptop. The traffic lights at the junction just left to this little would-be horizontal skylight are making their usual clicks, switching to a 16-beat click when the green man comes on.
From here, I people watch, star watch and car watch. This is a vantage point for watching cars make illegal turns, I think. Even a non-driver like myself knows how some maneuvers cannot possibly be legal.
Makes me wish I can drive and drove here.
It is not true that you cannot see stars in the night skies while within the city. It is true that they can be observed in much larger numbers outside, yes, but they are not devoid from here either.
From where I sit, there are 10 of them. One of me.
Whenever I look up into the Melbourne skies and see more than a couple of stars, I am reminded of the two camps I attended last year. Easter Camp, and July Camp and I’ve ascertained that it is true that every time I remember the camps – the latter especially – I feel a nostalgic, thankful and wistful at the same time.
Wistful – I haven’t used this word for so long. Where did you go, bud? You perfectly sum up a familiar feeling in my heart and tummy these days.
I can hear every conversation every person walking on the street below have as they walk on by. And I hope I am not going to attract any moths sitting here in the dark with my laptop screen like some flaming signal to them.
Click, click, click, click. Clickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclick.
Many times, Lord, I have stood or sat on this balcony and talked to you. I have been here with tears in my eyes, thankful that I am far enough from any observer for them to notice a strange little girl, crying alone on a tiny balcony. At this spot where I am now parked, Lord, I have prayed for this city you placed me in and which You chose to give my heart to.
For everything, there is a season. Lord, I am still in suspension.
Somewhere deep inside where Your reassurance have made strong, I am still even as my heart is wringed.
I wonder if I will always be filling myself up with pictures and memories. I pray and hope I will never forget. Not just the things that shouldn’t be forgotten, or which the heart says I can never forget but keep too, Lord help me, the colours and hues, the details that make a place alive and the soul sing in response and in passing, remembrance.
You said I am no longer in the Valley of Baca.
You said that I am called to greatness and I will go from glory to glory.
And You know what? I mean, You do since You know all things but hear me, Dad.
I believe.
Whatever comes, I believe.
It’s finally night out and me, partly driven by the warmth in the house, have taken to sitting on the metal balcony door with my laptop. The traffic lights at the junction just left to this little would-be horizontal skylight are making their usual clicks, switching to a 16-beat click when the green man comes on.
From here, I people watch, star watch and car watch. This is a vantage point for watching cars make illegal turns, I think. Even a non-driver like myself knows how some maneuvers cannot possibly be legal.
Makes me wish I can drive and drove here.
It is not true that you cannot see stars in the night skies while within the city. It is true that they can be observed in much larger numbers outside, yes, but they are not devoid from here either.
From where I sit, there are 10 of them. One of me.
Whenever I look up into the Melbourne skies and see more than a couple of stars, I am reminded of the two camps I attended last year. Easter Camp, and July Camp and I’ve ascertained that it is true that every time I remember the camps – the latter especially – I feel a nostalgic, thankful and wistful at the same time.
Wistful – I haven’t used this word for so long. Where did you go, bud? You perfectly sum up a familiar feeling in my heart and tummy these days.
I can hear every conversation every person walking on the street below have as they walk on by. And I hope I am not going to attract any moths sitting here in the dark with my laptop screen like some flaming signal to them.
Click, click, click, click. Clickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclick.
Many times, Lord, I have stood or sat on this balcony and talked to you. I have been here with tears in my eyes, thankful that I am far enough from any observer for them to notice a strange little girl, crying alone on a tiny balcony. At this spot where I am now parked, Lord, I have prayed for this city you placed me in and which You chose to give my heart to.
For everything, there is a season. Lord, I am still in suspension.
Somewhere deep inside where Your reassurance have made strong, I am still even as my heart is wringed.
I wonder if I will always be filling myself up with pictures and memories. I pray and hope I will never forget. Not just the things that shouldn’t be forgotten, or which the heart says I can never forget but keep too, Lord help me, the colours and hues, the details that make a place alive and the soul sing in response and in passing, remembrance.
You said I am no longer in the Valley of Baca.
You said that I am called to greatness and I will go from glory to glory.
And You know what? I mean, You do since You know all things but hear me, Dad.
I believe.
Whatever comes, I believe.
Tuesday, January 11, 2005
23:55.
It's five minutes to midnight on a Tuesday night and I have Planet Shakers blasting from my laptop at the highest volume possible. Not as loud as my shouts/ screams of "My God is big, so strong, so mighty", lyrics that are cries from inside and reminders that I am under the protection, guidance and complete care of a God who can do all things and through who I can do all things.
To borrow Sinead O Conner's words, Lord, "nothing compares, nothing compares to You".
When you still don't know whether you would be carving out a career in Sg or Melb, making plans is hard. I look forward to things that are going to happen in the near future then stop myself, and say "I won't be here" then equivocate and say "I have no idea whether I would be here".
I have forgotten many things in Singapore. Certain street names escape my attempt to locate them in the recesses of my mind. Two months ago, I looked through the little red notebook in which I scribbled all the numbers my Sg mobile contained and I realised there are people who I cannot place at all. Just three days ago, while going through an old email account, I saw one of the scribbled names in an email and finally managed to place one of these persons who have been mere names for two months. I cannot remember how my mother's cooking tastes like. I cannot remember the feel of my super single bed. I remember the Eeyore and Garfield I hug to sleep but can't remembered how they felt cradled. I can't remember the feel of my beige piano, left standing there in the corner of our purple living room.
Would the shade of the walls be lighter? Would the pink curtains (a result of non-colour true samples) finally look more right and pale? Would my room smell slept in by someone else?
What would be on my blue Ikea desk? How much dust might there be on the cover of my keyboard, placed on that wide, 2.06metres-tall Ikea open bookshelf that gathers so much dust?
When I look into that full-length mirror on the wall, that mirror whose bottom most panel suffered cracks - on the left or right corner, I cannot recall - caused by me accidentally ramming my office chair with rollers into it, how different would I seem to my own eyes?
Would I look taller in my room? There was a time when I used to realise that this ceiling above me was different and higher, except now it is the norm.
Would my white wardrobe looked slightly yellow?
Would my white bedside drawer share that fate?
What about the white bed frame?
When I lie down on the bed and look up at the light green ceiling, and the two similar green walls and two blue walls, what would I think?
Would I miss Melb?
Would I miss 222 Victoria Street?
Would I miss the smell of the night time air, that air that I took deeply into my lungs half an hour ago as I stood on our little balcony?
When I play my piano and love the feeling of doing so again, would my mind unfaithfully be momentarily distracted by memories of the drumset in my living room here?
Similarly, would I shamefully compare my dear church with City Church?
There are some things I wish for and to and some I do not. Sat noon, I stared at the skies from where I laid on the couch and told You what I know I want. I still don't know truly if I want to be in Melb/ Sg and that's one of the biggest decisions and probably the most urgent one I have to settle on but there was something I knew I want, every thing aside. But I know that will only happen if You choose to and I am not going to stick my nose or fingers into this in ways I should not. Dad....
I am remembering some things I have forgotten. Images of me in Singapore have started running in fragmented reels in my mind's eye. I remember the simple pleasure of certain routines and places and I miss some people in honestly real ways.
And I don't know why I typed "Would I miss Melb?" just now.
I already know the answer.
I stare at you
you stare at me.
the looking glass can't speak
so can you? girl in a land I cannot see?
tell me the stories in words plain to understand
interpret me every look and hue
the slight sad look in the brown eyes
that painted smile so slightly lop-sided
speak to me in stories plain to speak about
and tell me what my eyes are seeing
and what i am not saying
I already know the answer.
It's five minutes to midnight on a Tuesday night and I have Planet Shakers blasting from my laptop at the highest volume possible. Not as loud as my shouts/ screams of "My God is big, so strong, so mighty", lyrics that are cries from inside and reminders that I am under the protection, guidance and complete care of a God who can do all things and through who I can do all things.
To borrow Sinead O Conner's words, Lord, "nothing compares, nothing compares to You".
When you still don't know whether you would be carving out a career in Sg or Melb, making plans is hard. I look forward to things that are going to happen in the near future then stop myself, and say "I won't be here" then equivocate and say "I have no idea whether I would be here".
I have forgotten many things in Singapore. Certain street names escape my attempt to locate them in the recesses of my mind. Two months ago, I looked through the little red notebook in which I scribbled all the numbers my Sg mobile contained and I realised there are people who I cannot place at all. Just three days ago, while going through an old email account, I saw one of the scribbled names in an email and finally managed to place one of these persons who have been mere names for two months. I cannot remember how my mother's cooking tastes like. I cannot remember the feel of my super single bed. I remember the Eeyore and Garfield I hug to sleep but can't remembered how they felt cradled. I can't remember the feel of my beige piano, left standing there in the corner of our purple living room.
Would the shade of the walls be lighter? Would the pink curtains (a result of non-colour true samples) finally look more right and pale? Would my room smell slept in by someone else?
What would be on my blue Ikea desk? How much dust might there be on the cover of my keyboard, placed on that wide, 2.06metres-tall Ikea open bookshelf that gathers so much dust?
When I look into that full-length mirror on the wall, that mirror whose bottom most panel suffered cracks - on the left or right corner, I cannot recall - caused by me accidentally ramming my office chair with rollers into it, how different would I seem to my own eyes?
Would I look taller in my room? There was a time when I used to realise that this ceiling above me was different and higher, except now it is the norm.
Would my white wardrobe looked slightly yellow?
Would my white bedside drawer share that fate?
What about the white bed frame?
When I lie down on the bed and look up at the light green ceiling, and the two similar green walls and two blue walls, what would I think?
Would I miss Melb?
Would I miss 222 Victoria Street?
Would I miss the smell of the night time air, that air that I took deeply into my lungs half an hour ago as I stood on our little balcony?
When I play my piano and love the feeling of doing so again, would my mind unfaithfully be momentarily distracted by memories of the drumset in my living room here?
Similarly, would I shamefully compare my dear church with City Church?
There are some things I wish for and to and some I do not. Sat noon, I stared at the skies from where I laid on the couch and told You what I know I want. I still don't know truly if I want to be in Melb/ Sg and that's one of the biggest decisions and probably the most urgent one I have to settle on but there was something I knew I want, every thing aside. But I know that will only happen if You choose to and I am not going to stick my nose or fingers into this in ways I should not. Dad....
I am remembering some things I have forgotten. Images of me in Singapore have started running in fragmented reels in my mind's eye. I remember the simple pleasure of certain routines and places and I miss some people in honestly real ways.
And I don't know why I typed "Would I miss Melb?" just now.
I already know the answer.
I stare at you
you stare at me.
the looking glass can't speak
so can you? girl in a land I cannot see?
tell me the stories in words plain to understand
interpret me every look and hue
the slight sad look in the brown eyes
that painted smile so slightly lop-sided
speak to me in stories plain to speak about
and tell me what my eyes are seeing
and what i am not saying
I already know the answer.
Sunday, January 09, 2005
Saturday, January 08, 2005
15:46.
"Bono was attending the opening of a museum exhibition in Holland by U2's longtime photographer Anton Corbijn, "and he had a room full of Bonos, if you can think of anything worse," the singer says, chuckling with embarrassment. "But to see these giant pictures, through the years -- I got stuck in front of one, it must have been 1981 or '82, of me taking a ride in a helicopter. The eyes were so open. The whole face was so open.
"A journalist sidled up to me and said" -- Bono affects a thick, old-world accent -- " 'Vat vould Bono now say to dis Bono?' I went, 'Well, I would tell him, he's right -- and stop second-guessing himself.'
"The band was what I believed in then," Bono contends. "My faith in myself was a different matter. That innocence -- you don't just want to shed it. You want to beat it off you, scratch it off. You think that knowledge of the world will somehow give you an easier route through it."
- www.u2.com
- - - - - - -
I was just chatting with an old friend who I met a whole 10 years ago. What happened, I asked? We got more cellulite, she answered.
Here's the first mention of this number on a blog this year - 24.
That's the age I will be this year. Two dozens. Full circle.
I looked back at the person I was at 14. Bono had a band he could believe in; I believed simply in myself, and knew that was not enough as salvation. I was my own god, but I didn't and couldn't worship me. The innocence of adolescence - and me, every step trying to rid myself of that wide-eyed innocence that I thought merely uselessly characterised my age - trying to navigate and understand the world and meaning and oneself is heartpain. Navigating life with pure instinct (and much Grace) and desperation for more than this was like a blind girl in a tunnel holding her heart in her hands (because it is the only part that can feel) and using it to grope her way around.
10 years on, now. I am still trying to navigate and understand the world and meaning, and who I am in the midst of all this.
My salvation has found me and is continually being worked out in me.
I have a God and I can live.
At one point, while growing up, I probably did think "that knowledge of the world will somehow give you an easier route through it".
Somehow along the way, as basis to believe in oneself completely changes its foundations, and Hope is learnt while Faith works on, I hold on to the innocence I understand now is so precious and I want to navigate my world while holding on to this innocence.
However cliche that sounded.
When I was 14, I knew clearly what I wanted.
In half a year's time, I will be 24. And I have no idea what I want.
Dreams have been fulfilled, expectations have been exceeded, growing young is the theme of the reversal of cynicism and jadedness.
What do you want? What do I want? So often these days when people ask me that, I am at a loss for words.
I want to be nobody else except who I am supposed to be. I want to be a person who means what I say and do not say any thing I do not mean. I want to be willing to love and give, and hurt only when it's necessary. I want to dare to be open and transparent and real.
I guess being lost for words doesn't mean not knowing what I want.
Let's do this through the cycle of dozens, since it's 12 x 2 this year for me.
In the next dozen years, I want to be married, I want to be in the job that is my calling, and I want to be making a difference. I want to still look good, I want to still be passionate about music and enjoy my movies and books and pop culture. I want to be as honest and unhidden as that day 14 years ago at the altar when I pledged to give YOU my 100 per cent with this one life. I want to still be in love with Jesus and more so, passionately and unceasingly so. I want to not be afraid of tackling issues that have to be tackled, of crying or laughing or being goofy. I want to be who I am supposed to be. I want to not be weighed down with wanting money or material possessions. I want to be unafraid of breaking conventions. I want a husband who still holds my hand at home and out, who's not afraid of showing he loves me. I want intelligent discussions, I want pop culture and witty talk, I want fun-spirited wrestling around and goofy talk. I want kisses at the traffic lights, caresses of the neck when I am before the laptop, hugs from behind when I prepare food in the kitchen. I want to know theology better, know the classics, speak ok, at least one more language, be still drumming, and be a better drummer, guitarist and pianist, I want to roast turkeys during Thanksgiving and watch sitcoms on telly. I want to feel fulfilled and yet keep being driven to do even more while I can and because I can and because I am compelled to. I want to have preached before. I want to minister to people. I want to spend time in prayer every single day. I want to be a better writer and a amazing wordsmith. I want to cut through the babble and capture order in chaos both in my writing and in my life. I want to be mentoring someone well, being able to pour my life in someone else's. I want to still be in love with my husband and him to still be madly in love with me. I want to be relevant to Christians and non-Christians. I want to still read the news and understand politics and economics better. I want my brother to come over to my house with his family and vice versa and I want to know and get along extremely well with my sister-in-law and their kids. I want to love my in-laws and for my husband to love his in-laws. I want to sing aloud and talk to myself around the house still if I feel like it. I want to still wear un-aunty jeans. I want to be able to drive, be able to ride a bicycle and know what's it like on the back of a moving motorcycle. I want my husband to share the chores, cook too for me, and not take me for granted or expect the wife to be the maid. I want us to still go out on dates. I want guitars and a piano or a drumset at home. I want a romantic proposal that obviously had a lottt of heart and thoughts put into it, not a "should we apply for a HDB flat?". I want to serve in church. I want to jump during praise and worship from the outflowing of the joy and gladness in my heart and spirit, and not be hindered or ruled by age or expectations. I want to be an assured woman and empower women, to help the abused and neglected. I want to still go out with my friends and be involved in their lives, as they are in mine. I want to still pause and linger to stare at sunsets, rainbows or plain beautiful clouds. I want to - every moment - love God with all my heart, all my mind, all my soul and all my might, all that I am capable of every moment.
And there's more. Even as there's probably too little of some subjects or big picture that I wrote about.
It is 5.37pm, nearly two hours since I started this post. In between, I deep fried a piece of marinated fillet the way Mom does and fried up some eggplant like brinjals with the chili, ginger, garlic mix I broke the mortar pounding.
Yes, I broke a mortar.
But that ain't the point.
The point is this.
I am 24 years old. Who I was is not who I am, and yet what I wanted are not all undifferent from what I want but I am alive. And I am going to live like the saved.
Because I have been saved.
And that's the diff.
"Bono was attending the opening of a museum exhibition in Holland by U2's longtime photographer Anton Corbijn, "and he had a room full of Bonos, if you can think of anything worse," the singer says, chuckling with embarrassment. "But to see these giant pictures, through the years -- I got stuck in front of one, it must have been 1981 or '82, of me taking a ride in a helicopter. The eyes were so open. The whole face was so open.
"A journalist sidled up to me and said" -- Bono affects a thick, old-world accent -- " 'Vat vould Bono now say to dis Bono?' I went, 'Well, I would tell him, he's right -- and stop second-guessing himself.'
"The band was what I believed in then," Bono contends. "My faith in myself was a different matter. That innocence -- you don't just want to shed it. You want to beat it off you, scratch it off. You think that knowledge of the world will somehow give you an easier route through it."
- www.u2.com
- - - - - - -
I was just chatting with an old friend who I met a whole 10 years ago. What happened, I asked? We got more cellulite, she answered.
Here's the first mention of this number on a blog this year - 24.
That's the age I will be this year. Two dozens. Full circle.
I looked back at the person I was at 14. Bono had a band he could believe in; I believed simply in myself, and knew that was not enough as salvation. I was my own god, but I didn't and couldn't worship me. The innocence of adolescence - and me, every step trying to rid myself of that wide-eyed innocence that I thought merely uselessly characterised my age - trying to navigate and understand the world and meaning and oneself is heartpain. Navigating life with pure instinct (and much Grace) and desperation for more than this was like a blind girl in a tunnel holding her heart in her hands (because it is the only part that can feel) and using it to grope her way around.
10 years on, now. I am still trying to navigate and understand the world and meaning, and who I am in the midst of all this.
My salvation has found me and is continually being worked out in me.
I have a God and I can live.
At one point, while growing up, I probably did think "that knowledge of the world will somehow give you an easier route through it".
Somehow along the way, as basis to believe in oneself completely changes its foundations, and Hope is learnt while Faith works on, I hold on to the innocence I understand now is so precious and I want to navigate my world while holding on to this innocence.
However cliche that sounded.
When I was 14, I knew clearly what I wanted.
In half a year's time, I will be 24. And I have no idea what I want.
Dreams have been fulfilled, expectations have been exceeded, growing young is the theme of the reversal of cynicism and jadedness.
What do you want? What do I want? So often these days when people ask me that, I am at a loss for words.
I want to be nobody else except who I am supposed to be. I want to be a person who means what I say and do not say any thing I do not mean. I want to be willing to love and give, and hurt only when it's necessary. I want to dare to be open and transparent and real.
I guess being lost for words doesn't mean not knowing what I want.
Let's do this through the cycle of dozens, since it's 12 x 2 this year for me.
In the next dozen years, I want to be married, I want to be in the job that is my calling, and I want to be making a difference. I want to still look good, I want to still be passionate about music and enjoy my movies and books and pop culture. I want to be as honest and unhidden as that day 14 years ago at the altar when I pledged to give YOU my 100 per cent with this one life. I want to still be in love with Jesus and more so, passionately and unceasingly so. I want to not be afraid of tackling issues that have to be tackled, of crying or laughing or being goofy. I want to be who I am supposed to be. I want to not be weighed down with wanting money or material possessions. I want to be unafraid of breaking conventions. I want a husband who still holds my hand at home and out, who's not afraid of showing he loves me. I want intelligent discussions, I want pop culture and witty talk, I want fun-spirited wrestling around and goofy talk. I want kisses at the traffic lights, caresses of the neck when I am before the laptop, hugs from behind when I prepare food in the kitchen. I want to know theology better, know the classics, speak ok, at least one more language, be still drumming, and be a better drummer, guitarist and pianist, I want to roast turkeys during Thanksgiving and watch sitcoms on telly. I want to feel fulfilled and yet keep being driven to do even more while I can and because I can and because I am compelled to. I want to have preached before. I want to minister to people. I want to spend time in prayer every single day. I want to be a better writer and a amazing wordsmith. I want to cut through the babble and capture order in chaos both in my writing and in my life. I want to be mentoring someone well, being able to pour my life in someone else's. I want to still be in love with my husband and him to still be madly in love with me. I want to be relevant to Christians and non-Christians. I want to still read the news and understand politics and economics better. I want my brother to come over to my house with his family and vice versa and I want to know and get along extremely well with my sister-in-law and their kids. I want to love my in-laws and for my husband to love his in-laws. I want to sing aloud and talk to myself around the house still if I feel like it. I want to still wear un-aunty jeans. I want to be able to drive, be able to ride a bicycle and know what's it like on the back of a moving motorcycle. I want my husband to share the chores, cook too for me, and not take me for granted or expect the wife to be the maid. I want us to still go out on dates. I want guitars and a piano or a drumset at home. I want a romantic proposal that obviously had a lottt of heart and thoughts put into it, not a "should we apply for a HDB flat?". I want to serve in church. I want to jump during praise and worship from the outflowing of the joy and gladness in my heart and spirit, and not be hindered or ruled by age or expectations. I want to be an assured woman and empower women, to help the abused and neglected. I want to still go out with my friends and be involved in their lives, as they are in mine. I want to still pause and linger to stare at sunsets, rainbows or plain beautiful clouds. I want to - every moment - love God with all my heart, all my mind, all my soul and all my might, all that I am capable of every moment.
And there's more. Even as there's probably too little of some subjects or big picture that I wrote about.
It is 5.37pm, nearly two hours since I started this post. In between, I deep fried a piece of marinated fillet the way Mom does and fried up some eggplant like brinjals with the chili, ginger, garlic mix I broke the mortar pounding.
Yes, I broke a mortar.
But that ain't the point.
The point is this.
I am 24 years old. Who I was is not who I am, and yet what I wanted are not all undifferent from what I want but I am alive. And I am going to live like the saved.
Because I have been saved.
And that's the diff.
11:08.
Attachment is one of the strangest manoveurs of the human heart.
It might originate from the mundane, from say, rountine. And as time goes by, you are loathe to break it. It might start from normalcy. Living in a set place for 17 years of your life. Or forgive me if I might sound arty farty, attachment - the cute furry loved pet or vicious predator, however you fancy it to be - might, whether it be true or not, seem like it jumped and latched onto you as you turned a street corner in another place and another time, or at least somewhere in your mind.
Whatever it is, you end up feeling like a mutt one time or another.
The Bible says "simply let your 'Yes' be a 'Yes'; and your 'No' be a 'No'" (Matt 5:37). And in Proverbs 4:23 - "Guard your heart, for it is the wellspring of life". Hold on, it's "Above all else, guard your heart, for it is the wellspring of life".
Guard your heart and be true in words.
I don't ever want to be who I am not supposed to be.
So.
Yes, Lord. Yes, Lord. Yes, yes Lord.
Attachment is one of the strangest manoveurs of the human heart.
It might originate from the mundane, from say, rountine. And as time goes by, you are loathe to break it. It might start from normalcy. Living in a set place for 17 years of your life. Or forgive me if I might sound arty farty, attachment - the cute furry loved pet or vicious predator, however you fancy it to be - might, whether it be true or not, seem like it jumped and latched onto you as you turned a street corner in another place and another time, or at least somewhere in your mind.
Whatever it is, you end up feeling like a mutt one time or another.
The Bible says "simply let your 'Yes' be a 'Yes'; and your 'No' be a 'No'" (Matt 5:37). And in Proverbs 4:23 - "Guard your heart, for it is the wellspring of life". Hold on, it's "Above all else, guard your heart, for it is the wellspring of life".
Guard your heart and be true in words.
I don't ever want to be who I am not supposed to be.
So.
Yes, Lord. Yes, Lord. Yes, yes Lord.
Friday, January 07, 2005
Thursday, January 06, 2005
15:49.
The things I cannot pack up into a suitcase, the people who cannot be freezedried and vacuum packed, the air and wind and skies unique to a geographical location, the roads that belong to a city and not another....
What are the hardest things to leave?
Everything.
All that I have to leave behind make up the hardest thing.
Yet all that you can't leave behind - the stuff in the suitcase of the heart, memories and much feeling - are the things you can carry. Inside of you.
I cannot transpose what I have here to Singapore, should it be that my time post-Feb 5 is meant to be in Singapore, but somehow, I will never leave what I have.
I guess I can't.
The things I cannot pack up into a suitcase, the people who cannot be freezedried and vacuum packed, the air and wind and skies unique to a geographical location, the roads that belong to a city and not another....
What are the hardest things to leave?
Everything.
All that I have to leave behind make up the hardest thing.
Yet all that you can't leave behind - the stuff in the suitcase of the heart, memories and much feeling - are the things you can carry. Inside of you.
I cannot transpose what I have here to Singapore, should it be that my time post-Feb 5 is meant to be in Singapore, but somehow, I will never leave what I have.
I guess I can't.
Tuesday, January 04, 2005
Monday, January 03, 2005
11:49.
I remembered thinking before, more than once, how it is tragically fortunate that I live in these times. As a journalist, as an observer, a lover of history and such, knowing that you live in times where forever is changed gives you a strange feeling.
Berlin Wall, 911, Gulf War, Iraq War, Invasion of Afghanistan, terrorism, communism's embrace of capitalism, and now the Asia Quake.... In between, there were the purer political upheavals and power issues and struggles.
To use the word "fortunate" to describe living in a time like this is not something I can do now. In little pockets of volatile moments in the first few days after Dec 26, resentment and detest towards world affairs and tragedies were paramount, as was a remote protest - which was nevertheless there - about being here now, a protest heightened by how I can not do much.
Dec 30, last year, I was with two guys - who are at this moment, my closest friends here - on St Kilda beach and I told them what I have expressed before - that this is a strange generation that we are, and what we have seen and will see will be much and extreme and I am not sure if I want to see how our world will be 26 years later, when I am 50. [If I ever get there].
I am living life on my knees.
I have learnt and am learning that that is the only way to get into flight and stay midair.
I remembered thinking before, more than once, how it is tragically fortunate that I live in these times. As a journalist, as an observer, a lover of history and such, knowing that you live in times where forever is changed gives you a strange feeling.
Berlin Wall, 911, Gulf War, Iraq War, Invasion of Afghanistan, terrorism, communism's embrace of capitalism, and now the Asia Quake.... In between, there were the purer political upheavals and power issues and struggles.
To use the word "fortunate" to describe living in a time like this is not something I can do now. In little pockets of volatile moments in the first few days after Dec 26, resentment and detest towards world affairs and tragedies were paramount, as was a remote protest - which was nevertheless there - about being here now, a protest heightened by how I can not do much.
Dec 30, last year, I was with two guys - who are at this moment, my closest friends here - on St Kilda beach and I told them what I have expressed before - that this is a strange generation that we are, and what we have seen and will see will be much and extreme and I am not sure if I want to see how our world will be 26 years later, when I am 50. [If I ever get there].
I am living life on my knees.
I have learnt and am learning that that is the only way to get into flight and stay midair.
15:47.
29th last month, last year, I called home for the first time since the tsunami struck. Two aunties were in the woodlands home and the happy sounds of conversation and television were carried over the lines as I talked to my Dad. He sounded happy, happy to hear my voice, and happy in the company that was there, happy after a visit to Sheng Siong, a hypermarket my mom and him love going to.
We talked about the tsunami, I made sure that nobody we know or he knows were involved and he passed the phone to my mom, who was - accompanied by splashing tap water - doing cooking prep; and my aunties whose voices I have not heard for 10 months now.
My aunties told me how they are sure that God will make the way straight for me in these crossroads, my mom talked to me about my pastor - who lost his brother and new sister-in-law this month, and pushed by a sudden spurt of emotions, I asked to talk to my brother.
Told him I loved him, am very glad he is my brother and that I am proud of him.
The normalcy of every thing - even him being his non-responsive with emotions self - somehow made me more emotional.
I felt driven to my knees with thanksgiving.
And felt some sort of guilt that I seemed to be benefiting from the tsunami disaster, because its horror made personal affairs more clear to me.
The next day, I was at St Kilda's beach. When the waters came into view, my steps slowed and I had to exert effort to push myself forward. Every thing was so beautiful, so normal... my world and the company I was keeping with was good, and less than half the world away, every thing once normal and beautiful have been robbed.
The beauty before my eyes, the waves and the horizon had a terrifying aspect. I don't think I would be able to touch sea water for a good while.
New Year's Eve was spent with two very good friends. A time of jamming after dinner turned into worship and we gladly, very gladly decided to spend the new year's eve in a contemplative, quiet manner. Went over to Bouverie Close nine minutes before midnight, since its rooftop boosts a better view of the fireworks that were slated for appearance all around Melb.
The fireworks' beauty seemed weak, weak perhaps because they could not elevate suffering perhaps, or weak because at the moment they went off, we are all aware of the suffering still ongoing on the immense scale in Asia and Africa.
I could only give a crooked smile in response to the revellers' oohs and aahs, though it was sweet hearing happiness. In quietness, I thought fleetingly about how humans are always drawn to things that are bright and again fleetingly, I note that the briefness of the fireworks' illumination and the briefness of existence.
I am not sure why but we - or at least, I know I - spent a minute staring at the spot where the fireworks appeared after the last ones faded away. Then, it was hugs, happy new years and a brief stop at a friend's apt in the same building before we adjourned to another in the same building.
Then, it was something like two-and-a-half hours of prayer where everyone present - the Spirit too - wept.
On the first day of this new year, I hurted with the hurting and stood in awe of God and what He chooses to do.
Dec 30, 31 2004, Jan 1, Jan 2 2005 - They seemed melted together in a languidly alive recollection, where tears and laughter co-existed perfectly while this year ahead was shaped. And I realised half a day after the first half hour of the year, that those five shots were the symbolic mourning for my - and the world's - grief before I could move.
I have clarity in feelings words cannot express.
And I am thankful.
29th last month, last year, I called home for the first time since the tsunami struck. Two aunties were in the woodlands home and the happy sounds of conversation and television were carried over the lines as I talked to my Dad. He sounded happy, happy to hear my voice, and happy in the company that was there, happy after a visit to Sheng Siong, a hypermarket my mom and him love going to.
We talked about the tsunami, I made sure that nobody we know or he knows were involved and he passed the phone to my mom, who was - accompanied by splashing tap water - doing cooking prep; and my aunties whose voices I have not heard for 10 months now.
My aunties told me how they are sure that God will make the way straight for me in these crossroads, my mom talked to me about my pastor - who lost his brother and new sister-in-law this month, and pushed by a sudden spurt of emotions, I asked to talk to my brother.
Told him I loved him, am very glad he is my brother and that I am proud of him.
The normalcy of every thing - even him being his non-responsive with emotions self - somehow made me more emotional.
I felt driven to my knees with thanksgiving.
And felt some sort of guilt that I seemed to be benefiting from the tsunami disaster, because its horror made personal affairs more clear to me.
The next day, I was at St Kilda's beach. When the waters came into view, my steps slowed and I had to exert effort to push myself forward. Every thing was so beautiful, so normal... my world and the company I was keeping with was good, and less than half the world away, every thing once normal and beautiful have been robbed.
The beauty before my eyes, the waves and the horizon had a terrifying aspect. I don't think I would be able to touch sea water for a good while.
New Year's Eve was spent with two very good friends. A time of jamming after dinner turned into worship and we gladly, very gladly decided to spend the new year's eve in a contemplative, quiet manner. Went over to Bouverie Close nine minutes before midnight, since its rooftop boosts a better view of the fireworks that were slated for appearance all around Melb.
The fireworks' beauty seemed weak, weak perhaps because they could not elevate suffering perhaps, or weak because at the moment they went off, we are all aware of the suffering still ongoing on the immense scale in Asia and Africa.
I could only give a crooked smile in response to the revellers' oohs and aahs, though it was sweet hearing happiness. In quietness, I thought fleetingly about how humans are always drawn to things that are bright and again fleetingly, I note that the briefness of the fireworks' illumination and the briefness of existence.
I am not sure why but we - or at least, I know I - spent a minute staring at the spot where the fireworks appeared after the last ones faded away. Then, it was hugs, happy new years and a brief stop at a friend's apt in the same building before we adjourned to another in the same building.
Then, it was something like two-and-a-half hours of prayer where everyone present - the Spirit too - wept.
On the first day of this new year, I hurted with the hurting and stood in awe of God and what He chooses to do.
Dec 30, 31 2004, Jan 1, Jan 2 2005 - They seemed melted together in a languidly alive recollection, where tears and laughter co-existed perfectly while this year ahead was shaped. And I realised half a day after the first half hour of the year, that those five shots were the symbolic mourning for my - and the world's - grief before I could move.
I have clarity in feelings words cannot express.
And I am thankful.
Saturday, January 01, 2005
12.23.
These are words from a friend. They sum up so much.
"I saw a lame person today and it made me realize that I have a pair of legs. That may sound stupid but it really struck me. I have a pair of legs while that person has none and so... I will run. I must run. Because I have sight while a blind person doesn't, I must see. Because I can hear while a deaf person can't, I must listen. And because I have life while thousands upon thousands don't, I must live."
This is 2005. And Jesus Christ, I will run for You, I will see and hear and preach, I will love and cry and give and receive and care. I will hold your children and be held, I will give life my best shot. Because I am alive. And I must live.
These are words from a friend. They sum up so much.
"I saw a lame person today and it made me realize that I have a pair of legs. That may sound stupid but it really struck me. I have a pair of legs while that person has none and so... I will run. I must run. Because I have sight while a blind person doesn't, I must see. Because I can hear while a deaf person can't, I must listen. And because I have life while thousands upon thousands don't, I must live."
This is 2005. And Jesus Christ, I will run for You, I will see and hear and preach, I will love and cry and give and receive and care. I will hold your children and be held, I will give life my best shot. Because I am alive. And I must live.
Friday, December 31, 2004
17:07.
"Yahweh, Yahweh
Always pain before a child is born
Yahewh, Yahweh
Still I’m waiting for the dawn
Still waiting for the dawn
the sun is coming up
The sun is coming up on the ocean
This love is like a drop in the ocean
This love is like a drop in the ocean"
- Yahweh, U2
"When the bell tolls, it tolls for me..."
Yet even as I bow my head and contribute to the tears already cried over the stories and realities of those whose lives have been irrevocably changed forever, the onset of the end of the 2004 have brought some clarity about my life and direction.
I am coming full circle.
I have walked through the desert and cried till my eyes were dry, I have swung from one end of the spectrum of Feelings and Word, faith and theology and have learnt to walk the balance (or try with more discernment and less cynicism than I would figure I ever could be capable of); and I am learning to ask again, to dare to dream again, and not not ask for fear of not receiving; to let people in and let people see me vulnerable, whingy and weak and not in control; to worship and not hide behind an instrument; to worship with as much of me cut loose without caring about surrounding people.
More: The spiritual affirmation has been given, I know again that I can minister to people and be used. I know I have been filled and given a lot and I have to learn to use what I have been empowered with.
God, music and writing. My big three. Every area that is precious to me has been requested to be placed on the altar. The more I gave, the more I received in ways that the world would deem useless but these ways have made me glad.
In music, I have been challenged and stretched.
With journalism, I have placed my craft on the altar. And after I did, the significance of my craft and the power of the word and the power and effect of writing in my life... have been shown me so clearly I am rather astounded.
With full-time, I have placed it on the altar.
But I perhaps digress, I have come full-circle.
At the end of this unprecented year, I sit here at the same kitchen table I have sat at since Feb, listening to Aimee Mann and two good friends in my kitchen trying to prepare dinner, and passions and purposes are as clear as they once were.
TS Eilot wrote:
"We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time."
That's how I feel now. Six hours and four minutes away from the new year.
Will write more.
May this new year surpasses the next one.
"Yahweh, Yahweh
Always pain before a child is born
Yahewh, Yahweh
Still I’m waiting for the dawn
Still waiting for the dawn
the sun is coming up
The sun is coming up on the ocean
This love is like a drop in the ocean
This love is like a drop in the ocean"
- Yahweh, U2
"When the bell tolls, it tolls for me..."
Yet even as I bow my head and contribute to the tears already cried over the stories and realities of those whose lives have been irrevocably changed forever, the onset of the end of the 2004 have brought some clarity about my life and direction.
I am coming full circle.
I have walked through the desert and cried till my eyes were dry, I have swung from one end of the spectrum of Feelings and Word, faith and theology and have learnt to walk the balance (or try with more discernment and less cynicism than I would figure I ever could be capable of); and I am learning to ask again, to dare to dream again, and not not ask for fear of not receiving; to let people in and let people see me vulnerable, whingy and weak and not in control; to worship and not hide behind an instrument; to worship with as much of me cut loose without caring about surrounding people.
More: The spiritual affirmation has been given, I know again that I can minister to people and be used. I know I have been filled and given a lot and I have to learn to use what I have been empowered with.
God, music and writing. My big three. Every area that is precious to me has been requested to be placed on the altar. The more I gave, the more I received in ways that the world would deem useless but these ways have made me glad.
In music, I have been challenged and stretched.
With journalism, I have placed my craft on the altar. And after I did, the significance of my craft and the power of the word and the power and effect of writing in my life... have been shown me so clearly I am rather astounded.
With full-time, I have placed it on the altar.
But I perhaps digress, I have come full-circle.
At the end of this unprecented year, I sit here at the same kitchen table I have sat at since Feb, listening to Aimee Mann and two good friends in my kitchen trying to prepare dinner, and passions and purposes are as clear as they once were.
TS Eilot wrote:
"We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time."
That's how I feel now. Six hours and four minutes away from the new year.
Will write more.
May this new year surpasses the next one.
Wednesday, December 29, 2004
15:44.
It was a Sabbath morning, a day after Christmas, and they – all those who are now not – were living.
Those who lived and worked by the coastal areas were hard at work, at their daily toil, making a living out of fishery and tourism. Those they served – the tourists – were sleeping off hangovers or making merry, living the coveted life these coastal resorts advertised.
It is the end of the year. Finally a break from the grind. Holidays were being enjoyed, reflections were being made, life was being had at a slower pace by lovers, families, friends.
And then it all ended.
No lingering goodbyes were allowed; no last hugs or kisses; for some, no last looks and till now, for some, no chance to look upon a loved one’s face.
For too many, their loved ones are in the dust, swept out at sea, bodies mingling with debris and dead animals. For way too many, there is no closure and only torment.
Too much have happened in an unexplainable act of nature. And we all know science cannot explain away pain.
The sun still shines but it can no longer warm them. On those islands and in the countries where destruction has taken over, who can look up to enjoy blue skies and balmy weather? Death is the only thing you can smell, see and feel. The Grim Reaper has done his work in a glorious sweep and with death’s marks evident all around, you wonder if being alive now is something to be thankful for.
The only peace belongs to those whose lives were snatched from them but who now are in a better place. But not all are.
50,000 and counting. Numbers have never seem so loaded, never been so despised, never became such hated harbingers of doom.
And the world moves on, as linear time dictates. People still laugh and make merry, parties are thrown and wine are drunk, dreams are made and consumed. God is not a respecter of men, and His ways, who can understand?
Why, Lord? Why?
Entire islands now underwater, so much lost. And we don’t even care as much as we should. And linear time, one-way, carries us forward as if what happened on Sunday does not even require a respectful pause.
How is the world going to move on from these? It will. But it is still baffling. How could we move on from these when the right thing is to stop all clocks and traffic, still every humming bird and song, and be silent.
For they are gone.
It was a Sabbath morning, a day after Christmas, and they – all those who are now not – were living.
Those who lived and worked by the coastal areas were hard at work, at their daily toil, making a living out of fishery and tourism. Those they served – the tourists – were sleeping off hangovers or making merry, living the coveted life these coastal resorts advertised.
It is the end of the year. Finally a break from the grind. Holidays were being enjoyed, reflections were being made, life was being had at a slower pace by lovers, families, friends.
And then it all ended.
No lingering goodbyes were allowed; no last hugs or kisses; for some, no last looks and till now, for some, no chance to look upon a loved one’s face.
For too many, their loved ones are in the dust, swept out at sea, bodies mingling with debris and dead animals. For way too many, there is no closure and only torment.
Too much have happened in an unexplainable act of nature. And we all know science cannot explain away pain.
The sun still shines but it can no longer warm them. On those islands and in the countries where destruction has taken over, who can look up to enjoy blue skies and balmy weather? Death is the only thing you can smell, see and feel. The Grim Reaper has done his work in a glorious sweep and with death’s marks evident all around, you wonder if being alive now is something to be thankful for.
The only peace belongs to those whose lives were snatched from them but who now are in a better place. But not all are.
50,000 and counting. Numbers have never seem so loaded, never been so despised, never became such hated harbingers of doom.
And the world moves on, as linear time dictates. People still laugh and make merry, parties are thrown and wine are drunk, dreams are made and consumed. God is not a respecter of men, and His ways, who can understand?
Why, Lord? Why?
Entire islands now underwater, so much lost. And we don’t even care as much as we should. And linear time, one-way, carries us forward as if what happened on Sunday does not even require a respectful pause.
How is the world going to move on from these? It will. But it is still baffling. How could we move on from these when the right thing is to stop all clocks and traffic, still every humming bird and song, and be silent.
For they are gone.
Tuesday, December 28, 2004
14:58.
Pray for the tsunami waves victims, final toll for now is near 24,000.
I'm not scared of dying myself but seeing death at work scares me.
During Christmas Eve at service, we were asked to go out and hang a bauble on a bare Christmas tree for those who have left who we want to remember. I sat in my seat and cried. Cried for the newlyweds killed on their honeymoon in New Zealand, my pastor's brother and his bride whom I have not seen before. Cried for the tragedy and its irrationality, cried for their families' losses and cried for the comfort that they are in heaven, and the fact that this comfort does not answer why such has happened.
If I am clingy and emo more these days, maybe it's because I want to hold on to those I love because I am so aware that I can lose your.
Dear Lord, do not turn Your Face away.
Pray for the tsunami waves victims, final toll for now is near 24,000.
I'm not scared of dying myself but seeing death at work scares me.
During Christmas Eve at service, we were asked to go out and hang a bauble on a bare Christmas tree for those who have left who we want to remember. I sat in my seat and cried. Cried for the newlyweds killed on their honeymoon in New Zealand, my pastor's brother and his bride whom I have not seen before. Cried for the tragedy and its irrationality, cried for their families' losses and cried for the comfort that they are in heaven, and the fact that this comfort does not answer why such has happened.
If I am clingy and emo more these days, maybe it's because I want to hold on to those I love because I am so aware that I can lose your.
Dear Lord, do not turn Your Face away.
Monday, December 27, 2004
00:45.
It hailed three times yesterday, the last episode not two hours ago. Yesterday was the coldest day summer had, I reckon. I was in three layers when I went out for dinner - weather website said it was 13 degrees then and apparently 8 degrees feeling like 4 degrees now - and feeling like a wrapped up dumpling again was inconsequential in return for the warmth.
The first time it hailed, I stuck my hand out of the window like a kid and was thrilled to see the little icicles collect in my hands. And when it hailed again the last two times, I stood at the living room balcony door and stared in awe at the sheets of rain and howling wind going whrrr. Lamp posts shook and cars looked like they could be lifted off sideways. I was glad I was indoors and glad for the sight before me.
The last few days seemed to have ran away, escaped from me, blurred into a medley I can't quite distinct without some effort.
Christmas Eve was spent on church, dinner and a nice drive out to The Boulevard, a posh stretch where residents go all out with the Christmas decor to win a year's supply of electricity. As in, all out. Big houses with major decor and lights. Very pretty. Every decorated house seemed like a storybook.
Christmas was church, hung out at a friend's and learnt Bridge as we waited to go to lunch, lunch, a jam session at my house (heh, the bass and electric guitar - albeit with a snapped string - are at my place now), then went to Caulfield for a combined OCF dinner and a walkaround the neighbourhood carolling.
That was the first time in my life I carolled. And I did enjoy it. Remembering the significance of Christmas, walking in crisp cold air with friends and spiritual siblings, and a licence to sing aloud.
Then, Boxing Day was church, lunch, checking out the famed Boxing Day sales and shopping, hanging out at a friend's place and reading the newest issue of 8 Days and going "what?? so-and-so is now at 8 Days??!", then dinner at Blok M, a great Indonesian restaurant.
Yesterday, I lazed about, journal-led, chilled and went out for a Greek dinner.
As I get older, I learn the great importance of good conversation and being silent.
I have a feeling this would be a lesson that would continue.
For now, I need to crash. My glorious futon awaits.
It hailed three times yesterday, the last episode not two hours ago. Yesterday was the coldest day summer had, I reckon. I was in three layers when I went out for dinner - weather website said it was 13 degrees then and apparently 8 degrees feeling like 4 degrees now - and feeling like a wrapped up dumpling again was inconsequential in return for the warmth.
The first time it hailed, I stuck my hand out of the window like a kid and was thrilled to see the little icicles collect in my hands. And when it hailed again the last two times, I stood at the living room balcony door and stared in awe at the sheets of rain and howling wind going whrrr. Lamp posts shook and cars looked like they could be lifted off sideways. I was glad I was indoors and glad for the sight before me.
The last few days seemed to have ran away, escaped from me, blurred into a medley I can't quite distinct without some effort.
Christmas Eve was spent on church, dinner and a nice drive out to The Boulevard, a posh stretch where residents go all out with the Christmas decor to win a year's supply of electricity. As in, all out. Big houses with major decor and lights. Very pretty. Every decorated house seemed like a storybook.
Christmas was church, hung out at a friend's and learnt Bridge as we waited to go to lunch, lunch, a jam session at my house (heh, the bass and electric guitar - albeit with a snapped string - are at my place now), then went to Caulfield for a combined OCF dinner and a walkaround the neighbourhood carolling.
That was the first time in my life I carolled. And I did enjoy it. Remembering the significance of Christmas, walking in crisp cold air with friends and spiritual siblings, and a licence to sing aloud.
Then, Boxing Day was church, lunch, checking out the famed Boxing Day sales and shopping, hanging out at a friend's place and reading the newest issue of 8 Days and going "what?? so-and-so is now at 8 Days??!", then dinner at Blok M, a great Indonesian restaurant.
Yesterday, I lazed about, journal-led, chilled and went out for a Greek dinner.
As I get older, I learn the great importance of good conversation and being silent.
I have a feeling this would be a lesson that would continue.
For now, I need to crash. My glorious futon awaits.
13:20.
Who's Gonna Ride Your Wild Horses, U2
You're dangerous, 'cos you're honest.
You're dangerous, you don't know what you want.
Well you left my heart empty as a vacant lot
For any spirit to haunt.
You're an accident waiting to happen
You're a piece of glass left there on a beach.
Well you tell me things
I know you're not supposed to
Then you leave me just out of reach.
Who's gonna ride your wild horses?
Who's gonna drown in your blue sea?
Who's gonna ride your wild horses?
Who's gonna fall at the foot of thee?
Well you stole it 'cos I needed the cash
And you killed it 'cos I needed revenge.
Well you lied to me 'cos I asked you to.
Baby, can we still be friends?
Who's gonna ride your wild horses?
Who's gonna drown in your blue sea?
Who's gonna ride your wild horses?
Who's gonna fall at the foot of thee?
Ah, the deeper I spin
Ah, the hunter will sin for your ivory skin.
Took a drive in the dirty rain
To a place where the wind calls your name
Under the trees, the river laughing at you and me.
Hallelujah! Heaven's white rose
The doors you open I just can't close.
Don't turn around, don't turn around again.
Don't turn around your gypsy heart.
Don't turn around, don't turn around again.
Don't turn around, and don't look back.
Come on now love, don't you look back.
Who's gonna ride your wild horses?
Who's gonna drown in your blue sea?
Who's gonna taste your saltwater kisses?
Who's gonna take the place of me?
Who's gonna ride your wild horses?
Who's gonna tame the heart of thee?
Who's Gonna Ride Your Wild Horses, U2
You're dangerous, 'cos you're honest.
You're dangerous, you don't know what you want.
Well you left my heart empty as a vacant lot
For any spirit to haunt.
You're an accident waiting to happen
You're a piece of glass left there on a beach.
Well you tell me things
I know you're not supposed to
Then you leave me just out of reach.
Who's gonna ride your wild horses?
Who's gonna drown in your blue sea?
Who's gonna ride your wild horses?
Who's gonna fall at the foot of thee?
Well you stole it 'cos I needed the cash
And you killed it 'cos I needed revenge.
Well you lied to me 'cos I asked you to.
Baby, can we still be friends?
Who's gonna ride your wild horses?
Who's gonna drown in your blue sea?
Who's gonna ride your wild horses?
Who's gonna fall at the foot of thee?
Ah, the deeper I spin
Ah, the hunter will sin for your ivory skin.
Took a drive in the dirty rain
To a place where the wind calls your name
Under the trees, the river laughing at you and me.
Hallelujah! Heaven's white rose
The doors you open I just can't close.
Don't turn around, don't turn around again.
Don't turn around your gypsy heart.
Don't turn around, don't turn around again.
Don't turn around, and don't look back.
Come on now love, don't you look back.
Who's gonna ride your wild horses?
Who's gonna drown in your blue sea?
Who's gonna taste your saltwater kisses?
Who's gonna take the place of me?
Who's gonna ride your wild horses?
Who's gonna tame the heart of thee?
Friday, December 24, 2004
01:36.
"O holy night, the stars are brightly shining,
It is the night of the dear Saviour's birth.
Long lay the world in sin and error pining,
Till He appeared and the soul felt its worth.
A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices,
For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn,
Fall on your knees,
O hear the angel voices.
O night divine,
O night when Christ was born!
O night divine,
O night,
O night divine"
- O Holy Night
Blessed Christmas, every one. Remember the Reason for this season. Not crass commercialism, not even gifts and carols, but the Almighty laying aside His Majesty and taking on the restrictions of a human body. God Incarnate, Christ with us, Emmanuel, Jesus Christ. The indignity of a human form, the weakness and fragility of a human body, a baby... Jesus didn't skip the ugly parts of life.
I still don't understand why You did it, Lord.
But then, maybe that's why I don't understand love very well.
But Lord, though I can't get it, I love you so very much so for doing it. For coming and not leaving. For being and loving. For being Love and Goodness and all that is beautiful.
I love You, Lord Jesus.
"O holy night, the stars are brightly shining,
It is the night of the dear Saviour's birth.
Long lay the world in sin and error pining,
Till He appeared and the soul felt its worth.
A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices,
For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn,
Fall on your knees,
O hear the angel voices.
O night divine,
O night when Christ was born!
O night divine,
O night,
O night divine"
- O Holy Night
Blessed Christmas, every one. Remember the Reason for this season. Not crass commercialism, not even gifts and carols, but the Almighty laying aside His Majesty and taking on the restrictions of a human body. God Incarnate, Christ with us, Emmanuel, Jesus Christ. The indignity of a human form, the weakness and fragility of a human body, a baby... Jesus didn't skip the ugly parts of life.
I still don't understand why You did it, Lord.
But then, maybe that's why I don't understand love very well.
But Lord, though I can't get it, I love you so very much so for doing it. For coming and not leaving. For being and loving. For being Love and Goodness and all that is beautiful.
I love You, Lord Jesus.
12:01.
The international departure gates at Melbourne Airport are feelingless, disrespectful metal doors which slide shut after your loved ones step through. Effectively disenabling any lingering looks, walk-and-wave-until-you-are-out-of-sight precious rituals.
Dec 21, about 1640, when those doors separated my folks from me and closed, I stood still for a second, looked up to the ceiling, blew out, turned to go but spun a circle instead to stare at those metal gates once more, before - as tears welled - walking away. Towards the direction of the sign directing all and sundry to "Buses" and away from my folks who were not far yet so far, in the same building but away from access.
Bought my skybus ticket, and as I walked out of Tullamarine towards the skybus pick up point, that 150 metres was accompanied by head music in the form of some Christian song which lyrics go "I don't belong here" and yet I was vividly aware of an all-embracing, extremely real feeling of being at home. Just walking there, on that wide pathway with scattered random folks, I felt comfortable. Despite missing my folks, despite the doubts that did assault me, despite being alone physically, I did not feel the lone-ness during that walk.
In some part, it's like the embrace that the walk from the Bus 900 bus stop to my house back home, in Woodlands, in Singapore. It was like the night time walk home, when I would look up at the stars and walk, talk to God and feel peace and be held by that part of the world that was mine at those moments.
The skybus drops one at Spencer Street, which is near Telstra Dome and I found that every where I walked that evening, I was reminded of how now, my family is not with me.
I didn't want to go home 'cause I knew I would cry when I walked into an empty home.
[And all these coming from someone who always enjoyed having the house to herself]
So I made full use of my two-hour tram ticket and hit three Dangerfield shops looking for a bag I fancied two weeks ago, bought two tops from Melb Central, and Van Morrison's Astral Weeks from JB Hi Fi.
[I think I am listing the shop names so that one day, when I can no longer remember this place in detail, I can read about them]
When I finally reached home at about 8, I sat down at the sofa and sobbed.
Talk about being emo. Sigh.
And after eight days of either eating out or cooking for family, I went home to leftover rice in the fridge which I fried up. Nothing wrong at all but at that moment, it did seem, um, sad.
The strange thing is this - By Dec 22 morning, I was okay. Still missing those I love but sane, calm and stable, rational and able to feel the strangeness of being alone but not let it move me negatively.
Went for coffee with a good friend for some whinging. And when I got back at 2am, I walked through the door and into a quiet house - Hannah left the same day - and was at home with it. Vividly aware of the switch in moods.
I am immensely thankful that my parents and aunt were here, that they saw me graduate, that they lived with me, that I could cook for them, that they liked the food places and food I like (KOK, Nando's, Shanghai Dumpling, Seoul Garden, Thnak Thnak, Mars Cheese Cake, Corinthians wafer rolls, tim tams, quatros, starbursts, Red Rocks lime and black pepper chips, chinatown's egg tarts....).
[I cite same reason as last [] for listing all that]
For eight days, they lived in my world. And thank God they liked it.
And really, for that, I have no reason to be sad. Even while sobbing on that sofa three days ago, it wasn't driven by saddness, just displacement mostly. And in between wrecking sobs, I was thanking God.
I am - quietly so now... - happy.
The international departure gates at Melbourne Airport are feelingless, disrespectful metal doors which slide shut after your loved ones step through. Effectively disenabling any lingering looks, walk-and-wave-until-you-are-out-of-sight precious rituals.
Dec 21, about 1640, when those doors separated my folks from me and closed, I stood still for a second, looked up to the ceiling, blew out, turned to go but spun a circle instead to stare at those metal gates once more, before - as tears welled - walking away. Towards the direction of the sign directing all and sundry to "Buses" and away from my folks who were not far yet so far, in the same building but away from access.
Bought my skybus ticket, and as I walked out of Tullamarine towards the skybus pick up point, that 150 metres was accompanied by head music in the form of some Christian song which lyrics go "I don't belong here" and yet I was vividly aware of an all-embracing, extremely real feeling of being at home. Just walking there, on that wide pathway with scattered random folks, I felt comfortable. Despite missing my folks, despite the doubts that did assault me, despite being alone physically, I did not feel the lone-ness during that walk.
In some part, it's like the embrace that the walk from the Bus 900 bus stop to my house back home, in Woodlands, in Singapore. It was like the night time walk home, when I would look up at the stars and walk, talk to God and feel peace and be held by that part of the world that was mine at those moments.
The skybus drops one at Spencer Street, which is near Telstra Dome and I found that every where I walked that evening, I was reminded of how now, my family is not with me.
I didn't want to go home 'cause I knew I would cry when I walked into an empty home.
[And all these coming from someone who always enjoyed having the house to herself]
So I made full use of my two-hour tram ticket and hit three Dangerfield shops looking for a bag I fancied two weeks ago, bought two tops from Melb Central, and Van Morrison's Astral Weeks from JB Hi Fi.
[I think I am listing the shop names so that one day, when I can no longer remember this place in detail, I can read about them]
When I finally reached home at about 8, I sat down at the sofa and sobbed.
Talk about being emo. Sigh.
And after eight days of either eating out or cooking for family, I went home to leftover rice in the fridge which I fried up. Nothing wrong at all but at that moment, it did seem, um, sad.
The strange thing is this - By Dec 22 morning, I was okay. Still missing those I love but sane, calm and stable, rational and able to feel the strangeness of being alone but not let it move me negatively.
Went for coffee with a good friend for some whinging. And when I got back at 2am, I walked through the door and into a quiet house - Hannah left the same day - and was at home with it. Vividly aware of the switch in moods.
I am immensely thankful that my parents and aunt were here, that they saw me graduate, that they lived with me, that I could cook for them, that they liked the food places and food I like (KOK, Nando's, Shanghai Dumpling, Seoul Garden, Thnak Thnak, Mars Cheese Cake, Corinthians wafer rolls, tim tams, quatros, starbursts, Red Rocks lime and black pepper chips, chinatown's egg tarts....).
[I cite same reason as last [] for listing all that]
For eight days, they lived in my world. And thank God they liked it.
And really, for that, I have no reason to be sad. Even while sobbing on that sofa three days ago, it wasn't driven by saddness, just displacement mostly. And in between wrecking sobs, I was thanking God.
I am - quietly so now... - happy.
Monday, December 20, 2004
00:49.
Nougat swirls swallow me
Someone's sweetness stick to me
Cantaloupe smashes
Yellow and Red
Bring out the green
Water buffalo Team
Insensibilities
Mine to give but not to rein
Insensibilities
Is this me or who is she?
Cookies rain and honeydew pain
Make up my mind
Make up my mind
Little girl, all hair and eyes
Standing there just out of sight
Who.
What.
Yes,
Why.
Emotions are rather impractical stuff.
I will sleep and wake, to a morning with new mercies. Every morning has new blessings.
Nougat swirls swallow me
Someone's sweetness stick to me
Cantaloupe smashes
Yellow and Red
Bring out the green
Water buffalo Team
Insensibilities
Mine to give but not to rein
Insensibilities
Is this me or who is she?
Cookies rain and honeydew pain
Make up my mind
Make up my mind
Little girl, all hair and eyes
Standing there just out of sight
Who.
What.
Yes,
Why.
Emotions are rather impractical stuff.
I will sleep and wake, to a morning with new mercies. Every morning has new blessings.
Sunday, December 19, 2004
11:31.
I pack luggage with systematic clinical effectiveness.
No, I have not changed my mind regarding Feb 5 (that's my new departure date for those of your who have not been reading).
Last week, I packed up all my books and papers for my aunty to take back to Singapore. This week, I packed my winter stuff, boots, track shoes, and some clothes into a standard sized hard luggage case for my parents and aunt to take back to Singapore.
Systematic is the word I keep using to describe my method and way, seeing how I make up my mind regarding items and utilise all the space in the luggage.
Packing is an emotional affair.
As dresses and shoes and papers and CDs, toiletries and perfumes and memorable items goes into a box, it's as if every memory and routine and ritual and emotion associated with them goes right in there along with that physical item.
So I suppose I experience a slight dissonance when I am so... systemic with packing when I don't even know where I would be after Feb.
Nothing is quite happening here in Melb on the job front yet. Am still praying and am going to send out more resumes and such after Tuesday, which is when my folks leave.
And that is another thing.
They are leaving on the 21st, which is my original departure date. And they booked that date because they were hoping to leave along with me.
I suppose it's characteristically nostagic of me. Just now, I glanced at the couch - which has been my bed for the last few nights except for one - and my head and heart went like, "Sigh, only two more nights on that".
[When I lay down on that couch, my legs - from knees down - dangle or stick out... no, the couch is not 1.7metres; I use the rug on the couch as a blanket, one couch side arm as pillow and hug a pillow to sleep]
Having three people in your room and three new people in your house does mean I don't get the personal space I am so used to and so cherish, me being me, but yet, I know when they leave on Tuesday, I will feel very alone.
I probably will cry.
On the skybus home from the airport, I would probably just be sad and think of how uncertain every thing is from then on, and wonder - and try to push away - thoughts of why I did not leave with them. When I get home, I would probably look at the couch and my room, pull the sheets off to wash, and as I walk around home, be reminded of when they were with me here. I would see my loved ones and the evidence of their stay here in the extra food in the fridge, the position of a chair, maybe a left behind item and yes, I probably will cry.
Sigh. And I would cry harder and more when I think about how I know my dad probably enter the departure gates with a heavy heart, at the fact that his daughter is not with him and won't be with him until Feb 5.
Dear Lord, keep us and bless us and make Your Face shine upon us.
For without You, I wither and we die.
I am holding on, trusting and walking on.
And I love my parents very much and I really want to honour them and make them happy.
They are the most beautiful people in the whole flippin' world.
Whole.
*hugs*
I pack luggage with systematic clinical effectiveness.
No, I have not changed my mind regarding Feb 5 (that's my new departure date for those of your who have not been reading).
Last week, I packed up all my books and papers for my aunty to take back to Singapore. This week, I packed my winter stuff, boots, track shoes, and some clothes into a standard sized hard luggage case for my parents and aunt to take back to Singapore.
Systematic is the word I keep using to describe my method and way, seeing how I make up my mind regarding items and utilise all the space in the luggage.
Packing is an emotional affair.
As dresses and shoes and papers and CDs, toiletries and perfumes and memorable items goes into a box, it's as if every memory and routine and ritual and emotion associated with them goes right in there along with that physical item.
So I suppose I experience a slight dissonance when I am so... systemic with packing when I don't even know where I would be after Feb.
Nothing is quite happening here in Melb on the job front yet. Am still praying and am going to send out more resumes and such after Tuesday, which is when my folks leave.
And that is another thing.
They are leaving on the 21st, which is my original departure date. And they booked that date because they were hoping to leave along with me.
I suppose it's characteristically nostagic of me. Just now, I glanced at the couch - which has been my bed for the last few nights except for one - and my head and heart went like, "Sigh, only two more nights on that".
[When I lay down on that couch, my legs - from knees down - dangle or stick out... no, the couch is not 1.7metres; I use the rug on the couch as a blanket, one couch side arm as pillow and hug a pillow to sleep]
Having three people in your room and three new people in your house does mean I don't get the personal space I am so used to and so cherish, me being me, but yet, I know when they leave on Tuesday, I will feel very alone.
I probably will cry.
On the skybus home from the airport, I would probably just be sad and think of how uncertain every thing is from then on, and wonder - and try to push away - thoughts of why I did not leave with them. When I get home, I would probably look at the couch and my room, pull the sheets off to wash, and as I walk around home, be reminded of when they were with me here. I would see my loved ones and the evidence of their stay here in the extra food in the fridge, the position of a chair, maybe a left behind item and yes, I probably will cry.
Sigh. And I would cry harder and more when I think about how I know my dad probably enter the departure gates with a heavy heart, at the fact that his daughter is not with him and won't be with him until Feb 5.
Dear Lord, keep us and bless us and make Your Face shine upon us.
For without You, I wither and we die.
I am holding on, trusting and walking on.
And I love my parents very much and I really want to honour them and make them happy.
They are the most beautiful people in the whole flippin' world.
Whole.
*hugs*
Wednesday, December 15, 2004
00:50.
I graduated about three and a half hours ago at Telstra Dome, Melb. Supposedly, 30, 000 people were there - guests, graduating students and staff. I didn't take shots of the stadium 'cause I didn't want to have my bag with me but there's a shot of what it looks like here.
Spending three hours at a ceremony is not the way I norm enjoy spending my time and truth be told, boredom was spreading its dull fingers over me in the beginning. I spent about 5 bucks having sms conversations - each sms costs 25 cents - with good friends, and alternated that with shifting around uncomfortably in the plastic chair, and pulling and rearranging my gown and hat.
Felt really glad when I first saw a familiar face taking the stage, and felt my heart thumping and adrenaline rush when my turn drew near. Waiting on the carpeted pathway laid on the stadium's tuft and getting nearer and nearer to being the first in line, wheww.
They flashed your name on the screen and you go up to get your cert.
And during my time in the spotlight, when the presenter commented well done, a degree with distinction (!), I looked at the certificate - encased in a scroll like slip with a transparent cover and block coloured back - and realised waitaminute, I have just been awarded with a degree with distinction.
Whether that means I somehow make the top 10 per cent or top 5 per cent or top 15 per cent I am not sure, but it was a wow and a million because I thought my Credit for Philo screwed up chances of a degree with distinction. And I wasn't even sure if I could qualify since I was given two-year exemption.
I am just happy now. Very happy. Corny-ly, ridiculously happy. It was ridiculously good stuff, every thing, and some part of me think I felt the meaning of the scripture that says a woman in childbirth forgets the pain she has been through when the child is born.
This night is going down in the annals of S k y e T's history.
Dear God, thanks for every thing. Every little thing. Every single thing.
And for a great home cooked lunch. And dinners. And all that.
And at 0530, I have to wake up for Great Ocean Road. Daytrip with the parents on a coach.
Spread the love, people!
Wheeeee!
I graduated about three and a half hours ago at Telstra Dome, Melb. Supposedly, 30, 000 people were there - guests, graduating students and staff. I didn't take shots of the stadium 'cause I didn't want to have my bag with me but there's a shot of what it looks like here.
Spending three hours at a ceremony is not the way I norm enjoy spending my time and truth be told, boredom was spreading its dull fingers over me in the beginning. I spent about 5 bucks having sms conversations - each sms costs 25 cents - with good friends, and alternated that with shifting around uncomfortably in the plastic chair, and pulling and rearranging my gown and hat.
Felt really glad when I first saw a familiar face taking the stage, and felt my heart thumping and adrenaline rush when my turn drew near. Waiting on the carpeted pathway laid on the stadium's tuft and getting nearer and nearer to being the first in line, wheww.
They flashed your name on the screen and you go up to get your cert.
And during my time in the spotlight, when the presenter commented well done, a degree with distinction (!), I looked at the certificate - encased in a scroll like slip with a transparent cover and block coloured back - and realised waitaminute, I have just been awarded with a degree with distinction.
Whether that means I somehow make the top 10 per cent or top 5 per cent or top 15 per cent I am not sure, but it was a wow and a million because I thought my Credit for Philo screwed up chances of a degree with distinction. And I wasn't even sure if I could qualify since I was given two-year exemption.
I am just happy now. Very happy. Corny-ly, ridiculously happy. It was ridiculously good stuff, every thing, and some part of me think I felt the meaning of the scripture that says a woman in childbirth forgets the pain she has been through when the child is born.
This night is going down in the annals of S k y e T's history.
Dear God, thanks for every thing. Every little thing. Every single thing.
And for a great home cooked lunch. And dinners. And all that.
And at 0530, I have to wake up for Great Ocean Road. Daytrip with the parents on a coach.
Spread the love, people!
Wheeeee!
Monday, December 13, 2004
21:56.
It is the season of long posts. At least here on midair. Being in the revolution means never being in control and knowing that you are not driving the wheel, but walking on, giving your best, crying your heart out and getting attached because you don't stop loving. And in every test, you know the yes and amen is true.
With all that I am. And all I've got.
My parents and my aunt are asleep in my room. For the next few days, I would bunk on the living room couch.
For the next few days, I have family here in Melbourne, blood relations.
I want them to love my world, to feel welcome, to enter this world.
Slept at after 0230 in the morning, woke up at 0400. Got ready for their flight which was due to land at 0525. Possibly strange, how within three days, I have been to the airport twice, after the only time I have been at the airport was on Feb 10, when I landed.
0615, this morning - Even before I was through the glass sliding doors that are the airport doors, I saw my aunty then my mom sitting at those plastic chairs waiting, two luggage trolleys at the side of my Aunt Nan.
I walked faster, did the wave hands frantically thing and had on a smile so spontaneous I did not know it was there , quickened my steps even further as I got closer and hugged my Mom for a good dozen seconds.
Hugged my aunty, looked around for my Dad, paced about in the general direction they said he went off in and when I finally saw him, threw my arms around him and squeezed him while he repeated something - I think it was my name, in a glad tone - and kind of held his arms about himself awkwardly, not knowing how to hug me back.
If I ever have kids, I do want them to grow up in a culture where hugs and love are shown without embarassment or awkwardness. And that was written without any negativity, just to clarify,
A part of me can't believe they are really here.
The rainy weather today didn't allow much exploration. Seeing Dad enjoy Shanghai Dumpling was a grin.
I love my parents.
Dear Lord, help me honour them and love them more and give them all that they deserve to have.
It is the season of long posts. At least here on midair. Being in the revolution means never being in control and knowing that you are not driving the wheel, but walking on, giving your best, crying your heart out and getting attached because you don't stop loving. And in every test, you know the yes and amen is true.
With all that I am. And all I've got.
"To love is to be vulnerable",
so said CS Lewis while expounding on this very fruit of love.
so said CS Lewis while expounding on this very fruit of love.
My parents and my aunt are asleep in my room. For the next few days, I would bunk on the living room couch.
For the next few days, I have family here in Melbourne, blood relations.
I want them to love my world, to feel welcome, to enter this world.
Slept at after 0230 in the morning, woke up at 0400. Got ready for their flight which was due to land at 0525. Possibly strange, how within three days, I have been to the airport twice, after the only time I have been at the airport was on Feb 10, when I landed.
0615, this morning - Even before I was through the glass sliding doors that are the airport doors, I saw my aunty then my mom sitting at those plastic chairs waiting, two luggage trolleys at the side of my Aunt Nan.
I walked faster, did the wave hands frantically thing and had on a smile so spontaneous I did not know it was there , quickened my steps even further as I got closer and hugged my Mom for a good dozen seconds.
Hugged my aunty, looked around for my Dad, paced about in the general direction they said he went off in and when I finally saw him, threw my arms around him and squeezed him while he repeated something - I think it was my name, in a glad tone - and kind of held his arms about himself awkwardly, not knowing how to hug me back.
If I ever have kids, I do want them to grow up in a culture where hugs and love are shown without embarassment or awkwardness. And that was written without any negativity, just to clarify,
A part of me can't believe they are really here.
The rainy weather today didn't allow much exploration. Seeing Dad enjoy Shanghai Dumpling was a grin.
I love my parents.
Dear Lord, help me honour them and love them more and give them all that they deserve to have.
"Where can I go from Your Spirit?
Where can I flee from Your presence?
If I go up to the heavens, you are there;
if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.
If I rise on the wings of the dawn,
if I settle on the far side of the seas,
even there Your Hand will guide me,
Your right hand would surely hold me fast."
- Psalm 139: 7 - 1o
Where can I flee from Your presence?
If I go up to the heavens, you are there;
if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.
If I rise on the wings of the dawn,
if I settle on the far side of the seas,
even there Your Hand will guide me,
Your right hand would surely hold me fast."
- Psalm 139: 7 - 1o
Life feels like it has stopped and is moving at the same time.
Jesus, Jesus, I remember You.
I will remember, help me know, this is not the end.
No.
Jesus, Jesus, I remember You.
I will remember, help me know, this is not the end.
No.
Saturday, December 11, 2004
02:03.
December is fast disappearing.
Today is the 12th. Very early tomorrow morning - at 0525, to be precise - my parents and an aunt would arrive here in Melbourne. Two days after, I graduate at Telstra Dome.
Supposedly, six days after that, I would be en route home to Singapore on a Qantas/ BA flight at 1720.
Well, things don't always go as we suppose they will.
Yesterday - or really, the day before - as rain drizzled and then poured on the Melbourne streets, I was making my way to the Qantas office to get my return flight reticketed.
All the way forward to Feb 5.
Big difference, yes. I only made up my mind to do so on Monday and I only decided on Feb 5 before I went out of the house to put into action the decision made six days ago while sitting on a cold balcony at a resort at Port Campbell.
Monday, Port Campbell in a resort facing the bay while an all-day storm flooded places like Caulfield (or so, I heard on the evening news). It was raining, the weather was wintry and every thing seemed clear as I sat there staring at the mountains in the foreground, towering above the bay in which water raged and waves collide, while all around, rain danced and the tall pine trees swayed along. When the wind blew, rain droplets wet me. When the wind changed directions, it sometimes lashed me and stung my eyes, making me look as if I was crying further.
It was cold. I was reminded of July Camp. Some moments, I wanted to cry. I did tear as the wind froze me and there were times when a scripture or just something He says to my spirit made me tear and want to sob. With my journal, bible, a black ball point pen and a black felt fine marker, I sat there for the length of a football's match and alternate between scribbling, reading and looking at the sight before me. In awe and being.
I found peace in the Great Ocean Road trip. Every thing rages, buffered by winds, horizons disappeared for the mist and weather. It was storm and it was still. In chaos, I have order. I stood there staring at the 12 Apostles and knew all was in control.
Every thing in my life now seems totally transcient, unpredictable and unknown. Except for the Foundation on which I stand on, the Word who gives life and life to the fullest. And right now, having finally made the stay/ go decision after a few tumulous weeks, I can say with full faith that I am at peace and I know - in the now and now - that the choice to stay back is what is meant to be.
In many many ways, leaving on the 21st would be the practical choice. In fact, it is the practical choice. Every thing - finances, relationships - would end in a neat little box and bow. One year of great things and people - that would be the neat tag on that categorised box. Maybe, just maybe that would be easier to shelf somewhere in the memories cupboard too... you know, leave before you get even more attached, you fool.
There's a song called Elijah by Rich Mullins where the chorus breaks into: "But when I leave I want to go out like Elijah with a whirlwind to fuel my chariot of fire".
Since I always believe in ending with a blast, this would be a good time to go... you know, just in case the party dies down, the flames burn less fiery, and life in general becomes common should I stay on. But yet, I have brought my return date almost two months backwards.
People are leaving. Some for good. Leaving on the 21st kind of ensures in some twisted emotional sense that I won't have to witness the departures of those who surround me. It's a "safer" move.
But yet, I am staying.
When people ask me why, I cite the practical reasons of the unstable media industry back home and the fact that if I should return this month, I would be sitting around for a good period twiddling my thumbs waiting for a reply. Instead, I would stay here, send out resumes, work at a casual job in January,and... wait.
January will be that - a time of waiting.
Utterly scary. The decision I have to make involves two countries.
....
I just recalled rather vividly a scene from Secondary School when I told someone (not sure who) that yes, I will get PR somewhere else when I grow up. I am quietly surprised now at the recollection... since I figure I never quite think I would have to consider citizenship stuff and such.
Jan. It will be a time of waiting, scary good stuff. Finances wise, unless my freelance boss pay me and unless I get a job, it will be rather impossible. Let's not even consider the loan I have to repay.
You can think my choice utterly impractical, I see impractical factors in all the choices avail. But do you see how not taking the safe way out signifies how sure I am that right now, it's right for me to be here?
I am sure of nothing and no person except my God is faithful and I am called to great things and that my choice is accompanied by a peace I need to hold onto.
Everybody's changing. Every thing's changing.
My choice to stay on cannot be and isn't based on people factors. I know that full well and have that impressed upon me. It's not that I don't care about people, it's that I know that I can't make my decision based on who I would have around me simply because everything changes. That's the way of life. The only unchanging thing in my life is God.
Am I applying for PR? Some say it's practical because come March, the points system would be raised and it would be harder to secure PR. I am making that decision only in Jan, when exactly I do not know. I am knocking on doors and seeing which might open. And from then on, I make up my mind but my flight is booked for Feb 5 and I will leave by then, whether for only two weeks or for good or for a few years, again, I do not know.
This is a scary time. But the repeated reassurances from above have sunk in.
About three weeks ago, I could not see at all. The future was pitch black and I was blind. Now vision is restored. And I can picture myself both in Singapore and here, though my heart says I will return to Sg definitely after a while.
Maybe this extended period is a very slow process of saying goodbye. A preparation that the previous, half frenzied, push-everything-into-the-remaining-days rush could not fulfill.
Or maybe I am about to make an extremely big decision, potentially the second biggest in my life, about which land I would be on for my future.
Whatever it is, I am running to stay still. But I want to stop. And just be still.
I love you folks. Please pray for me.
December is fast disappearing.
Today is the 12th. Very early tomorrow morning - at 0525, to be precise - my parents and an aunt would arrive here in Melbourne. Two days after, I graduate at Telstra Dome.
Supposedly, six days after that, I would be en route home to Singapore on a Qantas/ BA flight at 1720.
Well, things don't always go as we suppose they will.
Yesterday - or really, the day before - as rain drizzled and then poured on the Melbourne streets, I was making my way to the Qantas office to get my return flight reticketed.
All the way forward to Feb 5.
Big difference, yes. I only made up my mind to do so on Monday and I only decided on Feb 5 before I went out of the house to put into action the decision made six days ago while sitting on a cold balcony at a resort at Port Campbell.
Monday, Port Campbell in a resort facing the bay while an all-day storm flooded places like Caulfield (or so, I heard on the evening news). It was raining, the weather was wintry and every thing seemed clear as I sat there staring at the mountains in the foreground, towering above the bay in which water raged and waves collide, while all around, rain danced and the tall pine trees swayed along. When the wind blew, rain droplets wet me. When the wind changed directions, it sometimes lashed me and stung my eyes, making me look as if I was crying further.
It was cold. I was reminded of July Camp. Some moments, I wanted to cry. I did tear as the wind froze me and there were times when a scripture or just something He says to my spirit made me tear and want to sob. With my journal, bible, a black ball point pen and a black felt fine marker, I sat there for the length of a football's match and alternate between scribbling, reading and looking at the sight before me. In awe and being.
I found peace in the Great Ocean Road trip. Every thing rages, buffered by winds, horizons disappeared for the mist and weather. It was storm and it was still. In chaos, I have order. I stood there staring at the 12 Apostles and knew all was in control.
Every thing in my life now seems totally transcient, unpredictable and unknown. Except for the Foundation on which I stand on, the Word who gives life and life to the fullest. And right now, having finally made the stay/ go decision after a few tumulous weeks, I can say with full faith that I am at peace and I know - in the now and now - that the choice to stay back is what is meant to be.
In many many ways, leaving on the 21st would be the practical choice. In fact, it is the practical choice. Every thing - finances, relationships - would end in a neat little box and bow. One year of great things and people - that would be the neat tag on that categorised box. Maybe, just maybe that would be easier to shelf somewhere in the memories cupboard too... you know, leave before you get even more attached, you fool.
There's a song called Elijah by Rich Mullins where the chorus breaks into: "But when I leave I want to go out like Elijah with a whirlwind to fuel my chariot of fire".
Since I always believe in ending with a blast, this would be a good time to go... you know, just in case the party dies down, the flames burn less fiery, and life in general becomes common should I stay on. But yet, I have brought my return date almost two months backwards.
People are leaving. Some for good. Leaving on the 21st kind of ensures in some twisted emotional sense that I won't have to witness the departures of those who surround me. It's a "safer" move.
But yet, I am staying.
When people ask me why, I cite the practical reasons of the unstable media industry back home and the fact that if I should return this month, I would be sitting around for a good period twiddling my thumbs waiting for a reply. Instead, I would stay here, send out resumes, work at a casual job in January,and... wait.
January will be that - a time of waiting.
Utterly scary. The decision I have to make involves two countries.
....
I just recalled rather vividly a scene from Secondary School when I told someone (not sure who) that yes, I will get PR somewhere else when I grow up. I am quietly surprised now at the recollection... since I figure I never quite think I would have to consider citizenship stuff and such.
Jan. It will be a time of waiting, scary good stuff. Finances wise, unless my freelance boss pay me and unless I get a job, it will be rather impossible. Let's not even consider the loan I have to repay.
You can think my choice utterly impractical, I see impractical factors in all the choices avail. But do you see how not taking the safe way out signifies how sure I am that right now, it's right for me to be here?
I am sure of nothing and no person except my God is faithful and I am called to great things and that my choice is accompanied by a peace I need to hold onto.
Everybody's changing. Every thing's changing.
My choice to stay on cannot be and isn't based on people factors. I know that full well and have that impressed upon me. It's not that I don't care about people, it's that I know that I can't make my decision based on who I would have around me simply because everything changes. That's the way of life. The only unchanging thing in my life is God.
Am I applying for PR? Some say it's practical because come March, the points system would be raised and it would be harder to secure PR. I am making that decision only in Jan, when exactly I do not know. I am knocking on doors and seeing which might open. And from then on, I make up my mind but my flight is booked for Feb 5 and I will leave by then, whether for only two weeks or for good or for a few years, again, I do not know.
This is a scary time. But the repeated reassurances from above have sunk in.
About three weeks ago, I could not see at all. The future was pitch black and I was blind. Now vision is restored. And I can picture myself both in Singapore and here, though my heart says I will return to Sg definitely after a while.
Maybe this extended period is a very slow process of saying goodbye. A preparation that the previous, half frenzied, push-everything-into-the-remaining-days rush could not fulfill.
Or maybe I am about to make an extremely big decision, potentially the second biggest in my life, about which land I would be on for my future.
Whatever it is, I am running to stay still. But I want to stop. And just be still.
I love you folks. Please pray for me.
Friday, December 10, 2004
12:49.
If winter ends
while summer reigns
and the trees, they fall
while puppy dogs weep
Where would we be?
Where do we go from here?
Bring me my guitar
Red hair, piano, standing straight
I stood where the earth falls apart
I stared at where no horizons separate time
I stopped thinking since it's blasphemous
And I simply be
Just standing side by side.
If winter ends
while summer reigns
and the trees, they fall
while puppy dogs weep
Where would we be?
Where do we go from here?
Bring me my guitar
Red hair, piano, standing straight
I stood where the earth falls apart
I stared at where no horizons separate time
I stopped thinking since it's blasphemous
And I simply be
Just standing side by side.
Wednesday, December 01, 2004
01:04.
Monday night. Or Tuesday morning. I was standing on St Kilda's beach for the first time, looking out into the sea and at the gulls and the night lights on the faraway coasts. City Of Blinding Lights came to mind and I started singing it softly.
Melbourne is far from being a city which you write such a song for. Apparently, U2 wrote the song with New York in mind. Yet still, the city lights - even with its lack of harsh glare - seemed to mean something. In its gentleness and softness, perhaps it reflects positively the city and its life to me.
I was with four carloads of OCF-ers and a good number of the boys got dumped into the water. Whether walking or sitting watching the drama, my mind moved to capture every thing photographically in my head and process them to vivid memories. I was aware that every thing that was happening would never again duplicate exactly and for that matter, even being on the beach at night might not happen again for a good long time... or ever.
So I remember, close my eyes and sing the song.
Monday night. Or Tuesday morning. I was standing on St Kilda's beach for the first time, looking out into the sea and at the gulls and the night lights on the faraway coasts. City Of Blinding Lights came to mind and I started singing it softly.
Melbourne is far from being a city which you write such a song for. Apparently, U2 wrote the song with New York in mind. Yet still, the city lights - even with its lack of harsh glare - seemed to mean something. In its gentleness and softness, perhaps it reflects positively the city and its life to me.
I was with four carloads of OCF-ers and a good number of the boys got dumped into the water. Whether walking or sitting watching the drama, my mind moved to capture every thing photographically in my head and process them to vivid memories. I was aware that every thing that was happening would never again duplicate exactly and for that matter, even being on the beach at night might not happen again for a good long time... or ever.
So I remember, close my eyes and sing the song.
Sunday, November 28, 2004
14:13.
From Charpinkie about the Boomerang Theory:
"some people have this connection... that no matter what happens... no matter how u stray, or go out to seek 'greener pastures', or simply just lead separate lives, in the end, u just return back to that one person because of that special connection. I suppose that's true.... There comes a point where u realise that it's not just the shared history or the level of comfort that draws you back to a person. It's just that irreplaceable spark and connection, I guess"
Will this be how it goes?
From Charpinkie about the Boomerang Theory:
"some people have this connection... that no matter what happens... no matter how u stray, or go out to seek 'greener pastures', or simply just lead separate lives, in the end, u just return back to that one person because of that special connection. I suppose that's true.... There comes a point where u realise that it's not just the shared history or the level of comfort that draws you back to a person. It's just that irreplaceable spark and connection, I guess"
Will this be how it goes?
Saturday, November 27, 2004
13:34.
"And You feel like no one before
You steal right under my door
And I kneel 'cause I want You some more
I want the lot of what You got
And I want nothing that You are not"
- Original Of The Species, U2
Am I getting ready to leave the ground?
Because the world looks so different when I am on my knees. Sometimes, all I can see are carpet and dust. And all I can feel is that I want You some more.
I have not vocalised this before until last night - The S k y e T who left Singapore 10 months ago and the S k y e T now is so different, miles apart. When I said that during an unscripted testimony last night at the last official OCF meeting for the semester, my soul took a step back in realisation of the worth of my words.
My life is a tornado, a whirlwind, sliding doors, escalators... a seagull's bounce just before it flies, a sparrow's bewilderment when it gets blown out of a tree, the landscape when clouds cover the sun and switched the world's lights out. In the vapour, in the wind, in the stuff one can't never catch, I see my life.
All that I can't leave behind I take with me in the luggage of me. And may God find it fit to use what I have, and may what I do leave behind be of some worth. I have no idea if I have left something, make some dent, changed the order in the slightest bit for good.
Maybe I am learning to say goodbye.
Throughout my life, at those crossroads - End of Sec school, end of Poly, end of jobs... it has not been hard to walk away. More often than not, it has been easy to move on. There have been trepidation, of course but I have been eager to go on to something new, start a new chapter, carry on writing the pages of my days. This time, it's not the same.
I am honestly not sure what is going to happen.
But I am staying on my knees.
And I am not going to get up.
I want to see God face to face while in this mortal flesh.
"And You feel like no one before
You steal right under my door
And I kneel 'cause I want You some more
I want the lot of what You got
And I want nothing that You are not"
- Original Of The Species, U2
Am I getting ready to leave the ground?
Because the world looks so different when I am on my knees. Sometimes, all I can see are carpet and dust. And all I can feel is that I want You some more.
I have not vocalised this before until last night - The S k y e T who left Singapore 10 months ago and the S k y e T now is so different, miles apart. When I said that during an unscripted testimony last night at the last official OCF meeting for the semester, my soul took a step back in realisation of the worth of my words.
My life is a tornado, a whirlwind, sliding doors, escalators... a seagull's bounce just before it flies, a sparrow's bewilderment when it gets blown out of a tree, the landscape when clouds cover the sun and switched the world's lights out. In the vapour, in the wind, in the stuff one can't never catch, I see my life.
All that I can't leave behind I take with me in the luggage of me. And may God find it fit to use what I have, and may what I do leave behind be of some worth. I have no idea if I have left something, make some dent, changed the order in the slightest bit for good.
Maybe I am learning to say goodbye.
Throughout my life, at those crossroads - End of Sec school, end of Poly, end of jobs... it has not been hard to walk away. More often than not, it has been easy to move on. There have been trepidation, of course but I have been eager to go on to something new, start a new chapter, carry on writing the pages of my days. This time, it's not the same.
I am honestly not sure what is going to happen.
But I am staying on my knees.
And I am not going to get up.
I want to see God face to face while in this mortal flesh.
Thursday, November 25, 2004
18:39.
For once, I slept early and dozed off by 1am.
I woke up at 340am, irritated about being a vicious mozzie's meal, before my mind was stunned into clarity by the yellow almost-full moon looking right in at me through the picture window. Went to the bathroom, counted four bites on my right arm, went back to the futon, applied the trusty Ping An Oil from home (from Hong Kong), and... logged onto Msn.
The unusualness of how the day was started perhaps set my random mood for the whole day.
By the way, I love going to Vic Mkt for a short run - one where my arms don't fall off from carrying purchases - in the early afternoon on a sunny day. Shades on, slippers on, no jackets required... if one could bottle feelings like they can capture moments with cameras and videos, this is one I want bottled.
And I will like to bottle the whole of Vic Mkt in two formats - the usual one and the night mkt which started yesterday - in those ship in a bottle capsule. Only on much larger scales. And take them home with me.
U2's album is so good. I can't not smile :>
Having a drum set at home is so good. I can't not laugh.
Music is so precious, I thank God You made it and left it with us.
Despite every uncertainty, and there are so many, I feel happy. The sun shines through said picture window, Bono is singing A Man And A Woman (his wife is so fortunate...), and in a short bit, I would be going out to have dinner with some friends.
Life is good.
The freedom of having your own living space is addictive. But yet, I won't seek to have my own pad in Singapore. It would be different, yes, perhaps too different for me to want it.
And you know, perhaps none of these should ever be bottled. Because life here is so beautiful because it is alive. Because it is fluid. Because it is not mine to control or hold. Because it holds me, not vice versa.
I love hearing live music in my own house.
I love it all.
Cool-whee.
Thank You, Lord. I love You so.
For once, I slept early and dozed off by 1am.
I woke up at 340am, irritated about being a vicious mozzie's meal, before my mind was stunned into clarity by the yellow almost-full moon looking right in at me through the picture window. Went to the bathroom, counted four bites on my right arm, went back to the futon, applied the trusty Ping An Oil from home (from Hong Kong), and... logged onto Msn.
The unusualness of how the day was started perhaps set my random mood for the whole day.
By the way, I love going to Vic Mkt for a short run - one where my arms don't fall off from carrying purchases - in the early afternoon on a sunny day. Shades on, slippers on, no jackets required... if one could bottle feelings like they can capture moments with cameras and videos, this is one I want bottled.
And I will like to bottle the whole of Vic Mkt in two formats - the usual one and the night mkt which started yesterday - in those ship in a bottle capsule. Only on much larger scales. And take them home with me.
U2's album is so good. I can't not smile :>
Having a drum set at home is so good. I can't not laugh.
Music is so precious, I thank God You made it and left it with us.
Despite every uncertainty, and there are so many, I feel happy. The sun shines through said picture window, Bono is singing A Man And A Woman (his wife is so fortunate...), and in a short bit, I would be going out to have dinner with some friends.
Life is good.
The freedom of having your own living space is addictive. But yet, I won't seek to have my own pad in Singapore. It would be different, yes, perhaps too different for me to want it.
And you know, perhaps none of these should ever be bottled. Because life here is so beautiful because it is alive. Because it is fluid. Because it is not mine to control or hold. Because it holds me, not vice versa.
I love hearing live music in my own house.
I love it all.
Cool-whee.
Thank You, Lord. I love You so.
Wednesday, November 24, 2004
Tuesday, November 23, 2004
22:59.
Hey... if you read the previous two now-deleted posts, don't worry. Dismiss them as PMS, which is really true, and accept them as a Christian's, a person's life struggles. If I worried you or disturbed you, I apologise. You just had peeks into my darkest moments. Am I ok now? I know, believe and feel that all things work together for the good of those who love God and I am trusting and walking on.
Yup.
Hey... if you read the previous two now-deleted posts, don't worry. Dismiss them as PMS, which is really true, and accept them as a Christian's, a person's life struggles. If I worried you or disturbed you, I apologise. You just had peeks into my darkest moments. Am I ok now? I know, believe and feel that all things work together for the good of those who love God and I am trusting and walking on.
Yup.
Monday, November 22, 2004
01:06.
My roomie left in a big yellow cab about 11 hours ago. Feels like the ending of a chapter. I am glad we had Sat's night bash for her. Special stuff helps saying goodbye easier. Germie rocks. I thank God that our staying arrangements worked out so very well.
[Hope Margaret Drive's Char Kway Teoh was avail, dear ;) ]
In 28 days time, it will be my turn to leave. Last night, I felt a very strong urge to stay here. It wasn't a new thing but neither is it one of those I-must, dug-in-heels stuborn insistence.
Singapore has so many things for me. Both places do. Less than an hour ago, as I was closing my room's door, I felt a sudden strong twinge of desire to be home in Singapore and with my family. It's strange how both places seem to be simple in their own ways. Life is simpler here in some aspects, and yet, life is simpler in many aspects too in Singapore. At the moment, I feel like I don't want to fight any more or try to make sense of things, I want to cuddle into bed, maybe shed a few tears of uncertainty and drop into sleep. And I want to remember and know that I am sleeping in the Everlasting Arms and that in my weakness, He is made strong.
I blame PMS for my mood.
I need to be quiet. It feels a bit like I am driving on a bridge that has broken off and I am about to get to that point where every thing stops or drops. Either that, or I fly.
Help, God, help.
My roomie left in a big yellow cab about 11 hours ago. Feels like the ending of a chapter. I am glad we had Sat's night bash for her. Special stuff helps saying goodbye easier. Germie rocks. I thank God that our staying arrangements worked out so very well.
[Hope Margaret Drive's Char Kway Teoh was avail, dear ;) ]
In 28 days time, it will be my turn to leave. Last night, I felt a very strong urge to stay here. It wasn't a new thing but neither is it one of those I-must, dug-in-heels stuborn insistence.
Singapore has so many things for me. Both places do. Less than an hour ago, as I was closing my room's door, I felt a sudden strong twinge of desire to be home in Singapore and with my family. It's strange how both places seem to be simple in their own ways. Life is simpler here in some aspects, and yet, life is simpler in many aspects too in Singapore. At the moment, I feel like I don't want to fight any more or try to make sense of things, I want to cuddle into bed, maybe shed a few tears of uncertainty and drop into sleep. And I want to remember and know that I am sleeping in the Everlasting Arms and that in my weakness, He is made strong.
I blame PMS for my mood.
I need to be quiet. It feels a bit like I am driving on a bridge that has broken off and I am about to get to that point where every thing stops or drops. Either that, or I fly.
Help, God, help.
Thursday, November 18, 2004
00:17.
Music purchased in the last three days:
CD - SGT Peppers Lonely Hearts Club Band, The Beatles - AUD13.99
CD - Perfect Day, Lou Reed - AUD8.99
CD - Dark Side Of The Moon, Pink Floyd - AUD13.99
CD - Symphony Nos. 40 & 41, Mozart - AUD1.99
DVD - Rattle And Hum, U2 - ASUD24.95
The stuff I like can be found cheap here. Whee.
Music purchased in the last three days:
CD - SGT Peppers Lonely Hearts Club Band, The Beatles - AUD13.99
CD - Perfect Day, Lou Reed - AUD8.99
CD - Dark Side Of The Moon, Pink Floyd - AUD13.99
CD - Symphony Nos. 40 & 41, Mozart - AUD1.99
DVD - Rattle And Hum, U2 - ASUD24.95
The stuff I like can be found cheap here. Whee.
Wednesday, November 17, 2004
16:02.
I took forever to do this, and God knows I am not even sure of these companies I am sending my resume to. But three emails later, and a read though a friend's story of how God led him to greater heights in a land where he didn't speak the language or know the system after he quit the paper a few weeks after I did have heartened me amazingly so.
I am singing the lyrics of Zoo Station, U2:
"I'm ready
I'm ready for the laughing gas
I'm ready
I'm ready for what's next
I'm ready to duck
I'm ready to dive
I'm ready to say
I'm glad to be alive
I'm ready
I'm ready for the push"
And I am going to send out more emails with my neat little pdf resume out tonight.
For now, I am going to take advantage of the 26 degrees weather (I feel like I am burning up just sitting in my room) and go hit the park with my laptop. It's my date with God and we are going to think through some stuff.
The joys of Someone who will never let you go.
I took forever to do this, and God knows I am not even sure of these companies I am sending my resume to. But three emails later, and a read though a friend's story of how God led him to greater heights in a land where he didn't speak the language or know the system after he quit the paper a few weeks after I did have heartened me amazingly so.
I am singing the lyrics of Zoo Station, U2:
"I'm ready
I'm ready for the laughing gas
I'm ready
I'm ready for what's next
I'm ready to duck
I'm ready to dive
I'm ready to say
I'm glad to be alive
I'm ready
I'm ready for the push"
And I am going to send out more emails with my neat little pdf resume out tonight.
For now, I am going to take advantage of the 26 degrees weather (I feel like I am burning up just sitting in my room) and go hit the park with my laptop. It's my date with God and we are going to think through some stuff.
The joys of Someone who will never let you go.
Tuesday, November 16, 2004
21:59.
"From the place where morning gathers
You can look sometimes forever 'til you see
What time may never know, what time may never know
How the Lord takes by its corners this whole world
And shakes us forward and shakes us free
To run wild with the hope, to run wild with the hope
The hope that this thirst will not last long
That it will soon drown in the song not sung in vain
And I feel the thunder in the sky, I see the sky about to rain
And I hear the prairies calling out Your name"
- Calling Out Your Name, Rich Mullins
"From the place where morning gathers
You can look sometimes forever 'til you see
What time may never know, what time may never know
How the Lord takes by its corners this whole world
And shakes us forward and shakes us free
To run wild with the hope, to run wild with the hope
The hope that this thirst will not last long
That it will soon drown in the song not sung in vain
And I feel the thunder in the sky, I see the sky about to rain
And I hear the prairies calling out Your name"
- Calling Out Your Name, Rich Mullins
Monday, November 15, 2004
22:30.
Perhaps I am "just another writer still trapped within my youth", like (yup) Dan Hill sung in his wrenching 80s power ballad.
Quotes that comforted me today, derived from books I eventually exercised enough self-control to put back on their shelves at Word just now.
"The central story of my life is about nothing else. An unsatisfied desire which is itself more desirable than any other satisfaction." - CS Lewis
If I look back on my 23 years, one of the threads that has remained on the forefront of my consciousness and being is this dissatisfaction. It breaks me and keep breaking me. Whoever I thought I was has been shattered in the wrestling with the Almighty.
I sometimes - not unoften - half-kill myself questioning if this sanity-bending drive could be just because I am screwed up.
I am searching for the me before the world was made. Maybe I am searching for my face before the world was made, as wonderfully expressed by Yeats.
[And Bruce Springsteen's singing Hungry Heart now].
Today, I walked the streets and felt an infinite sense of my finite-ness.
The Swiss-German theologian Karl Barth wrote, "The will for life is also the will for joy. It is hypocrisy to hide this from oneself. A person who tries to disbar himself from joy is certainly not an obedient person."
Now and then, I have been bothered by how infinitely normal I am becoming. I have always thought that with the meaning of life, comes happiness and all else. I am back at a place where I still believe that but with a difference, the different-ness of now having felt personally the desire for happiness in an articulated aware fashion. And there were times when I questioned my desire, if I could want it more than Numero Ono, and I wasn't sure if this fairly new (in its clarity, it was new) want was right.
God, your love is teaching me how to kneel.
In You, I am both common and unique, child and adult, cynical yet trusting, alive and dead... being more contradictions that I identify as I live in You. Keep me Yours, Lord. My mind is a whirlwind and a firewall all at once, and my heart is out of control.
Jesus, You are my best friend.
And You will always be.
Perhaps I am "just another writer still trapped within my youth", like (yup) Dan Hill sung in his wrenching 80s power ballad.
Quotes that comforted me today, derived from books I eventually exercised enough self-control to put back on their shelves at Word just now.
"The central story of my life is about nothing else. An unsatisfied desire which is itself more desirable than any other satisfaction." - CS Lewis
If I look back on my 23 years, one of the threads that has remained on the forefront of my consciousness and being is this dissatisfaction. It breaks me and keep breaking me. Whoever I thought I was has been shattered in the wrestling with the Almighty.
I sometimes - not unoften - half-kill myself questioning if this sanity-bending drive could be just because I am screwed up.
I am searching for the me before the world was made. Maybe I am searching for my face before the world was made, as wonderfully expressed by Yeats.
[And Bruce Springsteen's singing Hungry Heart now].
Today, I walked the streets and felt an infinite sense of my finite-ness.
The Swiss-German theologian Karl Barth wrote, "The will for life is also the will for joy. It is hypocrisy to hide this from oneself. A person who tries to disbar himself from joy is certainly not an obedient person."
Now and then, I have been bothered by how infinitely normal I am becoming. I have always thought that with the meaning of life, comes happiness and all else. I am back at a place where I still believe that but with a difference, the different-ness of now having felt personally the desire for happiness in an articulated aware fashion. And there were times when I questioned my desire, if I could want it more than Numero Ono, and I wasn't sure if this fairly new (in its clarity, it was new) want was right.
God, your love is teaching me how to kneel.
In You, I am both common and unique, child and adult, cynical yet trusting, alive and dead... being more contradictions that I identify as I live in You. Keep me Yours, Lord. My mind is a whirlwind and a firewall all at once, and my heart is out of control.
Jesus, You are my best friend.
And You will always be.
Saturday, November 13, 2004
Friday, November 12, 2004
23:10.
Let me tell you about Mornington.
Five of us made the 2-hour drive up to this coastal area on Nov 2, a public holiday which name I cannot recall (it's something about the Melbourne Cup and races...).
The idea for a roadtrip was vocalised on Oct 25, during coffee after Urban Life, City Church's cell groups. We planned on making it on a Saturday but Nov 1, again after Urban Life, this time at a jazz club we hit after cell group, Raymond announced he couldn't make it on Sat due to an Ethopian wedding he was due to attend. So there in the Bennett's Lane, bathed in blue-ish glow in a club that rapidly un-filled after the band ended, we decided to do the road trip the day after.
And that was a full paragraph of information that you didn't need to know and I have no idea why I chronicled.
Any how, yes. Mornington.
If happiness could be measured, then I was perhaps guilty of being excessively happy. If indeed happiness could ever be excessive.
From pancake breakfast along Chapel, shouting to Nirvana in the car along with James and Kenneth while Germaine and Ray just stare (I think...) to screaming at the coastline (twice) from a lookout cliff in a fashion akin to every other movie or television drama character who did so before. Never mind that we waited half an hour for James and Ken to pick us up, never mind that we were going with a carload of people mostly unfamiliar to us. From scattering salt on Kenneth at Portsea, running out in the pouring rain to take picture of Skye Road and me with the road sign (kudos to Germie) and every other little thing that happened... flip, really just even being in the car, I was happy. The rain could not stop that, being in slippers during pouring rain was but an insignificant matter, as was being cold and at times, wet.
I was happy when Germie and me went downstairs at 745am to meet Ray and wait for the car, I was happy when we were all sprawled on our living room's floor at the end of the day about 10.30pm, every one engaging in nonsense. And if I am using the three words too often in this post, it's because I was really... happy.
The darnest thing was that after they left, and Germie started her tussle with the essays in the living room while I sat on my futon in our room, I felt some sadness. Nothing lasts forever.
Maybe that utterly weird ritual with candlelights, incense and a would-be pen portrait on - of all surfaces... - toilet paper in James' modified beng (heh) car could be inscribed with meaning beyond what we understand.
If you went "huh?" at that description of a seeming weird ritual, you are justified in doing so. 'fraid I don't quite have words to describe the whole event and what happened leading up to it. In sum, I ran back to the car half-drenched from shooting Skye Road [inserts big grin] to find my roadtrip kakis lighting tealights and incense, the same good friends who proceeded to chant some pseudo latin before each blowing out an incense. That was the Skye memorial. Hah.
If T N P and OCF and all of last and this year have been the heightened lessons or rather, increased manifestations of God's work in teaching me to love, then I have to say that that day in Mornington was a heightened exercise in happiness.
Germie, Ray, Ken, James... thank you.
And pictures are on the photo blog.
Let me tell you about Mornington.
Five of us made the 2-hour drive up to this coastal area on Nov 2, a public holiday which name I cannot recall (it's something about the Melbourne Cup and races...).
The idea for a roadtrip was vocalised on Oct 25, during coffee after Urban Life, City Church's cell groups. We planned on making it on a Saturday but Nov 1, again after Urban Life, this time at a jazz club we hit after cell group, Raymond announced he couldn't make it on Sat due to an Ethopian wedding he was due to attend. So there in the Bennett's Lane, bathed in blue-ish glow in a club that rapidly un-filled after the band ended, we decided to do the road trip the day after.
And that was a full paragraph of information that you didn't need to know and I have no idea why I chronicled.
Any how, yes. Mornington.
If happiness could be measured, then I was perhaps guilty of being excessively happy. If indeed happiness could ever be excessive.
From pancake breakfast along Chapel, shouting to Nirvana in the car along with James and Kenneth while Germaine and Ray just stare (I think...) to screaming at the coastline (twice) from a lookout cliff in a fashion akin to every other movie or television drama character who did so before. Never mind that we waited half an hour for James and Ken to pick us up, never mind that we were going with a carload of people mostly unfamiliar to us. From scattering salt on Kenneth at Portsea, running out in the pouring rain to take picture of Skye Road and me with the road sign (kudos to Germie) and every other little thing that happened... flip, really just even being in the car, I was happy. The rain could not stop that, being in slippers during pouring rain was but an insignificant matter, as was being cold and at times, wet.
I was happy when Germie and me went downstairs at 745am to meet Ray and wait for the car, I was happy when we were all sprawled on our living room's floor at the end of the day about 10.30pm, every one engaging in nonsense. And if I am using the three words too often in this post, it's because I was really... happy.
The darnest thing was that after they left, and Germie started her tussle with the essays in the living room while I sat on my futon in our room, I felt some sadness. Nothing lasts forever.
Maybe that utterly weird ritual with candlelights, incense and a would-be pen portrait on - of all surfaces... - toilet paper in James' modified beng (heh) car could be inscribed with meaning beyond what we understand.
If you went "huh?" at that description of a seeming weird ritual, you are justified in doing so. 'fraid I don't quite have words to describe the whole event and what happened leading up to it. In sum, I ran back to the car half-drenched from shooting Skye Road [inserts big grin] to find my roadtrip kakis lighting tealights and incense, the same good friends who proceeded to chant some pseudo latin before each blowing out an incense. That was the Skye memorial. Hah.
If T N P and OCF and all of last and this year have been the heightened lessons or rather, increased manifestations of God's work in teaching me to love, then I have to say that that day in Mornington was a heightened exercise in happiness.
Germie, Ray, Ken, James... thank you.
And pictures are on the photo blog.
Thursday, November 11, 2004
Wednesday, November 10, 2004
01:59.
"I will go where You send me
Jesus, take me now I'm Yours
I'm Yours
I lay my life on the altar
Every thing I give to You alone
Here I am"
- Here I Am, Planet Shakers
This song, the theme song for July Camp, will always mean so much to me.
I don't sing songs just because that is what I am supposed to do in church or OCF or Urban Life. I sing because I want to, because I need to, and because I have A Reason to sing. I worship with my mind too.
And with all songs, I am aware of lyrics and I evaluate biblical correctness and how much I mean the words that pass my lips.
I guess to sum that up, it's just that I won't sing without heart and conviction because empty words are simply that - empty.
So I've sung the songs, evaluated the thoughts and meant the words. I have given my heart, Lord. And now, I live them. I lived them, am living them, and will live them.
Wherever it is You want me, Lord, here am I. And I will go.
I'm not digging my heels in and forcing my time. I will only dig my heels in if You say stay but the world protests to make me move. Where you want me to be, I will go. For only in You am I complete.
"Evermore... I am Yours evermore"
- Evermore, Planet Shakers
I am Yours. It was in City Church while singing this song when I started to pray. A leather tag on my jeans brands it as Levis'. Designers mark their creation with their names. When you are someone's, it is supposed to be reflected in your appearance. I asked to be branded, marked, as God's. As Jesus'.
"Whatever it takes, I will be one who lives in the fresh fullness of life
Of those who are alive from the dead, whatever the cost, whatever it takes"
- Cassie's song, The Kry
The journal of Columbine's High martyr arranged in song were lyrics and song on my lips this noon. So whatever it takes... whatever You need to do, Lord do in me. I want to reflect Christ. I want to truly be Light. I want people to be able to see that I am Yours.
"My prayer is still the same"
- Rain Down, Planet Shakers
You are telling me, You have been telling me an answer. We are back to the beginning. I will seek You first above all else. I believe, yes, I believe that once you find the meaning of life, every thing else - happiness and all that one existentially desires - fall into place. It's You, Lord, it's all about You. I will seek no one and nothing else.
You are my first love.
And I am Yours.
I adore You.
"I will go where You send me
Jesus, take me now I'm Yours
I'm Yours
I lay my life on the altar
Every thing I give to You alone
Here I am"
- Here I Am, Planet Shakers
This song, the theme song for July Camp, will always mean so much to me.
I don't sing songs just because that is what I am supposed to do in church or OCF or Urban Life. I sing because I want to, because I need to, and because I have A Reason to sing. I worship with my mind too.
And with all songs, I am aware of lyrics and I evaluate biblical correctness and how much I mean the words that pass my lips.
I guess to sum that up, it's just that I won't sing without heart and conviction because empty words are simply that - empty.
So I've sung the songs, evaluated the thoughts and meant the words. I have given my heart, Lord. And now, I live them. I lived them, am living them, and will live them.
Wherever it is You want me, Lord, here am I. And I will go.
I'm not digging my heels in and forcing my time. I will only dig my heels in if You say stay but the world protests to make me move. Where you want me to be, I will go. For only in You am I complete.
"Evermore... I am Yours evermore"
- Evermore, Planet Shakers
I am Yours. It was in City Church while singing this song when I started to pray. A leather tag on my jeans brands it as Levis'. Designers mark their creation with their names. When you are someone's, it is supposed to be reflected in your appearance. I asked to be branded, marked, as God's. As Jesus'.
"Whatever it takes, I will be one who lives in the fresh fullness of life
Of those who are alive from the dead, whatever the cost, whatever it takes"
- Cassie's song, The Kry
The journal of Columbine's High martyr arranged in song were lyrics and song on my lips this noon. So whatever it takes... whatever You need to do, Lord do in me. I want to reflect Christ. I want to truly be Light. I want people to be able to see that I am Yours.
"My prayer is still the same"
- Rain Down, Planet Shakers
You are telling me, You have been telling me an answer. We are back to the beginning. I will seek You first above all else. I believe, yes, I believe that once you find the meaning of life, every thing else - happiness and all that one existentially desires - fall into place. It's You, Lord, it's all about You. I will seek no one and nothing else.
You are my first love.
And I am Yours.
I adore You.
Tuesday, November 09, 2004
02:02.
A Place To Stand On, Rich Mullins
Well there's a lot of things working against me
But I know I can't lose
Yeah there's a lot of things working against me
But I know I can't lose
And there's a lot of miles still between me and my home
But I've learned a lot through the years, now
I'm more than just young
I got a lot of things working against me
But I know I can't lose
And there's a lot of love locked up inside of me
That I'm learning to give
Yeah there's a lot of love locked up inside of me
That I'm learning to give
So that like that bush in Sinai that burned but was not consumed
May the speed of my life throw sparks on the shadows of the tombs
I got a lot of love locked up inside me
I'm learning to give
So hold on to my hand yeah hold on to my hand
'Cause I need a place to run to and a place to stand
And there's a lot of things this world has hidden
That I'm learning to see
Yeah there's a lot of things this world has hidden
That I'm learning to see
Well I have seen some injustice but I've seen mercy too
I was blinded by the things I saw until I looked at You
There's a lot of things this world has hidden
I'm learning to see
So hold on to my hand hold on to my hand
'Cause I need a place to run to and a place to stand
Hold on to my hand yeah hold on to my hand
'Cause I need a place to run to and a place to stand
A Place To Stand On, Rich Mullins
Well there's a lot of things working against me
But I know I can't lose
Yeah there's a lot of things working against me
But I know I can't lose
And there's a lot of miles still between me and my home
But I've learned a lot through the years, now
I'm more than just young
I got a lot of things working against me
But I know I can't lose
And there's a lot of love locked up inside of me
That I'm learning to give
Yeah there's a lot of love locked up inside of me
That I'm learning to give
So that like that bush in Sinai that burned but was not consumed
May the speed of my life throw sparks on the shadows of the tombs
I got a lot of love locked up inside me
I'm learning to give
So hold on to my hand yeah hold on to my hand
'Cause I need a place to run to and a place to stand
And there's a lot of things this world has hidden
That I'm learning to see
Yeah there's a lot of things this world has hidden
That I'm learning to see
Well I have seen some injustice but I've seen mercy too
I was blinded by the things I saw until I looked at You
There's a lot of things this world has hidden
I'm learning to see
So hold on to my hand hold on to my hand
'Cause I need a place to run to and a place to stand
Hold on to my hand yeah hold on to my hand
'Cause I need a place to run to and a place to stand
22:41.
I reckon it must had been in Sec Three when a classmate or teacher mentioned a post-millenium year (2010? 2020? I can't recall) and I automatically went, "Oh my gosh, I probably be dead by then". The irrelevance of that comment in the light of the fact that 2000 was only four years away then was pointed out to me and I covered up my boo-boo with a "30 is like being dead" or something to that effect. You know, the usual pride of youth and teenage disdain towards age.
I used to think I was always grown up for whatever age I was at. Today, I just told someone that I don't think I will ever grow up. How cliched a line it may be, but I employed it. I'm 23, living in the year 2004 and moving as linear time dicates. And next year, I will be 24. And this story won't end until this earthly tent ends.
Do I feel like an adult? I don't think I have ever really felt like a child, not totally.
There are moments in my life when every thing seems to become real-er, clear-er and freezes for a spilt-second frame. They have happened throughout my life, from childhood to now, and perhaps what happen during those moments - or at least one thing that happens among every thing else - is that I really feel my skin. The outsider looking in becomes the onlooker from inside, from behind these brown eyes, as if I am not the first person.
So it is that I am still the same person. And if it's all right with you, we won't go into great discourses of identity as definition and memories and soul vis-a-vis Identity.
My finite-ness presses against my soul.
This afternoon for my first meal of the day, I chomped down a Big Breakfast (the joys of all-day breakfast menus... sigh) of one sausage, two eggs, two pieces of toast with butter, two strips of bacon, one hashbrown, some sauteed mushrooms, half a tomato and a black coffee.
Considering my breakfast normally consists of one toast and a coffee or tea with no sugar, this was properly unpreceded. The theory of good conversation, coffee and (oh all right, 12) bucks being a sure win was tested in that nice cafe ran by Italians with stereo speakers playing guitar music from the three guitar virtuosos at Bourke.
I somehow cannot see today duplicated in Singapore - Spending five-and-a-half hours with a new friend whopping great brekkie, then chilling later at her place and watching Eat Drink Man Woman before I strolled home down Elizabeth road to cook dinner. It was one of those days with sun but a pleasure chill in the air still and it was that cool embrace of Spring that embraced me and strolled home with me alongside people who just knocked off work.
Solid good way to spend the day.
Maybe I am supposed to be slowly saying my goodbyes to this land and its people now but I keep falling.
I just keep falling.
I reckon it must had been in Sec Three when a classmate or teacher mentioned a post-millenium year (2010? 2020? I can't recall) and I automatically went, "Oh my gosh, I probably be dead by then". The irrelevance of that comment in the light of the fact that 2000 was only four years away then was pointed out to me and I covered up my boo-boo with a "30 is like being dead" or something to that effect. You know, the usual pride of youth and teenage disdain towards age.
I used to think I was always grown up for whatever age I was at. Today, I just told someone that I don't think I will ever grow up. How cliched a line it may be, but I employed it. I'm 23, living in the year 2004 and moving as linear time dicates. And next year, I will be 24. And this story won't end until this earthly tent ends.
Do I feel like an adult? I don't think I have ever really felt like a child, not totally.
There are moments in my life when every thing seems to become real-er, clear-er and freezes for a spilt-second frame. They have happened throughout my life, from childhood to now, and perhaps what happen during those moments - or at least one thing that happens among every thing else - is that I really feel my skin. The outsider looking in becomes the onlooker from inside, from behind these brown eyes, as if I am not the first person.
So it is that I am still the same person. And if it's all right with you, we won't go into great discourses of identity as definition and memories and soul vis-a-vis Identity.
My finite-ness presses against my soul.
This afternoon for my first meal of the day, I chomped down a Big Breakfast (the joys of all-day breakfast menus... sigh) of one sausage, two eggs, two pieces of toast with butter, two strips of bacon, one hashbrown, some sauteed mushrooms, half a tomato and a black coffee.
Considering my breakfast normally consists of one toast and a coffee or tea with no sugar, this was properly unpreceded. The theory of good conversation, coffee and (oh all right, 12) bucks being a sure win was tested in that nice cafe ran by Italians with stereo speakers playing guitar music from the three guitar virtuosos at Bourke.
I somehow cannot see today duplicated in Singapore - Spending five-and-a-half hours with a new friend whopping great brekkie, then chilling later at her place and watching Eat Drink Man Woman before I strolled home down Elizabeth road to cook dinner. It was one of those days with sun but a pleasure chill in the air still and it was that cool embrace of Spring that embraced me and strolled home with me alongside people who just knocked off work.
Solid good way to spend the day.
Maybe I am supposed to be slowly saying my goodbyes to this land and its people now but I keep falling.
I just keep falling.
Monday, November 08, 2004
00:38.
As I laugh louder and live harder and ride the emotional rollercoaster, it seems as if I am running to stand still. There are few things, or nothing in life which you can really count on. And as for people, the count only increases slightly.
Most of us walk through life lonely. Some of us find paper clutches to combat this. Others dare not reach out. And still more, there are some who are careful about reaching out in case love and friendship are really only just lonely people desperate for companionship wanting to get some.
If I could be categorised, I would be in that last category, concerned about motives and drive, both an observer of society as well as observer of myself and convicted that being alone does not at all mean being lonely.
Last year, God started to teach me more about loving. This year, the lesson continues - as it will throughout my life - and I have learnt and am learning to give and... to love.
The truth is this. In the last seven or so years I started attending church, I have never had as much spiritual support as I have right now here in Melb. And despite there being few options for a kaki if I spontaneously wanted to go grab a coffee, I feel connected to people in a way I don't reckon I have had for a long time.
The truth is this. I have fallen in love with all these people in OCF and church and when I board that Qantas/ British Airways plane on Dec 21, my heart would probably break into further pieces.
I find myself not really wanting to think a lot about the stuff on its way. And I wonder if my laugh has some hint of desperation. Some kind of desperation to just get all I can now, while I can.
In a paradox, I find too myself wanting to give. Give as much of myself away as I can. Give as much of whatever good I could possibly give away. Just give. The strangest thing might be that I honestly don't think it's about me. It's not about leaving the best image I can of S k y e T. It's not about desperately trying to ensure that I am remembered (not that being remembered is a nasty thought....). It's just not about this finite creature who lives by grace and day by day, is only becoming more aware of how much of a jar of clay she is, and an extremely broken, small and not user-friendly one too at that.
There are many things I want to write about. To God, who knows all things; to me, who knows nothing; and to you, readers who I have given access into my head. But for now, I am going to hit the sack. Am not sleepy but gastric pains are coming on and I don't want to stick around to have them come full-on.
Walking on the Melbourne streets at night is one of the most peaceful things in life. And before I leave, I hope I have another chance to encounter a flock of seagulls on the ground at night so I can run right into their midst and go "boo!".
As I laugh louder and live harder and ride the emotional rollercoaster, it seems as if I am running to stand still. There are few things, or nothing in life which you can really count on. And as for people, the count only increases slightly.
Most of us walk through life lonely. Some of us find paper clutches to combat this. Others dare not reach out. And still more, there are some who are careful about reaching out in case love and friendship are really only just lonely people desperate for companionship wanting to get some.
If I could be categorised, I would be in that last category, concerned about motives and drive, both an observer of society as well as observer of myself and convicted that being alone does not at all mean being lonely.
Last year, God started to teach me more about loving. This year, the lesson continues - as it will throughout my life - and I have learnt and am learning to give and... to love.
The truth is this. In the last seven or so years I started attending church, I have never had as much spiritual support as I have right now here in Melb. And despite there being few options for a kaki if I spontaneously wanted to go grab a coffee, I feel connected to people in a way I don't reckon I have had for a long time.
The truth is this. I have fallen in love with all these people in OCF and church and when I board that Qantas/ British Airways plane on Dec 21, my heart would probably break into further pieces.
I find myself not really wanting to think a lot about the stuff on its way. And I wonder if my laugh has some hint of desperation. Some kind of desperation to just get all I can now, while I can.
In a paradox, I find too myself wanting to give. Give as much of myself away as I can. Give as much of whatever good I could possibly give away. Just give. The strangest thing might be that I honestly don't think it's about me. It's not about leaving the best image I can of S k y e T. It's not about desperately trying to ensure that I am remembered (not that being remembered is a nasty thought....). It's just not about this finite creature who lives by grace and day by day, is only becoming more aware of how much of a jar of clay she is, and an extremely broken, small and not user-friendly one too at that.
There are many things I want to write about. To God, who knows all things; to me, who knows nothing; and to you, readers who I have given access into my head. But for now, I am going to hit the sack. Am not sleepy but gastric pains are coming on and I don't want to stick around to have them come full-on.
Walking on the Melbourne streets at night is one of the most peaceful things in life. And before I leave, I hope I have another chance to encounter a flock of seagulls on the ground at night so I can run right into their midst and go "boo!".
Friday, November 05, 2004
02.51.
Slept at 6.06am yesterday. The sunrise was worth staying up a while longer for. Pictures sequence are haphazard. Apologies. I just really feel like posting every shot. I shot 120 photos over about 15 minutes. The light in the skies changes with every second every shot seems to me a different story. Life is good. Mornington's and Skye Road's pictures will be up in a few days.... :)
Slept at 6.06am yesterday. The sunrise was worth staying up a while longer for. Pictures sequence are haphazard. Apologies. I just really feel like posting every shot. I shot 120 photos over about 15 minutes. The light in the skies changes with every second every shot seems to me a different story. Life is good. Mornington's and Skye Road's pictures will be up in a few days.... :)
Thursday, November 04, 2004
Monday, November 01, 2004
12:41.
I miss home.
It's not really about Singapore. Nor is it about how I already miss Melbourne even as I spend my last month or so here. Somehow, in my current stateless make-up, I yearn for that home I know I am going back to.
"Home... hard to know what it is if you never had one
Home... I can say where it is but I know I'm going Home
That's where the heart is" - Walk On
Less than an hour after I got up for the day, I was on this futon with my guitar, strumming and singing Rich Mullin's If I Stand.
"So if I stand, let me stand on the promise that You will see me through.
And if I can't let me fall on the Grace that first brought me to You!
And if I sing let it be for the joy that has born in me these songs
and if I weep let it be as a man who is longing for his ho-ome"
I don't have my heart.
I've given it to my God and Lord a long time ago.
Oh sure, I perpetually am tugging it back for the stupidest reasons.
But it's still with Him.
That's the only way it can live on.
Three chords, a red guitar and the truth.
And I miss drumming already.
I miss home.
It's not really about Singapore. Nor is it about how I already miss Melbourne even as I spend my last month or so here. Somehow, in my current stateless make-up, I yearn for that home I know I am going back to.
"Home... hard to know what it is if you never had one
Home... I can say where it is but I know I'm going Home
That's where the heart is" - Walk On
Less than an hour after I got up for the day, I was on this futon with my guitar, strumming and singing Rich Mullin's If I Stand.
"So if I stand, let me stand on the promise that You will see me through.
And if I can't let me fall on the Grace that first brought me to You!
And if I sing let it be for the joy that has born in me these songs
and if I weep let it be as a man who is longing for his ho-ome"
I don't have my heart.
I've given it to my God and Lord a long time ago.
Oh sure, I perpetually am tugging it back for the stupidest reasons.
But it's still with Him.
That's the only way it can live on.
Three chords, a red guitar and the truth.
And I miss drumming already.
