18:36.

It's back to the Sg. Back in the media conglomerate. Blogging from my black IBM PC.

Thinking of you. Of us. Of wow.

I remember: In January this year, sat on my blue futon in my bedroom in Melbourne. The housemates had gone back, here. You just left my apartment. And me, alone with God, sobbed my heart out. I had laid you down before God before, prior to that. I had tried and kept trying, but that night, with wrenching sobs and a heart that physically ached, I completely laid down how I feel, I laid down you, on the altar.

I never cried over a guy before.

Before you.

I remember: February 2005. Walking away from you on Feb 5. Missing you terribly every single day. I remember crying myself to sleep on Feb 6th. After bursting into tears over our Msn conversation.

I remember our conversations, I remember when we first came clean with how we feel, I remember the torment over the long period when we didn't and I remember the torment over being apart even after we knew where we stood and now stand.

It wasn't an easy road. We had to walk a tightrope, a thin line that we could only walk with faith and trust and much prayer. But I would never swop any of it.

Because you are worth it.

And because I've never felt the way I do for you for any one else before.

God has turned our mourning into dancing, our tears into laughter. Everything that has happened was so for a purpose. Our journey took its time with the milestones because we needed time.

We had to face how we feel as individuals before we knew our feelings were mutual. We had to have every event put into our paths to mould us. We had to be tested, to know what we want, to know each other better, to have our hearts put on the altar for the refining fire. We had to - and still do so have to - give each other to God again and again because ultimately, dear, He owns us and He is No. 1. Our first Love.

"I've watched the sunrise in your eyes
And I've seen the tears fall like the rain
You've seen me fight so brave and strong
You've held my hand when I'm afraid
We've watched the seasons come and go
We'll see them come and go again
But in winter's chill, or summer's breeze
One thing will not be changin'

We will dance"

That's our song. The song that played on the car's CD player when you parked on a wintry cold June 19th at Melbourne Airport, the song that was playing when I cried for that short few minutes after you parked, as we hugged a mere hour plus away from the second goodbye we had to say.

I remember: June 15th. When, somewhere in the last hour of that Wednesday night, we finally had a status. We moved from courtship to relationship. We became a couple. Before that, we watched our first movie together after ahem, Metalica: Some Kind Of Monster, the only other movie we watched together before (I do still think that makes us unique, heh).

Putting my head on your shoulder made my heart skip a few beats.

You still make my heart skip.

Six months. That's the period that we have to face before we meet again.

But I'm not worried. The foundations have been laid. Unless The Lord builds the house, the workers labour in vain. We feel right, you feel right, and I know God is in our relationship. Our Saviour and Maker is the reason why this feels right and as we honour Him still, and love Him ever more, He will take care of the details. That's the key. God.

It's always God.

Dearest God and Dad, You take charge of this. You lead us, guide us, mould us, teach us to love You and love each other the way Love and a relationship are meant to be lived. We refuse to do this any other way. We want You to be the Head of us.

The foundations - seek Him first, love Him most, wanting the best for each other, wanting us to glorify Jesus always - are laid even as we are learning over this distance, over time to be better for each other.

I will hold on, other guys don't matter. The tears you have shed for me makes me even more sure of you, and more thankful for you even as I am amazed by you.

I will hold on and learn to be even more a woman of God.

'cause you deserve the best.

Yes, just like I deserve the best. I love seeing how God is further bringing you to new heights and places.

And R a y m o n d Chuah?

I love you.

13:57 (Melb)

What is it that you do, that you are that makes me feel this way?

I'm so amazed by you.

12:02.

1 SQ 221 07JUN 2 SINSYD 2030 0550

2 Flight No DJ848
(Blue Saver Fare*)

DEPARTING
Sydney Virgin Blue - T2
1815hr (6:15pm), Fri 10 Jun 2005

ARRIVING
Melbourne Virgin Blue Terminal
1945hr (7:45pm), Fri 10 Jun 2005

3 SQ 238 19JUN 7 MELSIN 1010 1605

19:31, Sg, office.

Flight details are settled.

June 7, 2030, Sg to Syd.

June 10, 1815, Syd to Melb.

June 19, 1010, Melb to Sg.

Now, it's just making sure every loose end is tied. Work is accounted for and am loading up on the research. I know my Marvel, I don't know my 20th century Fox... yet.

Been in the office since 830. Am needing sleep. Filed two stories today. Would be filing two stories on Fantastic Four in Sydney, and hopefully one story on The Tears (phoner on Thurs) if I can get the phoner to be a call-in instead of a call-out.

Wanted to grab mocha from the cafeteria just now but decided to abstain. I would be getting good mocha in just a while, no? :)

Ran errands in Orchard during my lunch break and found the MRT station adorned with floor to ceiling, left to right all across type posters promoting Melbourne as the 2006 Commonwealth games, as part of the Visit Australia tourism campaign.

If I saw this last Thursday, I would had went "argh" (a small one) inside or even verbally but just now, I could smile. I snapped a pic of it with my phone and went on my way.

Can't wait.

Do pray :)

That work would be completely great, and that the trip to Melb would be great too.

Come on, God.

I LOVEE You!

18:58.

It has been a long time since I can click on weather.com with the knowledge that the info I seek would be applicable on an actual, practical level.

It is 120 today.

120 days since I left Melb.

And I'm going back next week. :)

Can I tell you how mind baffling good God is?

Just on Wednesday, I was telling Ray about how a correspondent was going around the office asking some folks what they know about Fantastic Four. Me, since I came back, have buried my nose into X-Men, Amazing Spiderman and Fantastic Four. Hey, I even just finished reading a collection on Tuesday night. I told the correspondent I read FF and in fact, can tell him their history, love lives and all that but one rule in the newsroom is that temps don't go on junketts.

He basically told me, sorry dear. But I msged my supe and just said the same things I told him, adding that I do understand if I don't get it but yeah, I know my stuff for sure.

And on Friday 12-ish, she called me and told me the executive editor approved it.

I got the junkett.

A trip to Sydney for the Fantastic Four premiere this side of the world.

Despite being still on contract. Despite having only been back in the newsroom for about 2 and a half months.

The exact details are being ironed out but I should be flying out on Tues night, reaching Sydney on Wed morn, and by Fri, the FF work should be wrapped up. I'd wander around Sydney for a while, buy krispy kremes, and then catch my one-hour flight to Melbourne.

:)

And there I would stay until the 18th or 19th.

I am still in shock, awe, bafflement, amazement.

I never expected to be able to go back so soon. Sept was the set date for my hol back, a far-off month that I steadily plod towards on a course I try to keep straight.

And now....

God is using 20th Century Fox to bring about his will.

I reckon that's darn cool.

My mind hasn't totally understood this. How He just flinged wide the doors and exceeded my expectations.

I'm going back to Aust, and the company is paying my trip to and fro.

And on the work front, I am feeling adult and all journo at this first proper overseas assignment.
This time next week and this time next fortnight, I would be in Melb.

Those people I have missed will be on hand to hug and observe, not a name on Msn, or a voice on the phone or photos or memories.

The streets I have longed to walk down again, I would be able to.

The places to have coffee and dine at, I can frequent again.

The air, wintry now.

The window seat, I hope it's still there.

The drumset.

The wide(r) open spaces.

Vic Mkt.

Safeway.

RMIT.

CCBC.

JB Hifi.

Trams and Flinders St. State library and Melb Central.

Horses and carriages.

Good mocha. Vienna coffee. brekkie.

Church!

I tried to tell God today everything on my mind and I couldn't. I sat in some awe and much thankfulness and I sung along to worship songs playing from my lappie and just felt overwhelmed.

I tried to write down how I feel and again I couldn't. I keep looking up at nothing in particular and have random thoughts run through my mind.

What would it be like?

How would I feel?

How would it be like?

What changes would there be?

How would I react?

What would I do?

Would I be too cold? (hah)

How would it be like.

How would it be like.

YOU have taken us this far Lord. YOU have taken me this far. Thank You for trusting me, for loving me, for giving me exceedingly, abundantly above what I could imagine. Thank You for blowing my mind. I want to love You so much more. Even as I want to see Your work in my life.

More. Evermore.

And it's just six days more.

11:49.

I read through one whole issue of Spider Man Blue last night, and for some reason, the comic's tragedy stays in my head. I couldn't remember so I went to ask my brother how Gwen Stacy died. And I remembered the set up. Was she dead before she fell or did she die because he couldn't catch her? How painful a premise. How evermore haunted a superhero is our Spidey because of this. How sad, but better that there's a tale to write a story than for there to never had been any thing. But yes, it's so... blue.

21:31.

I want to worship with my drumming.

It just struck me in service this morning... most drummers I have seen don't sing when they drum. The first two times I drummed in OCF, I didn't either. There were moments when I closed my eyes and just felt God's presence but I wasn't at a place where sufficient technical aptitude was in place for me not to have to - or feel like I absolutely have to - throw all of me into the technical aspects.

I sing when I drum. More than that, I love worshipping He who holds my heart when I am behind the drum kit.

With every crash, with every fill, every time the stick makes contact with the snare, it's as if splashes of my heart's desire to worship You evermore splashes over.

I want to be a better drummer. A better keyboardist. A better guitarist.

I want to worship Him with all that He has given to me.

I will play my drums for You, Dad.

I love You most.

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

I will sing for You.

I will write for You.

I will live for You.

All of my days.

We have a deal, Dad.

Dear Jesus, I will fly with You. I remember our date.

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

I scared my guitarist yesterday.

We were having some problems with one of the faster songs or rather, I thought it was okay but the rest felt I should play a different way, more akin to the way another drummer does it, but they couldn't describe what they want so I got befuddled.

So, when I get confused, I can't "flow" and I stopped mid-song and went "arghhhhhhh!" at myself. The quiet guitarist who looks ever calm and almost bored looked up with shock and went "what's the matter?!".

I explained it was my reaction at myself, that was all.

Oops.

19:14.

It's 7:14pm on a Friday night.

I'm in the office, waiting for a call from a local celebrity. He's 44 minutes late already.

The office is cold. I wear my pinstriped Topshop blazer, Levis 593s, and Mango white Racer Back. Oooh, I just realised my entire outfit today are stuff I bought after I came back, plus the white Charles & Keith sandals too. The only things from Melb are my Just Jeans belt and my Levis bag. Oh, and since we are down at accessories, my sliver hoop earrings are frm Melb too, fruits of a shopping trip to Highpoint with Germie.

It is Friday. But Sunday's coming. Tomorrow's Saturday but Sunday's coming. Sunday.

For some reason, that popped into my head.

The office is fairly quiet by now. There are still people around, of course. I hear three of the editors talking, their voices carrying over the relative still-ness; Friday nights always see more eds staying back late.

Was going through the hotmail account where ocf yahoo group mail gets sent to. At one point, for some reason, I almost felt tears well up. I stared at one of the names, the sender. And remembered what I told her before I left.

I remember the conviction I had and have about the greatness of these folks.

Again, I feel like I could tear.

Such amazing people. And now, in the group emails I still get (I requested for my name not to be taken off the list yet), I smile at how "the young ones" are indeed rising up. How they are doing so much more.

I clicked through a link in one the mails.

It led to this year's July Camp website.

I was wowed, and nostagic, amazed and glad all at once.

I may not be there but God so is. And that makes me wowed and glad and almost teary all over again.

I clicked through every profile of the committee members, marvelled at stuff. Then, I clicked through the link that led to photos from last year's July Camp.

They are familiar photos. My lappie back home contains all of them, gleaned from various photographers. I saw my face, other familiar faces, smiles that still make me smile.

And I did. Even now. A small smile, remembering every precious person and memory.

The time is 7:44, I'm S k y e T a n.

And I remain:

thankful.

"For all that You've done, I will thank You
For all that You're going to do
For all that You promised
and all that You Are
is all that will carry me through
Jesus, I thank You."
- Thank You, Dennis Jernigan

12:22.

I want to go home.

Why does this thought still pop up in my head, even come out of my mouth so often?

At times, it's a mute whisper. Others, a sigh to God. It's like one of those scroll by tags on sites that move from left to right saying something like "buy me now", moving seemingly in and out of the screen but always there.

For some reason, I found it hard to get to sleep last night.

It felt like something was wrong somewhere and I couldn't be sure what. I tossed, I turned, I heard my Mom had a minor nightmare and make a small scream. I prayed, I spoke in tongues, I tossed, I turned.

Maybe it was and is the warmth. Maybe, but I fell asleep with a headache and woke up with a headache.

I miss home.

I'm unreasonable, not always sane, sometimes really happy, other times not as. I know, I know.

Dad, I need to feel that undeniable purpose for living. Besides knowing, I need to feel it too.

There must be more than this.

Otherwise, somebody kill me please.

16:20.

They look like kidneys....

11:47.

Got tagged by hypodermically

And for the record, this is the first time I am consciously aware this tag thing exists o_O but here I am, in the media conglomerate of Singapore, reading blogs (and ljs) to start my day off so why not? :)

1. Total number of films I own on DVD/video:
I assume VCDs count too... um, letmesee.... maybe 20? If we count music concerts, then I'll prob hit about 27.

2. The last film I bought:
Does U2's Rattle And Hum count? It's a concert/ documentary. Otherwise, I really can't remember, I think it's either a VCD of Reality Bites or Crybaby.

3. Last film I watched:
Ray. heh. You know, Ray Charles.

4. Five films that mean a lot to me:

- Reality Bites.

That's my No 1 of all times. It captures my generation for me... angst, idealism, confusion, stupid TV, how modern life is surreal, relationships dynamics... every thing about being 23 and wanting to change the world all your life then suddenly finding that you no longer know what you want.

- The Matrix

It will always be linked to those intellectual expansion and turmoil of the heart and mind that whew, I'm gg to say it, WritCom brought in year 1 of poly. And as I get older, read more and explore more ideas, I am still ever amazed at the metaphors and ideas the whole trilogy presented and packaged. And yes, I admit it, I want to wear leather suits and cool shades, travel dimensions and fight bad guys :D

- Before Sunset

I am a die hard romantic but yet cynical. Before Sunrise and Before Sunset was also both, and brought out both sides of me. There were stuff I didn't like about both flicks but see, I can relate to the characters on the overall. And the dialogue seemed to be straight from my head at times. Why Before Sunset instead of Before Sunrise? Maybe because Sunset is more gritty and real, and I liked how I could see the characters arch develop from the first flick.

- Lord Of The Rings

I can't choose a favourite out of the three but I'm going to argue that the trilogy counts as one film to me because I read the whole whopping book first before developing interest in the movies. When the book hooked me, it was already post Two Towers, pre ROTR on the big screen. LOTR means a lot to me for the same reasons as The Matrix. It articulates ideas important to me and encourages me somehow.

- Edward Scissorshand

Much tears were shed over this Tim Burton directed Johnny Depp/ Winona Ryder strange movie. Since I pretty much grew up feeling like an outsider somehow, I could relate to Edward. Sniff. Such a tragic movie. Sniff. Sniff. Sniff. But so beautiful. So strangely beautiful.


5. Tag five people and have them put this in their journal:
Er, don't need lah. I am an online hermit.

15:20.

Kylie diagnosed with breast cancer!

21:03.

There's beauty in a pheasant's wings

And for that I thank God.

For there's beauty every where.

Despite everything.

Walking out of the company is especially delightful when there's some sun left in the sky. When there is, on my way out, I would turn and look over the giant canal in front of the company at the patch of sunset still left. Sometimes, some bit of the sun still peeks at me despite the concrete jungle, and its orange glow always cast a beauty sheen over the water in the huge canal. [Note: It ain't a longkang, but a clean huge canal. Heh.]

There are certain routes that I always love walking on.

Back before I was 17, it was that walk home from Hong Dao Primary. The straight pathway right next to the fences of Yio Chu Kang Secondary, then a small road, then a HDB block, then a little zebra crossing before I walked under another HDB block before I can see mine.

I walked pass those fences with my head sideways too. Seldom with my head ahead at the road ahead of me, but on the grass patches besides me because you never know what you could find. Or so I used to think. I once thought a old strip of broken rubber tyre was a dead snake and told every friend walking home with me that it was a snake. And they believed me. Then one day, I realised I was wrong.

I loved too the walk home from the library that laid beyond the primary school. I used to talk to myself as I walk that path home, lugging books. Over the years, I dragged Melody Maker, pop culture books, Faust, comics, various vampire fiction, cheem stuff I couldn't yet understand like Mere Christianity... home. And as I carried the books and walked, I would talk to myself when I was sure no one was around. Dreams, fantasties, questions were hatched, voiced and given much thought on those journeys.

Now, my two favourite walks are the one leading out of the office and the one leading home. And when the weather's cool, and I'm in sensible shoes, the walks home from the MRT, me always raising my head up to stare at stars, those walks, they still my soul too.

Someone asked me the other day if working life has torn the stars from my eyes like it did for her. I said no. Maybe if that question was asked of me in late 2002, or early 2003, there was a point when I could have said yes. But no.

And the other night, I looked up again and tried to find Orion. Felt a bit sad when I couldn't. There was a sliver of a moon out, a pale crescent. I remembered staring out at the night time sky on another continent.

There is beauty in the pheasant's wings.

The world shouts a Hallelujah to our God.

I pause, close my eyes for a moment and felt tears spring out. I feel crippled almost with thanksgiving and awe.

He is so beautiful.

16:15.

Evermore, Hillsongs

Lost for words with all to say
Lord you take my breath away
Still my soul, my soul cries out
You are holy

And as I look upon Your name
Circumstances fade away
Now Your Glory steals my heart
You are holy
You are holy
You are holy Lord

Evermore my heart, my heart will say
Above all, I live for Your Glory
Even if my world falls I will say
Above all, I live for Your Glory

With all my heart I'll say
I'm living for Your name
With all to give You praise
We're living for Your Glory Lord

Evermore my heart, my heart will say
Above all, I live for Your Glory
Even if my world falls I will say
Above all, I live for Your Glory

17:55.

Five minutes ago, I ate an Oreo.

It's one of those half peanut butter, half choc cream ones.

The first time I ate one of those - always with the peanut butter side first - I was in Bouverie Close, nicking one off Vonnie's pack. With permission, of course.

Two hours ago, I was looking through Hannah's online photo album of her 23rd birthday (bwahaha, same age! Oops.)

It looks like fun, and like I told her and Germie before, I wished I am there. Smiley faces, happy faces, familiar background - that grey couch, those white kitchen cabinets, the walls that look beige under florescent lights, it's always very cool when people are happy.

I browsed through the rest of the albums. Saw my face in some of them. From Hannah's birthday celebration last year, from Easter camp last year.

Last year.

Last year, I was there.

Last year, I shared that same space, had some of the same friends, felt the same simple happiness I saw reflected in pictured faces.

I sat on that couch, I sat at that Ikea dining table, and just out of sight of that photo I stared at, was a wooden stool I parked myself at probably every single day before.

With dear friends and people, I created memories in that house.

And that red drumset? Something was strengthened in me when I took on the challenge of drumming for Parkville. Something forgotten was revived in the this-is-so-scary-i'm-so-stressed-about-drumming-these-songs walk-on type journeys.

How fast a year bring us.

Last year in this month, I first drummed for Ray at Parkville. Cringeworthy performance from yours truly. Song set at repeated mode for dozens of times in prep. Only time I burst into tears over the phone with Mom, I was that disturbed.

About five-and-a-half hours ago, I bought Bright Eyes' latest album. I first heard about the group from a cg mate, and first downloaded their songs with trusty lappie through Ares while sat at that dining table.

Oh the memories.

94 days and counting since I left Melbourne.

No, really, I am not obsessively keeping count of the days. Maybe one day I can tell you why I have my finger on the number but be assured I am not psychotically consulting a calendar every day.

We are hitting three-digit soon.

I've been having dreams of people. Just groups of people who were once physically in my life. My wireless connection at home has not been working for close to two weeks now so I am only online at work now.

A friend who returned in Dec has filed her offshore PR application. At her urging, I have called three migration agents, checked out all possible ways to get back, and mobilised my parents to double check whether we have relatives in Aust.

That last turned out empty since those we do know are not blood related.

The options I have left to exercise require me to pray lots and know exactly what I want and what I am willing to pay for it.

At the end of the day, I'm living in a living lesson. I think it's some epic... but I'm rambling.

I understand a very small measure of Paul's words.

"We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed." - 2 Corinthians 4: 8- 9

A lot of things are being stripped bare. And the process grates against my heart and mind.

The fruits of the lesson are many and great. I can glimpse their glory and potential but for now, I am in the waiting.

And I want to worship Him.

12:24.

Grrr.

18:15.

Some people seem to have it all together.

They understand why they are where they are, they can tell you about the meaning they have in their work and their life, they are set. Steadfast. Able to explain why they are cool with whatever happens.

Some people think I am one of those persons.

I am not.

For the life of me, though I do know with my entire being that all things work together for the good of those who love God and that things will always work out in His time, yes, I really wonder.

Wonder at why I am here.

In this country. In this company. In this church. Even in this family.

I'm nobody's saviour.

I'm thankful for what I have but I don't see my purpose for being here. I love my country, work, church and family but I don't see how I can plug the holes they have.

And I am a zillion percent aware that though I can be used as an instrument of God, I am not the answer.

Could I be the catalyst for bigger things? That history maker we sing about?

Yes.

But help me.

I have gone to bed with questions in my head, questions like those I have listed. And sometimes during these moments, when I got into my bed, I would be eager to close my eyes and let sleep overtake. So that I do not need to think.

Life is too long to live without purpose.

Life is not worth living without God.

I have God. And because I do believe in Him and all He promised, because I have touched the Divine and lived, because again and again, I have seen my God pull me through every closed wall and impossible situations, I can live.

Because of You. Because of the Love You have shown me and given to me through You and the people You have blessed me with.

But so help me, God.

I'm not that strong. And I need answers.

My Lord and God, make me steadfast. I hate it when I am double minded. I detest it when I am unsure about what I want. It's not about being weak. I know I am weak and I have acknowledged it but Lord, even in weakness, may I have conviction. May I have passion. May I not be average or mediocre or bend to other people's or society's will.

Dad....

I'm standing on Your Word.

Not my will but Yours be done, but my God, can I not be in the waiting for much longer?

Help.

02:40.

I talk to cats.

Mostly, it's just a "hey there", "hallo" or today to the orange tabby "hey babe" while mentally wondering if the cat might be meowing in soft objection at being called the moniker of a certain hog in a hollywood movie.

And about 200metres away from my hi-bye conversation with a cat, I saw what I presume was a headless squashed mynah on the road. I cringed, tensed up and retracted my steps down the path it was on, and walked down another pathway to cross the road and get to my company.

Yeah, I was at the office on Sunday. And on Sat too actually. Worked from about 1pm to 7pm on Sat and about 2.30 to 4.30pm on Sunday. Would be taking my Leave In Lieu today though so I am glad.

Besides talking to cats - and I wondered if the cat might had been the killer of that bird - I spend most of my days now at work.

Thankfully, work is interesting, and I have much to be thankful for. The working hours suit me fine, there are some great colleagues about, I get away with casual clothes with a cardigan/ blazer/ jacket thrown over to look less casual and warm me against the freezing air con.

Singapore is strange. So warm a tropical country - I woke up three days in a row with a headache from the exceptionally warm weather - and so cold at so many places. Who was it who first said that we are an air conditioned nation? She/ he is right indeed.

Last Thursday was my one-month "aniversary" at this job. I'm enjoying it, though the hiccups do come my way. And I miss zucchinis, asparagus and mushrooms.

Sometimes when I write, I come up with one-liners that strike me with their accurancy. No, I am not referring to the veggies related line but something I remember writing before - "Maybe at the end of the day, I fight change as much as I fight routine."

Maybe.

In that same vein, even as I settle down, I miss the place that is still also home in my heart. Even as I get used to and even quietly enjoy the familiarity of working girl life, I miss the student lifestyle of old.

In the same way, I am settling into church well, serving on music almost every week but I know inside of me, I am not convinced that this is my church home.

It feels like home, it really does. But in some cases, paradoxically so, no changes can be weary for the soul even as changes seemingly weighs down your spirit.

I enjoy wearing summer clothes all the time but long for the cool weather that is autumn in Melbourne. I love being with family but sometimes think about the independence and loneness. And honestly, I would like to do my laundry again. But just mine. Oops.

I miss seeing rainbows so often, glorious in their full arch and double rainbows appearances. I miss the crisp cool wind. I miss standing on my balcony just to feel that wind, and sometimes, some sun. And I miss looking out for visitors from my window.

It has been 80 days.

I remember the feeling of displacement that came when I uprooted to go to Melbourne. I remember the acute displacement that struck when I first came back here. I remember too how I felt like a stranger in a strange land for most of my life.

The feeling of home sometimes come geographically. Walking down a certain street feels like home. Certain people feel like home. Certain streets and people, you feel you belong to and with.
But feeling like the girl who fell to earth... that bit, I honestly have to say, is an appearance throughout my life's story thus far.

And I won't be surprised at all if I have to uproot again.

I don't know when or where.

When I went to Melbourne, I felt like I was sent. Missionary simply means Sent One, I had learnt, and I felt that way.

When I came back, again, I felt like I was sent here again. Not returning. But sent.

So what is home? People, and certain landscapes and weather that embraces.

Where am I supposed to be?

Am on a journey that teaches faith, trains and equips.

One day, I will be Home. But honestly, life is too long the living unless it has purpose.

But every moment's made for worshipping, every moment I am alive, we are alive, there can be more than this.

*hugggggggs*

21:59.

Newspaper feature writing, newspaper entertainment coverage differs fundamentally. The space given, the research and fluidity, the prose and laxity, the wonder of the story you write is different. Weaving together an article and weaving together a story is different. They can both come together, I am sure, but working with space requires a mastery I guess I can't exercise as yet.

Now I am in entertainment, I would like to meet fascinating characters and write a story. Stories like this and others I posted before and perpetually read when researching or just reading.

I pray I can wield a pen better.

Lord. *makes puppy dog eyes*

Heh.

22:49.

She told us she saw heaven.

As she stepped into the church sanctuary, with just one foot in over the threshold, the old lady demonstrates then gestured excitedly, she saw the stage and everything else turn to gold and a cool wind blew at her and her physical aches were relieved just like that.

She's 74 years old, a plump old lady Jen and I met while prayer walking about the estate our company is located in. We were walking along one void deck, one of those with flats on the first floor too. It was also one of those "upgraded" estates (that's the term we use in Sg for old blocks which get overhauled with major renovation to pretty them up) so the lift - as in keeping with the old style - was not on the first floor, but a half floor away, or one stairs up, from the first floor.

Yeah, it's hard to describe but I digress.

Yes, the old aunty was lugging a heavy looking trolley (those metal-go-to-market types where you dump everything in) and we stopped to help her carry it up those stairs. Then, she lives on a level where the lift doesn't stop directly at so we helped her carry it up those stairs too.

She was asking us if we are evangelising and then said she has been a Christian for 10 years. Then, with great joy she shared about the vision she had.

She told us too about how her elder brother "bullies" her. They live together. She prays for him everyday, she says. And before we took our leave, we prayed for her and him.

Yes, in Mandarin.

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

And I really wanted to write about an interesting interviewee I talked for two hours to yesterday night but am going to be prudent and not write about it until the story comes out. Yes, yes, I am paranoid but some other journo might read this and try to tackle it too.

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

And just for a more detailed idea of my work scope now:

Sunday night - Attended N K F charity show, colleague who I attended the show with and myself filed a story that night for Mon's News pages. Left office at 1am, which was earlier than I expected

Monday - Filed TV review for Joey, made calls in the afternoon, met very interesting newsmaker in the evening until 8pm (for news story, not entertainment)

Tuesday - Short intw at 1130. Met interviewer at company's lobby. Called many people for feature on a new local programme, couldn't write it up because broadcaster did not get back in time (and i hv been chasing for a week now). Left work on time at 7pm and at home, watched a video for work purposes.

Wednesday - If the above comes through, file it. Would make calls and if I can't start writing that, then I'd start writing article on Garbage instead. Oh, and meeting at 11am.

Thursday - Write the local programme article or Garbage's, depending on which one got done on Wed.

Friday - File Garbage CD review. Do phoner with model we shot last week. Try to file the beautiful people weekly column for which this is for.

And next week, we will start again.

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

And I miss you.

23:47.

"God has a plan for my life
God has a plan for my life
I just can't wait to see what's in store for me!
Oh God has a plan for lil old me."

- A children's song titled (I reckon) God Has A Plan For My Life

Was reading Aggie's blog and the chripy song popped into my head, along with a long ago memory of a teenage me singing the song softly but very happily, especially the third line. I had such excitement.

Dear Lord, I know You have much in store for me and I am waiting for You to blow my mind.

23:32.

"Do not let this Book of the the Law depart from your mouth; mediate on it day and night, so that you may be careful to do everything written in it." - Joshua 1:8

The verse made me recall the one about guarding our hearts. We so often hear about how we must memorise scripture to guard our hearts, and often, the verses cited are those in the line of Joshua 1:8.

"that you may be careful to do everything written in it" is one reason to take the Word to heart and mind more seriously. There are many more reasons but on Sunday, as during we looked at Joshua 1:8 during discipleship, something that I never really expressed before came to me.

I take God's Word in not just so I may not sin against Him. But in totality, the Word of God is a guard for my heart and mind and all of me.

"I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me." This guards my heart against despair and helplessness.

"I have plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." This guards my heart against hopelessness.

Hiding Your Word in my heart makes my heart keep beating, it keeps it flesh and red and alive. And Your Word is a lamp for my feet and a light for my eyes.

I love You, Word of God.

20:29.

Thursday night, I worked till 1am Friday morning before I caught the company's night transport mini bus home. Covered my first fashion show, ain't a big scale one, a small showcase from a rising Taiwanese designer.

The sole male model got screams from er, the females from the organising company. And the male reporters got an eyeful when a female model popped out of her very low cut dress. The Asia Pac media show up was as different from the good looks on stage as possible. One gent possibly from Taiwan or China was in berms and a crumpled Tee shirt.

But let's leave that day behind, as it already is.

Tomorrow night, I would be working late again, covering an annual charity show, then getting into the office to file the story to be appear in Monday's edition of the paper.

As of now, I have a TV review, a music review, three music related features to write and explore, one feature about a new local show, a news article to chase, and a weekly column whose photos have been shot but interview not completed yet.

This week, I would have to finish: That charity show article, the tv review, the local show feat, and chase one music feat. Would like to finish the weekly column thing too if I can. And am doing the news interview on Monday.So may have to write that up too.

I am, often: In that mode where the brain is firing away, keeping itself updated on the work one has to complete by when. That mode which cannot be switched off even when you walk out of the office. Which prevents you from soothing your tiredness with a nap on the train home, 'cause your mind takes time to slow down.

Yeah, baby, I am back in the flow, full-on, that journo delirium of deadlines. And it's so familiar it's soothing in a weird manner.

I am enjoying the work.

Loving doing interviews. This part is a very real bit, I savoured the interviews I had done so far. The face-to-face ones, that is, and a certain assuredness I feel going into interviews and during interviews that I well, simply savour.

Since I returned - and it has been a while - I have got a few comments about how I look different; one ex-editor mentioned that there's something different but she can't put her finger on it. I thought about it and put it down to 2004 being a time when I grew into my skin more. Like how I told a good friend, I know now more than I ever did that I am a child of the King, not a servant, and I will keep holding my head up high.

I am thankful for what I am doing, and enjoying it, but having time sometimes feels like something I don't have much any more. Time management - Ah, that is so important now. Knowing that a life without more of God is not one I want has to translate more into actions, constant morning and night seeking.

Sometimes, I catch myself feeling tired. Other times, just simply quietly happy in spite of any tiredness or the feeling of trying to juggle many things all at once.

That familiarity I mentioned earlier, helps me a lot during these times. I am not new to this. And that helps way lots. And the familiarity of it reminds me how I like this job.

I wonder: Does missing a place and people still mean you are not embracing where you are now?

I am still wondering, but I reckon the line on that is not that black and white indeed.

Ponder with me then.

And the rain outside that has since ceased, and the bright room light above has caused those tiny little flies to fly around the light before somehow falling to the ground, crawling around and just dying.

Poor things.

23:23.

Random:

There is a cabinet where the daily paper gets stacked in the office, where we go to grab our copies of the paper every day. I visited that grey cabinet four times today and it's random and strange and utterly duh really but the first three times, I opened the cabinet door, and looked at the pile of papers, checked the date on the paper (April 12) and somehow, somehow, I have no idea why, I walked away with the impression that they were backdated copies. As I stared at the date, I thought that to myself immediately. Somehow, somehow. In my mind, it was the 21st, I really don't know why. So yeah, I walked away three times with the same impression. And it was only after I spotted the paper on a colleague's desk when I was woken from my reverie of sorts and realised waitaminute, that's the cover similiar to the one in the cabinet. And thus my fourth time walking over to finally grab it. Strange, strange, strange.

12:43.

I am sat at my desk at the media conglomerate of Singapore.

(Yes, after a year-plus break, here I go again employing the above phrase).

I am a desk away from my old desk. This new desk faces the main entrance of the paper's office. I've pinned up some pictures that used to be up on my old desk too. On my right - black and white print-outs of a shot of U2 taken in the early 80s and Kurt Cobain at the microphone with his guitar; magazine cut-out of The Beatles, the four portraits arranged in a square; and a little comic strip of three Rolling Stone album cover parodies of the Simpsons posed like the shots on Nirvana's Nevermind, Bruce Springsteen's Born In The USA and The Beatle's White Album.

Behind my computer moniter, a colourful square of six colours from a magazine advert.

To my left, a long Beatles For Sale brochure from an exhibition held here, pinned next to a flyer from the exhibition Imagine: The Art Of John Lennon.

The only new additions on my desk's partial walls are a photo of the St Kilda sunset taken Dec 30 2004 on the beach, and a group photo at the airport, taken Feb 5 2005.

I am settling into life in Sg, no doubt.

Heck, I can even wear blazers and cardigans out without perspiring (Oh all right, in the evening times only, notably only after I leave the freezing office).

I still don't seek out particular food to eat but enjoy what local fare I do consume.

And though I spent something like 14 days out of the 18 days I've worked thus far with some flu, fever or cold, I am settling back into work too. Adopting the same timeline, enjoying the un-9-to-5-routine pop-ups like walking down a would-be red light district last Saturday night. Loving the fact that I can dress casual and get away with it. Being comfortable with the programmes we use with work and every thing else. Comfortably enjoying the access of little food places and services still avail in the clusters of shops around the HDBs that surround this company. Even comfortably liking the routine walk in and out to work from the MRT station nearby.

Yes, indeed I know for a fact I am settling in.

The nostagia is still here, though, in as real ways as ever.

That, my dears, was the good life.

What I had in Melbourne, notably the last few months of summer.

The significance of seasons have been shown me and taught to my heart. I can never again scorn the romanticism people exhibit about summers with its seasonal fruit offerings, clothing allowance and general warmness.

I miss the life - cutting downstairs to buy some fruits and groceries, popping to Maccers down the street or the Korean shop across the road just to grab something to eat... I miss the availability of stuff that were well, avail.

Having time on your hands to do whatever you would - I miss that even as I settle into this new routine peacefully now.

Staying up to any time, even if it was just to chat on Msn or watch DVDs at a friend's, or various laid-back casual activities. Sleeping in till 10-ish or 11-ish in the morning, in glorious non humid, very sleep conduive weather. Waking up on my futon hugging my pillow, loving the feel of my duvet on bare skin, seeing the sky peeking in through that big picture window. Getting up, having breakfast - tea and biscuits or toast - sat next to the living room window, watching the world below. Getting cleaned up, popping out for an errand or to meet friends, coming back, popping out again... the accessibility of every thing.

The ease of the days.

The way it was so comfortable just being with friends and in my world in Melbourne.

Nostagia is present. And would probably always be now in this strange and wondrous exercise of life where those good old days would never repeat in its entirety. And of course, we love them more so because of that preciousness of non-continuity.

Ah.

Where do we go from here?

Ray, Ken, Aggie, Germie, Hannah, Sun, Mei Sun, Angeline, Paul, Marcus, MJ, Drin, Ian... um, I just realised it's impossible to name everyone, not when everyone made up a part of Melbourne for me.

Where do we go from here? Where do we go from here?

Be still, my heart, and know Your Maker.

Indeed, how good and pleasant it was - and is - when we live together in unity.

Your are amazing.

17:45.

Who is this Jim White?

The interview above got me intrigued.

Random quotes which struck a note:

"I think if you take people who were genetically bred to live in Scotland where it's cold and rainy all the time and you put them in this crucible of Southern heat and humidity and poverty, I think there's a kind of madness that comes over people, and I think Flannery O'Connor and Faulkner and up to modern day people all talk about that in their work. White Southerners are strangely displaced. If you look at them just within a lifetime, they belong here, but if you look at them over a thousand years, they're displaced. And because of that, they have sort of an ache, and that ache has to be medicated by God and drugs and love and sex and it creates, I think, a more virulent appetite for existence. Because of that, displaced people always fight harder than people who are settled into their lives."

"[Blues music] doesn't try to in any way intellectually resolve itself, and that's really good, because you can talk yourself out of anything if you find enough words. I admire the fact that it's not reconciled, that it's free-floating. Much of the truth of life is that many things are irreconcilable."

"You keep thinking and you'll be fine. Either that or you'll go crazy."


Ah, the idea of an interviewee fascinating and intelligent, an interview which inspires one to weave words around and about even as the endeavour to get inside his/ her head comes off impossibly so far from 100 per cent because of her/ his depth.

20:44.

This is the first day of my third week of work. There are a few stories up in the air all at once now, you know, those half-researched stories that need some more direction or stuff before you start writing. Filed stuff so far includes just one story and one review.

I have taken to wearing my new pair of Levis' 593 (the exact same cut as that other pair I wore everywhere in Melbourne) to work, with a nice top and blazer over. Truth be told, I dress the same I would back in Melb, when I was merely going out.

Oh, no short skirts though. But in skinnyland SG and where going to town takes about an hour, and where I take public transport, somehow, the convenience of jeans is a whole lot more attractive. To continue on this inane out-of-mind thought, I should continue to give you the random useless information that even in Melb, I wore short skirts only when I wasn't going to be out long.

Yes, useless information spewed out. Now we move on.

My mind rewinds to that second last scene in Reality Bites, where Winona Ryder stands on her small little front porch that was more like an elevated place before her apartment's door, besides the staircase to the little front yard, and below, two metres away stood Ethan Hawke, his slouched posture in utter contrast to her straight nervous back.

They faced each other, faced off if you like and the camera cuts to Troy, the name of his character.

A medium close up of Troy, in a brown fitted suit, Troy with his greasy hair, stubble and squinty eyes full of pain. And as he described his sorrow over reacting that badly that other morning, he said something along the lines of, "it's like I have a mountain of regret on my shoulders".

It's like I have a mountain of emotions on my shoulder too, and whatever nerves and spots it is that they are pressing on, it causes my heart and head to feel that load's weight too.

What uncertainty does is show you with full clarity the few things you can depend on, while all around falls apart. What uncertainty also does is wear a few blisters onto your heart. But as clinched as it may sound and as trite or self-rationalising, I have to admit uncertainty teaches faith in a most decisive way.

It's hard to believe Glory to Glory in such: like you are standing on a mountaintop, except it's a really thin mountain, shaped like an i and all around is mist. Can't really see, though you are not in darkness, and you are not in the pits.

I am on a mountain top. But I can only see a circle around where I stand, just that bit of circumference about my feet, and I know I am on a mountaintop, somewhere high. But I can't see.

The number of questions that come to me amount in such frequency the questions sometimes seem to zoom into each other and I can't decipher one from the other when I actually stop and try to read them.

Oh, the emotions and the rationale. The head and the heart. The left brain and right. Jerusalem and Athens.

Reality's fight. Ideals' struggle.

"Cast your cares on the Lord and He will sustain you;
He will never let the righteous fall."
- Ps 55:22

I learn and try to cast my cares on You.
You, Lord Jesus.
You.

When all is said and done, it's really all about You.

And I'm going to keep at this, all of this, because I know it's worth it and because I have to and want to. And I know I can.

I also know I am not going to glide through every thing. This is life. But more than that, I know I will get through whatever comes.

Because You are, I am.

22:02.

Flu-ish, throat uncomfy, head heavy. Mind on Melbourne, drag it back to work. Noticed some small red ants running around my laptop just now, while I was sat on the floor in front of my mirror, taking off the make-up. Majesty by Delirous is playing. I got to do a DVD review of a scary movie. The potential fever worries me slightly. I think of how I have to go into work early tomorrow and probably work late. Work seems to somewhat taking overy my hours. And its familiarity is not lost on me.

A whole great amount of missing exists in me even as I adapt to work, to life here, to this working girl's life. Been trying to adapt, aware that whining or articulating the missing probably makes people around me wish I shut up, keeping chin up, counting blessings, and there have been stuff I enjoyed doing. I wonder if my general quietness is a bad testimony to my faith.

Just reached out and killed an ant. Just now, when I first saw them, I remembered how ants invasion never happened back there. Pulled my mind back to Sg. I feel like sleeping in late but know I can't. I may have an interview tomorrow evening but I also have band practice.

Stayed in the office during lunchtime both yesterday and today, to spend more time on a story so I won't stay in the office till too late. Been leaving at 8pm-ish the last two days.

Thought of how nice it would be to spend my weekend differently.

Thought of how I want to support my parents.

Thought of the loan I have to pay off and wonder briefly at how it would be great to be able to clear it with some sudden financial breakthrough.

Believe God will take me through all these.

Still feverish....

I walk through life with that Truman Show thought, thinking, wondering, longing.

The two times I weighed myself today - when I changed to go to work and when I changed just now - the figure reflected makes me pause a bit and wonder too if I should worry slightly. It's not drastic but I realised a couple of days ago that it might not be healthy to drop weight so within less than two months.Any more and I have to be careful.

I got to walk on. Adapting now. May feel tough now. But all things are with purpose. And one day, we will get to the other side of the rainbow.

See rainbow with you.

Dad, hold me. I'm kind of tired, still feverish and very quiet.

I love You, Lord. Help me to be who You called me to be, and be more like You even as I accept I am who I am.

I pray in Jesus' name.

Amen.

11:04.

I am disturbed... just disturbed.

Quake in Indo... again.

Tremors felt in Singapore.

As a kid and teenager, I never remembered reports of tremors or feeling them before here on my safe sunny island. I learnt and was taught that Singapore is incredibly blessed because we don't get natural disasters. It's still true... we are really blessed but this... in recent years, news of tremors and aftershocks. My memory could be incorrect but I remember two more instances within the last five years like last night's aftershocks.

I'm disturbed. I really am.

Today's sunset. Taken at about 7pm from inside the MRT as the train pulls away from Yishun.
copyright.skye.t/

Random shot of the Toa Payoh/ Braddell neighbourhood while walking from company to MRT station.
copyright.skye.t/

Route down to the underground Braddell MRT station. Yes, that's my shadow :)
copyright.skye.t/

20:16.

"'Stand still, and see the Salvation of the Lord' - Exodus 14:13

These words contain God's command to the believer when he is reduced to great straits and brought into extraordinary difficulties. He cannot retreat, he cannot go forward, he is shut up on the right hand and on the left, what is he to do?

The Master's word to him is, 'Stand still'.

It will be well for him if at such times he listens only to his Master's word, for other and evil advisers come with their suggestions.

Despair whispers, 'Lie down and die, give it all up.' But God would have us put on a cheerful courage, and even in our worst times, rejoice in His love and faithfulness.

Cowardice says, 'Retreat, go back to the worlding's way of action, you cannot play the Christian's part, it is too difficult. Relinquish your principles'. But, however much Satan may urge this course upon you, you cannot follow if you are a child of God. His divine fiat has bid thee go from strength to strength, and so thou shalt, and neither death nor hell shall turn thee from thy course. What, if for a while thou art called to stand still, yet this is but to renew thy strength for some greater advance in due time.

Precipitancy cries, 'Do something. Stir yourself; to stand still and wait is sheer idleness'. We must be doing something at once - we must do it so we think - instead of looking to the Lord, who will not only do something but will do everything.

Presumption boasts, 'If the sea be before you, march into it and expect a miracle'.

But Faith listens neither to Presumption, nor to Despair, nor to Cowardice, nor to Precipitancy, but it hears God say, 'Stand still', and immovable as a rock it stands.

'Stand still'.

Keep the posture of an upright (wo)man, ready for action, expecting further orders, cheerfully and patiently awaiting the directing voice, and it will not be long ere God shall say to you, as distinctly as Moses said it to the people of Israel,

'Go Forward'."

- Charles H Spurgeon

20:31.

"Oh you look so beautiful tonight
City Of Blinding Lights"

Sometimes, I feel like wishing upon a star to wake up where troubles are far behind me, where problems melt like lemon drops, way above the chimney top...

that's where you will find me.

Sometimes, Melbourne seems like another life. A life I know I have had and am beyond thankful for but "another" in its distance from me. It sometimes seem like a dream.

Life is life. I can't wake up somewhere else just like I might in a dream. That's not how it works.

I look at the photographs I took in Melbourne, I see images of my city of blinding lights in photos on other people's blogs, on travelogues, and so on and I feel like... I am pinned up flattened on a wall, paralysed by dissonance and powerless to do anything.

The last of which is not true.

I can go get an air ticket and fly to Melbourne. I have a choice. But I am not willing to run on my own time. Dear God, do this for me, Dad. Teach me to run besides You. Even as Dad, I pray You help my heart beat to Your heartbeat.

I want.

Learning to just keep putting one feet in front of the other is such a real matter. Not in debilitating fashion, though sometimes that paralysed feeling is so real, but I would honestly say the last few months and now have been a season where I am truly learning faith and trust.

One feet forward. Now the other. One feet forward. Now the other.

Lots of thinking to be done this weekend.

And a lot of constant missing.

Dad....

*runs to God*

00:47.

For some reason, my laptop clock just switched itself back to Melb time. So those numbers at yonder top left reflects Melb's clock, not Sg.

Went back to the old company this week. Saw the doc on Sunday, had tonsilitis and a temperature of 37.5 degrees. Woke up on Sat with a sore throat and muscles so sore I limped and hobbled for the first couple of hours I was awake. Was at a local AG youth conference on Thursday, Friday and Saturday. Planet Shakers were playing at night rallies.

And to end the counting days backwards bit, today (in actuality, it's still Tuesday in Sg) is my first day of work. Yesterday was spent at a computer programmes' refresher course. Would blog again. I'm adopting a try-to-sleep-by-midnight and wake by 7am rountine. Or trying it out. Want to have time both in the morning and night to do devotion before I leave the house or conk out.

Keep me in prayer :)

Love your.

*muack*

11:11.

"When I feel afraid, Your Love, it covers me"
- Enter In, Planet Shakers

Singapore perplexes me. Or maybe, I'm just perplexed.

I felt like blogging the last few days but when I sat down, could not write, so this is going to be a composite picture of sorts.

Queued up two and a half hours outside the indoor stadium on Saturday, to get into the Benny Hinn Crusade. As with all queues, in humid weather and a queue 12-people wide and hundreds upon hundreds deep, people grump and are not in the best of spirits. Heard some people saying they wouldn't have come if they knew it would be like this ("this" referring to the queue and wait). Heard others saying how the organisation could be way better and how to better it. They gave suggestions ("Open all doors") and so on. There was an entire family - two girls, one six and the other in her early teens, their parents and I presume, an aunty, just in front of me. They got my attention when the girl suddenly swung back and snapped at the mom, next to me, "I want to go home. I don't want to wait any more". The Mom placated her, the Dad - carrying the little girl, apparently the cause of this excursion 'cause she "goes in and out of the hospital"- looked passively frustrated, the Mom visibly flustered, the teenager annoyed in a very "caught" manner, a manner I remembered feeling before often so I could relate.

Folks from Indonesian, Sri Lankan, China, Malaysia, Korea were around us.

A Singaporean girl near to the back of me on the right said in Chinese to her friend, "The Indian man next to me keeps pushing me!"

Then later, as the crowd shuffles and some shoved forward once the queue started moving, the flustered mom told her husband, in Chinese, of another dark-skinned compatriot who "can really push".

Mind you, I understand how our colloquial language sounds rude at times or potentially rude when no such meaning is meant.

I also understand our multi racial make up and some of its dynamics.

But I didn't know what to think or how to feel. Every thing felt so us to me. So Singaporean.

The two day rally with three services - one a last minute add-on to accomodate the crowd - was filled to the brim every service with people left outside. So that's 10,000 people inside the venue every time. And the first service had 5,000 people left outside.

Numbers do speak.

But I was... confused. When Ps Hinn said on stage that this is a nation hungering for Jesus, when the friend I went with remarked the same, I was in dissonance.

Are we hungry?

Are we really hungry?

I don't know and I am sorry to even raise such pointed doubts. But numbers... I don't know. Singapore, my loved country, we get great speakers, we have many blessings, but do people go to such events as part of the sub-culture, do they go to witness spectacles, what is the condition of our heart, Singapore? What??

What.

Oh, what....

We all went through the queue. We all waited to get in. How many waited all the way 'cause it would seem a waste to leave halfway? How many left their hearts in the rush and shove of the classic push in?

I am perplexed.

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

Planet Shakers would be here Thurs to Sat, at an AOG annual youth event. I've been trying to find info about the Planet Shakers conf for a while now and always came up empty. Last night, I realised when I checked out the AG website that ah, it is an AOG youth conf with Planet Shakers playing and Pastor Russell as main speaker alongside a number of local pastoral staff.

I was immediately hesitant, God help me. And to be truthful and perhaps to sound rather prissy, the fact that the night programme with the band is sold as "concert", that makes me apprehensive. 'cause you go into a concert and into worship with different attitudes. City Church and Planet Shakers have always been worship, not concert, from the time I attended. Before I was a regular attendee, the "concert" and "performance" connotations - since they are a recording band - played a part in me staying away but every week I attended, I had entered to worship and found it to be worship, not concert.

God help me. The local church youth sub-culture rouses ambivalent feelings in me. Here, I always been in a congregation where youth is minority, not majority and in a way, this arrangement sort of allowed me to stay away from a sub culture even as I am youth.

Back in Melb, I was deep in the youth ministry and identified with it completely. So what's this, girl? A kneejerk reaction? Maybe. Double standards? Possibly. Plain illogical stupidity? Very possible.

Here's a girl who feels for the international student ministry in Melb and who always felt drawn and still feels drawn to try to "look after" the young Asian foreigners here for work and study and yet she's so very hesistant here in her own backyard about her own countrymen.

Here's a girl who pray for her own nation with a real sense of ownership, and who yet, is so perplexed about her people.

What's up, girl? What's up.

Why does it seem that I am always less confusing when I am not in Sg?

Hypocrisy, double mindedness, fickle, weak, insincere, self-centeredness... I've run the whole gamut of description through in my head and still can't explain myself.

Maybe when somewhere else, we are all different and out of our home countries and can relate. And maybe when I am here, while I always felt and feel different, no one else share the same distinct unsettledness. Everyone is home.

I really don't know. It's so perplexing.

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

I am wearing my U2 tee and Giordano shorts, the same get-up that were my home clothes too in Melb. These shorts have never felt so big. I don't know why. I think Mom ironed it. And as a sidenote, you know, I miss doing my own laundry at my own time, cooking when I want to, and ironing if I have to.

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

During the rally, Hinn called out a young man from the crowd and prophesied over him a great calling and an "explosion within within one year" if the man would let go of a person standing between that anointing and him. Hinn asked the teenager - standing there with a shell shocked expression - if there is someone praying over him, he said his parents are pastors, Hinn called the parents on stage and the whole stadium reached out our hands and prayed for that young man.

I was tearing away. I always do when people get called out. And I know why.

On Sunday, while having ramen with a friend at Funan, lo and behold, that same family sat a table away from us. I glanced at them once, twice to ascertain their identity, thrice to observe and toyed with the idea of going over and talking to them, just asking questions, just me being curious, just me wanting to know what leads up to something so wow and what transpires after.

They seemed like such a normal family.

Sometimes, I wonder for so many of us, our default tone of voice is this flat, bored, potentially whiny, disinterested with the world, tone.

They spoke some Cantonese. The mom sounds like every other Singaporean mom, they talked about some people they know, I presume from church, he sounds like another teenager speaking to his parents non-excitedly and quite, dully.

You know what I mean. We all done it now and then, or always.

It made me more curious. I wanted to grill these people. I wanted to follow them about. See how they live. I wanted to know how often the parents pray for this son. I wanted to know does this young man love God with all his heart. I wanted to know, more.

The friend with me just started going to church and I didn't want to freak her out so I abstained. But I am perplexed. I am. I am. I am. Argh.

Yesterday, on my way back home while on the train, a lady sat at the seat right in front of me looked up at me with the same bored, disinterested stare so many people have.

I wanted to scream.

Despite knowing that many of them are possibly very happy, and I have no doubt, are interesting people, and I know they are all precious, that stare... so common and vacant and lifeless. It scared and still scares me and I was flustered - brow furrowed and caught up thinking - of the possibility that I will join their ranks come Monday when I become a working girl again.

I have nothing against work. In fact, I enjoy it.

What scares me beyond any thing you can conceive is the idea that that working life lot, trying to find meaning, not having time to do the things that matter, not having time to just spend an unplanned day in without the press of knowing a work day is coming and I have got to "make use" of a weekend to do the chores and every thing, spending time at work every day with half a heart not there and half a mind always looking forward to after-work or weekend before the cycle again begins.

I can do all that. I can.

And I can even be happy and keep against the vacant stare syndrome.

I can.

But I would like something else, Lord.

One day.

Please.

18:05.

"Xiao Mei".

Do I look in any possible way like a Xiao Mei??!

....

I do understand it and respond to it if the people employing the term (meaning "little sister" or "small girl") are significantly older but argh, this next one goes on the list of things I honestly detest sincerely - middled aged men at pasar malams or shops first, calling me "xiao mei" and then, eyeing me the way they do.

Grrrrrrrr.

[Bkgrd info: That happened just now when I went to the neighbourhood shopping centre to get an early dinner. There was a little pasar malam about the centre. I was make-up-less, clad in pink Planet Shakers conference tee and jeans (I still pull on my jeans even when I am just popping out nearby) and loping along quietly blissfully before I realised a chorus of grrr, "xiao mei"s sounding from behind while I waited at one of the stalls for the taiwanese chicken snack I ordered to be re-heated].

Bah, don't take your boredom out on me or something.

Go away.

01:16.

It is March 9.

About four hours ago, some courier staff delivered my bag - that blue and white Adidas sports bag I had to leave behind in Melb last month because I was overloaded - to my doorstep. The airport called me this morning to let me know the bag's here and I arranged for it to be sent to me.

I didn't want to open it till later, when I wake up and the day is bright, thought I would unpack from start to finish without pausing and get all things neat. Then I found myself turning the combo lock on the bag and opening it. Wanted to just get out the shoes and some clothes so I can get them sorted and throw some clothes into the laundry pile.

So I did.

There's a baby blue U2 T-shirt that I used to wear to sleep in Melb. It wasn't in this luggage, it came home with me on Feb 5 and has been sitting in my wardrobe drawer since the day I unpacked it.

Wanted to wear it a few times but never did. What I did, however, was kind of run my left hand over it now and then (it sits at the left side of the drawer), and about three times now, I lifted it up, kind of lightly squash it between my hands and just... breathed in its smell.

You see, it smells like home.

It feels softer than the rest of my home clothes here for some reason, I rub my cheek against it.

And it smells like home.

And so I am reluctant to wear it because once it hits the wash, it just won't be the same again.

Just now, about perhaps two hours, very possibly lesser ago, I unzipped the bag that has found its way back to me and took out first the People Of Asia cloth bag containing some clothes. And I kind of squashed it a little like I did that U2 tee and just brought it up and did the same.

It smells like a place that was cold, where clothes were hung indoors and not on bamboo poles outside HDB flats.

It smells of a climate that I once lived in.

It reminded me of a place I once called home and still call home, even as I am aware Singapore is home.

Guess it's still the same, this two homes syndrome.

Put the make up and tolietries that fell out when I pulled out something else into a box and placed them neatly in this little Ikea plastic shelf unit on wheels I have to my right, under my table, next to the full length mirror.

Carried the three bags of shoes to the living room's white shoes drawer. Pulled out the mis-shaped darlings and placed them into the white unit. Discovered some rather um, funky looking organic substance I can only deduce as some microbacteria growth that have sprouted up on the slightly damp black ballerina flats from Target.

They are fine, don't worry, except for a slight tear on the surface from my enthusiastic rubbing, but holding them in my living room and realising that slight dampness... I immediately remember why they were wet.

It was that Wednesday stretching to Thursday morning, in that veritable gale. From getting transcripts at RMIT to walking to town and saying goodbye to places just by walking though them. Having dinner at 609 for the last time (until next time) and Ray walking me back at Thursday morning, 2am+.

Those ballerina flats never had time to dry out completely in the cold weather that led up to my departure (I do not have particularly friendly feelings towards this word at the moment) .

I suppose every thing that was in Melb never really stopped somehow for me. And I don't exactly reckon it's bad but sometimes, when I stand up, I get dizzy.

My Dad told me last week about an article of Melbourne in the L i a n h e Z a o b a o, the chinese broadsheet he reads daily. As he told me about it, he walked towards where the newspapers were and searched to show me the said article.

That two-page spread is now to my left, folded into half on my (music) keyboard, which I place at an appropriate height-arranged shelf on my bookshelf.

I haven't got around to reading it. Glanced then looked at the photos the other day. Chinatown, Great Ocean Road, Flinders Street Station, Bourke Street buskers, Southbank.... Amidst the Chinese copy, English words like "Victoria Street", "Lygon", "Yarra River", "St Kilda" and "Miss Marple" popped out at me.


.
copyright.skye.t/

I once lived there. All these places were the physical, geographical construct of my home. You know, where I lived and felt like I belonged.

Now, they are pictures in a travelogue, a travel feature, written by some writer sponsored on some junket. And I didn't really know if I wanted to read what he/ she had to say.

Perhaps... because all those were part of what made up "home", when I look around at my physical and geographical construct now, my head whirls and my heart doesn't know how to react though it commonly settled for dull aching, numbness or rationality.

My comfort is in Christ and is Christ.

Knowing that God is in control, that He has some purpose for all of these, that every thing will make much sense to me one day, though I see in shadows only now.

My first slated return date to Sg was Nov 15 2004. Then with graduation on Dec 15, I pushed it back to Dec 21. And then, I pushed it back to Feb 5.

Three times.

Come 21st this month, three months after that 2nd would-be departure which I spent instead sending my folks off, hitting the shops for some therapy after I got back to the city, getting home and bawling, then meeting Ray for coffee at Nortturnos that night, I would be starting work here in Sg.

Unless any thing happens between now and then.

Going back to journalism, going to give my best in what I do, love people, avoid politics, and if I step into them, I hope and pray I can deal with and behave as Christ would have me to.

"Big" is playing now on Qmusic, my lappie's music programme.

It's 512am now in Melb.

For some reasons, my lappie's time jumps back to Melb now and then.

For some reason.

And for some reason, Blogger still registers my posts at Melb time. I searched for a main time zone setting to alter this schizoprehnia but couldn't find one.

It is 214am now in Sg. Two minutes away from an hour from the moment I started writing this post.

I wonder when it will all seem clearer. Though I do not doubt it will all look much so one day, and things will make sense.

On Sun, while I was on my way back from town, on my way to the escalator at Somerset MRT, I looked across the station and saw to my surprise a M o u n t Z i o n bookshop at the side of the station, where I don't recall there ever being retail space and definitely not Mt Z.

That's the shop where at 17, I first took up my first job and returned to subsequently during holidays. The Sun after I got back, I discovered the store I used to mostly be stationed at at Causeway Point was gone. This Sun, I stared in surprise at the shop cut into the wall - with some shelf displays outside and signs announcing its presence - and recognised the glass displays that held the Precious Moments figurines. They were from Causeway Point.

It was too late for me to detour and go visit. I had already gone past the ticketing gates so I continued on my way, to the blasting music of History Maker which I could hear even when I got underground and waited for the train.

"Is it true today that when people pray?
Cloudless skies will break?
Kings and queens will shake?
Yes it's true and I believe it
I'm living for you"

Is it true?

Is it true?

Is it true?

Yes it is. And I BELIEVE IT.

Oh Lord, You whose ways are higher than mine, whose ways are divine mystery, whose heart and hands I know I can trust. You who are eternally faithfully, and the source of all that is good and right and pure and lovely, You who are my Lord, my sun and shield, my refuge and the Lifter of my head.

I need You and want You so much more.

I'm running after You.

I'm running after You.

Jesus.

16:24.


My God is big
So strong so mighty

My God's plan for me
Goes beyond my wildest dreams

My God is Good
He's so good to me

He's my God and
He is my Refuge
He's the Rock on which I stand
He's my Fortress
God He is my life
He holds the oceans in his hand

My God is Big
So Strong so Mighty

My God is Good
He's so good to me

There's nothing my God cannot do


- Big, Planet Shakers

21:54.

One month.

Precisely.

And somehow, because it's Sat this 5th and it was Sat last 5th - due to Feb precisely having 28 days - it creates some bit of happiness inside.

And as random as that last thought, over here. Random photos of life in Sg.

11:02.

Dad,

You spoke to Moses like a friend.
You showed up, face to face.
You drew near, taking on human-ness and discarding divinity so You could communicate with us and commit the baffling deed of dei-cide (deity-suicide) so we could be close.
You appeared to Your disciples, Mary and those who followed You.
You appeared to Saul and turned him into Paul, on that road to Damascus.
You are the same yesterday, today and for every one of my tomorrows and after that.
You are eternal.

You said in Your Word to draw near to You and You will draw near to us.
You said call and You would answer and show us great and unsearchable things.
You said I would seek You and find You when I seek You with all of my heart.

I want to speak to You.
Not just like this.
Not even like during QTs.
I want to speak to You like Moses did.
I want Your Voice to be so real to me that I know it like a sheep knows its shepherd's, like Abraham recognised it was You even when You made such a seemingly needless, impossible and cruel request for Issac.

Surely it's possible.
Surely it's possible because past greats have known You in the same way.
Surely it's possible to hear God clear-er than this when You are the God who chose to draw near.
Surely it's possible.
When Your Word and Your deeds scream of a God who loves, a God who has given access to Himself and His throne, a God whose throne of mercy behind the tore veil I can approach.

See, Dad. I know and understand the practice of putting out fleeces and I know sometimes, You may say it's my call or You may simply want me to choose.
I know.
But I also know surely it is possible to hear Your direction and still Voice on my decisions, on all the crossroads that seem to come at once, on all of these in my life.
I still want You more in my life than all else.

I believe.

Word of God, speak.

19:50.

I wonder.

Yesterday, I was going through the stack of photo albums piled in rather undignified fashion on the top of my open concept black metal and birch shelves Ikea bookshelf (Yup, my room is quite decked with Ikea furnishings). Armed with a wet cloth, I climbed onto a stool and attacked the dust that had gathered before taking all those booklets and A4 sized albums down.

While I waited for you to come online, I sat on my white tiled floor and looked through those albums, placing them into little piles, roughly categorised Secondary Sch; Qi, Yiling, Shuhui and me; Poly and Bintan, both times; then the window of time after poly and before Melb, the period where I was adult, journalist and living the dream, in very real ways, no, I have not forgotten. Then there was that other window of in-between-ness... photos I didn't really know which pile to put in - that year when I took my Os as a private candidate, when I went to Sydney as a church delegate.

There were times when the face that was mine looked like someone I do not know.

Times when I cringed and silently went "gosh". Yes, there you go, I admit that. Hah.

Then, there were times when I could remember the moment when I took that particular picture, the smile, and the accompanying emotion that prompted that smile.

In Mayflower's (my Sec school) beige uniform, taking last day photographs with teachers and friends. The loosened counciler's tie, the shirt tucked loose instead of tightly, figure-skimmingly in like certain cliques wore theirs, the Hush Puppies socks (lol), before braces teeth (*cringes*), the short bob, and darn was I skinny or what....

The boy band photos (*laughs*), Mark Owen press conference, photos with Stephen Gately and Shane something and all that. Me gosh.

There were years when I looked good, and years when I was frightful, though my Mom is adamant that I was not. And I am still rather impressed with how skinny I was.

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

But I am perhaps taking a really long time to get around to a chief thought.

See, as pictorial memories flipped before my eyes and I remember the years that have gone before, one chief idea, impression, thought that first came to me was this - The happiest times in my life were the times when I could focus completely on God.

The Sydney trip, when I first experienced holy laughter and being used to minister to people, not to mention camaraderie so extraordinary, and a lifestyle with God so in the smack of it all, that I was so... well, happy. Very innocent and very happy. As every photo taken then of that skinny girl - short bob, hair kept neat by wraparound shades on head, berry coloured lipstick on, in fitted black and white Nike windbreaker - testified.

The mission trip to KL and Ipoh with Campus Crusade. Cold showers, shared toilets, sore throat for the better half, witnessing at TARC, their canteens and hostels, taking photos on the LRT, trying to be ahem, strong and insisting I can take my packed-to-the-brim Adidas bag myself on one shoulder and half dying on the (it felt) long walk to the bus deport. Oh, memories, memories, memories.

Sharing my testimony during a combined poly crusade meeting, witnessing to a monk and a lady in a wheelchair at the night mkt, prata downstairs from the service apartment where we stayed, the Methodist church we attended, going gate to gate in a neighbourhood in Ipoh, singing Jesus Loves Me to a little girl, happy that she attended the evangelistic meet we put up at the local church who hosted us.

Oh, memories, memories, memories.

Praying the sinners prayer with people. Going through discipleship booklet. Writing notes of encouragement to team members and receiving them. Gosh. Buying a pomelo at a night mkt near the only Ipoh shopping centre in the district.

Memories, memories, oh memories.

And now... this.

Melbourne.

O C F.

City Church.

Such passion, such unbridled passion and freedom and worship.

Oh, such fellowship. Prayer meetings and worship at home. Such fellow runners in the race. Such loved sisters and brothers.

Feb 10 2004 to Feb 5 2005.

Where again, my life was changed.

The sense of free joy, unbridled happiness and freedom is so real even in recollection. So sweet and good.

And gosh, so real. More real than so many other things.

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

After I had that thought and sat in wonder at that thought, aware at the back of my mind that it was not a wholly new thought, I wondered.

I'm 23 going on 24. When I was 10, I accepted Christ and gave my word to give my 100 percent for this God who loves me so much He died for me to make me new. When I was 17, that year studying at home gave me much time to seek God. It was also the year I went to Sydney, and - I can't be totally sure of the year here - Joshua 21 and I gave God "a blank check" for my life. When I was 23, and left for Melb, I left knowing that "missionary" means "sent one" and I was sent to Melb.

I didn't know that God would so utterly blow my mind in Melb.

And I didn't know that now, seven years after that blank check, I would sit here at midnight and wonder the same thought I had for two days and ponder if it is true those three episodes were really times when I was most free and happy.

And does that point to what I should do with the rest of my life.

Oh, big question. Such big questions.

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

Then I thought calmly and rationally. I know for a fact that there were countless times in my life when I was genuinely happy, at peace, loving it. And there were other phases in my life that I remember as beautiful too.

Can I be justified in seeing the three mentioned episodes as those that stood out?

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

I can imagine myself very happy, at peace and fulfilled doing something that seems a lot more clearly with God smack in the middle of it.

It's not that You are not right now, You know that.

But You also know what I mean and can't aptly put into words.

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

Is it true that I was happiest then, Lord?

Oh, I don't mean to even suggest that I won't be as happy again. That is untrue and I know it :)

The best years have not passed, they are coming.

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

Me, I am just wondering.

The intensity of black tea... sigh. *happy* And major major thanks to Hannah and Germie for sending them over! :> They just arrived today :)
copyright.skye.t/

My first cuppa of black tea in 25 days. From my Eeyore cup on my Penguin coaster. Weird sight, I know. Heh.
copyright.skye.t/

01:00.

Over here, the world is blue at 726pm.

Blue with orange street lights scattering a soft dusty glow.

Blue like that envelope.

And yes, blue like we sometimes get.

As blue as every song sung and the emotion every songwriter languishes over.

As blue as... Smurfs.

Hah.

It is the first of March.

I meant to write this on the 28th of February but was caught up chatting.

Officially now, ladies and gentlemen, it was last month that I left Melbourne. On QF 9 on the 1710 flight to London, transit Singapore.

Come a few more days, specifically when the 5th strides around, I would be able to say that it has been a month since I left.

Do I still miss Melbourne?

Heck, yes, I do.

Over the weekend, on both days, there were moments when I crawled onto my bed and slept 'cause I didn't want to think. Or 'cause the thinking got too much.

Thinking, Missing - the two are still rather entwined within me at the moment.

But how am I?

I am good. At the end of the day, when all is said and done, even when I had days I won't classify as good or burst into tears during an Msn convo, I can say it is well with my soul.

And truth is, I am well. Despite the missing. Despite bad days. I am more than well.

I am good.

If God used Melb and its people to teach me to love and give in a capacity I never knew, again, leaving this place and people I love is teaching me a capacity to miss which I never knew I had.

So again, I am amazed. The realisation is painful, sure, but all things work together for good. And the truth is, I really have a lot to give thanks for. And the truth is, I know things are happening. And the truth is, God is good.

And I am doing good.

God is still so real.

I love my friends and touching base with them again.

I'm back in the music ministry, helping to check through our song book for accurancy, and slotted for keyboard, drums and for the first time ever, guitar duty this month.

Last Friday, I went for prayer meeting and prayed my heart out. Probably surprised people to have someone pretty much shouting - or praying really loudly - in real desperation but it's cool.

God is still so real.

Two, three hours sessions of praying, worshipping, journaling and reflecting and reading the Word have been a staple.

As much a staple as the Missing, which I don't believe in skimming over out of convenience.

Continued with the organising/ cleaning/ tidying up my room today. So many memories continued in semi-messy clusters round and about this about 3-by-3-metres room. From the cutest hair clips, many bundles of ribbons for my hair as a child, to receipts and memorabilia from my first mission trip to Msia in 1999, some health check form from the same year (I was once 18??), to offer letters from Mass Comm, from S P H, from my first company, to all the clippings of bylines and work.

The other day, I organised paperwork into files. I have a file for banks transactions statements, one for insurance, one for CPF and medisave and all that, one for get this, taxes, even though I have never made enough money per annum to actually be taxed yet. Being organised about these things... kind of feel... adult. How strange all these in such real ways too.

So many things around, so many memories, so many things which I had to decide to be clinical about and throw out (did I ever mention I filled up two big trash can sized bigs, u knw the black type, of clothes to give away?).

For some reason, I feel so... new now.

And that sounds weird, I know. And I can't quite put my finger or word processor on it, that feeling of new-ness, but it is there.

All things must pass away except the things of God....

His mercies are new every morning....

His love and mercy pursues me....

Knowing that I am in the arms of a loving God who is so close is why I have not imploded or expired.

3,500 miles is not too large a distance to contain my God.

Uncertainty about my future is not strong enough to overcome my Jesus.

My weaknesses do help me see how strong I can be through Him and in Him.

God is doing something in my life and I am just going to be putting one feet in front of the other, keeping my head up like the child of the King I am, praying, interceding, worshipping with my life, seeking to live for Him and through Him, and just loving.

It's all going to be okay.

It's all going to be more than okay.

And today, I am hitting that top shelf of my Ikea bookshelf where all the photo albums are. Gosh, how did You bring me through all that, Lord?

And yet You did and will do so again.

So yet will I praise You. Because You deserve to be so, over and over and over and over and over and over and over again. Always.

Always.