22:17.
Hallo, can you hear me?
I'm restless, restless, restless. Is there something I want? Maybe everything, I'm not too sure but now is not the time for me to talk priorities with me.
It's the 3rd week of school and today, for what I believe to be the first time, I walked home from school feeling contented and happy. It was just after a short rain which must had fell while I was in lecture watching a documentary about the British beat boom which included a lot of The Beatles.
"I like this weather" - That was one of the first thoughts I had. The weather was refreshingly biting and fresh but not cold enough for me to feel uncomfortable in my jeans, tee and a fairly thin jacket.
I was wondering at the breakfast table this morning if I'm already too cynical, too jaded, and if these could be the reasons why I'm not excited and feeling alive.
Yeah, it has been bothering me - my lack of excitement.
This year - already given to God a few times over - was seen as, and is, a clean break away from the life I led for a while. The life that was devoted to work, and when work got too tough, I indulged in shopping therapy.
The life that was fulfilling when I finished a spanking article by 2am, the life when I had the license to probe into strangers' lives, a life when I was finding comfort in the little things.
I suppose I sound like I'm looking over my shoulder. Am I? I'm not too sure really. As I sit here typing this, my heart is aching. Sounds like a bad song but I'm not too sure why my heart is saying something I just don't understand.
I like my life now though I miss especially getting calls and being able to call people, arrange meetings or talk about nothing.
Be still and know I'm God. Be still, be still.
Thrice now, once while eating breakfast one day, once more today while walking home, and once just staring out of the balcony - The silent thought, swift and fleeting, raced through my mind: I'll be sad to leave. And it's just eight months more to go.
So soon, it will be gone.
Life is like that, at least, it has been so to me. Increasingly, with each and every day, time seems to bear down on me.
It's not just about getting older, turning 23 in four months time, though getting older is symbolic and representative of the continuity of time.
Psalm 39 speaks of numbering my days. I'm all too aware of the limited span life holds and now and then, at moments like this, it's like I bow in weight of this truism.
I wish I can express this all better but maybe it's part of some holy mystery at work in me but life, oh life.
I have flown away and indeed I am midair. But I'm not too sure of the world I am in here. Where can I go and what can and can't I do? I'm alone, with God, but the wind rushing pass my ears and into my eyes obscures my vision and hearing.
More than ever, I'm using my legs. More than ever, I'm sure and unsure all at once. More than ever, I feel secure but yet, yes, I'm not quite sure where I am.
I'm only sure of one thing - that God is with me, that He who has started a good work in me will complete it.
All things else - my heart included - I'm afraid I'm not sure of them.
Tuesday, March 09, 2004
Tuesday, March 02, 2004
21:47.
I am feeling awfully sated.
It's that home-made mocha-cum-suckao, I tell you.
I just boiled some milk, threw in chunks of Lindt's 85 percent cocoa dark chocolate, stirred till they all melt into a glorious smelling rich brew, poured it into a mug, add coffee and a bit of sugar, and then gulped it all - foam and chocolate remnants -down.
Guess this was enough fuel to get me to finish this short presentation I'm supposed to be doing tomorrow of an article summary.
On the same note of school, we watched a documentary of the development of rock n roll for the course, Popular Music & Society. From Buddy Holly to Bill Haley and The Comets and Elvis Presley to Jerry Lee Lewis, along with the history of how rock n roll developed from the black man's blues (genre, not mood), it was the kind of stuff I read about.
After the documentary, the lecturer was talking about some of the points the documentary made and he mentioned that Jerry Lee Lewis' 13-year-old bride was his cousin. At that, a wide percentage of the students gasped, laughed or made general expressions of shock and amusement.
I smiled and was somehow surprised that it seemed that so many people didn't know that.
This is not meant to sound superior or arrogant but I honestly felt somewhat lifted up after that episode. I felt verified, validated somewhat even maybe. I know my stuff. I'm not a walking encyclopedia of music, nowhere even near being a poor one but I felt assured somehow now that I know I know my stuff better than my fellow students.
Be still my soul, be still my soul and smile more.
I am feeling awfully sated.
It's that home-made mocha-cum-suckao, I tell you.
I just boiled some milk, threw in chunks of Lindt's 85 percent cocoa dark chocolate, stirred till they all melt into a glorious smelling rich brew, poured it into a mug, add coffee and a bit of sugar, and then gulped it all - foam and chocolate remnants -down.
Guess this was enough fuel to get me to finish this short presentation I'm supposed to be doing tomorrow of an article summary.
On the same note of school, we watched a documentary of the development of rock n roll for the course, Popular Music & Society. From Buddy Holly to Bill Haley and The Comets and Elvis Presley to Jerry Lee Lewis, along with the history of how rock n roll developed from the black man's blues (genre, not mood), it was the kind of stuff I read about.
After the documentary, the lecturer was talking about some of the points the documentary made and he mentioned that Jerry Lee Lewis' 13-year-old bride was his cousin. At that, a wide percentage of the students gasped, laughed or made general expressions of shock and amusement.
I smiled and was somehow surprised that it seemed that so many people didn't know that.
This is not meant to sound superior or arrogant but I honestly felt somewhat lifted up after that episode. I felt verified, validated somewhat even maybe. I know my stuff. I'm not a walking encyclopedia of music, nowhere even near being a poor one but I felt assured somehow now that I know I know my stuff better than my fellow students.
Be still my soul, be still my soul and smile more.
Monday, March 01, 2004
14:47.
The fish is bloody and I am a walrus.
The sun is shining, the weather about 19 degrees and my hands are cold.
Such irony aside, I had meant to fill you in on the tragic events on my laptop, the injuries (internal) I inflicted on my hard drive unknowingly, specifically on my C drive.
It all begun with a virus, or more specifically, darn those inventions, a worm, I am told.
So what this worm (how apt a name) did was manifest in a pop up window five minutes after I get online to inform me that a certain programme has problems and I have to go offline. In that little, innocuous looking window, a timer watch will start its count down and in 30 seconds time, I will be booted offline.
My roommate, bless her tech-ly soul, identified the worm's blasted name immediately and helped me downloaded something to eradicate it off my less than a month new laptop.
After running that and a few virus scans to be careful, rightfully, it should had been mission accomplished, right?
Nope, wroonggg.
Somehow under the impression that my office software was original - actually, only the OS is - I ran winupdates since it was advisable.
That evening, sated in the knowledge I finally have a net account after about 10 days of randomly borrowing Hannah's account, I was just sitted at my laptop.
Like right now actually. Laptop on small square white Ikea table at the end of my mattress, me cross-legged on the mattress, typing.
I organised all the photos I have taken since the 9th, when I left Singapore, into neat respective folders then thought it wise to start an accounts document to keep tabs of my spending.
So there I was, that fateful night on the 19th last month, at peace and happy while my housemates were chatting gaily away in our room.
Then, a pop up window appeared and could not be cancelled.
I had to restart my laptop twice and when all seemed finally calm again, the whole of my Microsoft Office suite was gone.
Not quite knowing what to do and silently baffled by the suddenness of it all, I tried searching for the programmes and when the search proved futile, I decided to run the system recovery discs that came with the laptop.
I understood its workings to be that it would restore the laptop's everything to an earlier time. This is not entirely incorrect, just that system recovery actually restores the laptop back right to the beginning when you bought it.
I lost my office suite already, that wrong move wiped out my C drive.
Thankfully, my D drive was untouched and I had some of the old documents in my C drive on a CDRW from when I was transferring files from my desktop to my laptop.
When one does something that stupid and wrong, one has to pay a price of course.
What did I lose?
All the photos I took with my loved ones at the airport, at reunion dinner, my only family portrait.
Also, stuff whose loss I can swallow - Albums which I painstakingly transferred, Adobe software, Icq, Nikon View (all software replaceable any how).
I was really completely flabbergasted. Rather surreal, when your laptop takes on a life of its own like that. It wasn't until a day later while talking to the laptop's customer service people that I was told that Office wasn't included in it. That was when I grasped what most likely happened. That when I downloaded winupdates, Microsoft, the corporation, noted the pirated office and somehow installed something that wiped out the whole suite when office was activated.
This is really a tale of how much one person can get things wrong and shoot herself in the foot three times.
First was downloading winupdates when I was using a pirated programme.
Second was running System Recovery without backing up my drives.
And third? Please read on and share my pain.
So in the days that followed after the apocalypse (insignificant when compared to the real coming apocalypse), I was downloading programmes that promises file recovery.
And I. Found. One. That. Shows. Up. Almost. Every. File. I. Lost. After. I. Run. A. Scan. With. It.
Wow, right?
Again, I was flabbergasted since I was operating on minimum hope but doggedly Must-At-Least-Try-ness and perhaps I did not expect to actually find a programme that does so much.
Well, I did but it cost about $50 to buy online.
So, I did the practical thing. Don't buy yet, surf around, try to see if there are any other way to get my hands on it without buying.
Then school started and I didn't had the time to pursue all the retrieving business.
But I was commiting my third mistake throughout the week - I continued to use the laptop, I installed programmes I lost, I downloaded songs.
Why was this a mistake?
Because all of that meant that these new files were being written over the fragile, already-formated-once, files I wanted to retrieve.
So the day before, I tried a couple of programmes a new friend lent me, found them not as good as the original one that gave me hope and reassured me, and I decided to buy the original software.
That's when the folly of my ways came back to haunt me.
This has been a long post already. To summarise on my third wrong, basically, even the programme that could once trawl up almost all the lost files could no longer do so.
Some files, it seems, are gone forever.
I can still see the photos of my loved ones at the airport. That is a day that will never again come. Those captured moments were time which time can never reverse for.
So I grieve.
My heart hurts in a numb manner, my grieve stronger because I'm in this situation because I screwed up.
It was my own hands which pulled the plug. Perhaps that's why the pain is so mute but nevertheless painful.
So I think of the one-linear flow of time and how one can never get back what one lost.
Sigh.
That's why I am a walrus.
I wish I can have those pictures back, so I can look at the faces of people I love, so I can remember in physical form a significant day that will never repeat.
I wish.
It was been some time since my photos were torn away from my heart. The resignation is starting to sink in.
I've got one more chance. I'm going to try to recover the photos from the memory card itself. That needs new programmes and a memory card reader and lots of prayer.
The memory card, a CompactFlash, has been overwritten on about three or four times or perhaps even five before.
Be still my soul.
It's strange but I can actually say I have learnt very valuable lessons. I suppose when a lesson is this costly, you learn faster.
And I can give thanks because God - though I don't understand why this happened and if there are reasons - has showed me the right programmes to use and given me people who can aid in the process.
For now, it still hurts but you never know.
Let's try with the memory card.
And to end, today is the first day of Autumn.
The fish is bloody and I am a walrus.
The sun is shining, the weather about 19 degrees and my hands are cold.
Such irony aside, I had meant to fill you in on the tragic events on my laptop, the injuries (internal) I inflicted on my hard drive unknowingly, specifically on my C drive.
It all begun with a virus, or more specifically, darn those inventions, a worm, I am told.
So what this worm (how apt a name) did was manifest in a pop up window five minutes after I get online to inform me that a certain programme has problems and I have to go offline. In that little, innocuous looking window, a timer watch will start its count down and in 30 seconds time, I will be booted offline.
My roommate, bless her tech-ly soul, identified the worm's blasted name immediately and helped me downloaded something to eradicate it off my less than a month new laptop.
After running that and a few virus scans to be careful, rightfully, it should had been mission accomplished, right?
Nope, wroonggg.
Somehow under the impression that my office software was original - actually, only the OS is - I ran winupdates since it was advisable.
That evening, sated in the knowledge I finally have a net account after about 10 days of randomly borrowing Hannah's account, I was just sitted at my laptop.
Like right now actually. Laptop on small square white Ikea table at the end of my mattress, me cross-legged on the mattress, typing.
I organised all the photos I have taken since the 9th, when I left Singapore, into neat respective folders then thought it wise to start an accounts document to keep tabs of my spending.
So there I was, that fateful night on the 19th last month, at peace and happy while my housemates were chatting gaily away in our room.
Then, a pop up window appeared and could not be cancelled.
I had to restart my laptop twice and when all seemed finally calm again, the whole of my Microsoft Office suite was gone.
Not quite knowing what to do and silently baffled by the suddenness of it all, I tried searching for the programmes and when the search proved futile, I decided to run the system recovery discs that came with the laptop.
I understood its workings to be that it would restore the laptop's everything to an earlier time. This is not entirely incorrect, just that system recovery actually restores the laptop back right to the beginning when you bought it.
I lost my office suite already, that wrong move wiped out my C drive.
Thankfully, my D drive was untouched and I had some of the old documents in my C drive on a CDRW from when I was transferring files from my desktop to my laptop.
When one does something that stupid and wrong, one has to pay a price of course.
What did I lose?
All the photos I took with my loved ones at the airport, at reunion dinner, my only family portrait.
Also, stuff whose loss I can swallow - Albums which I painstakingly transferred, Adobe software, Icq, Nikon View (all software replaceable any how).
I was really completely flabbergasted. Rather surreal, when your laptop takes on a life of its own like that. It wasn't until a day later while talking to the laptop's customer service people that I was told that Office wasn't included in it. That was when I grasped what most likely happened. That when I downloaded winupdates, Microsoft, the corporation, noted the pirated office and somehow installed something that wiped out the whole suite when office was activated.
This is really a tale of how much one person can get things wrong and shoot herself in the foot three times.
First was downloading winupdates when I was using a pirated programme.
Second was running System Recovery without backing up my drives.
And third? Please read on and share my pain.
So in the days that followed after the apocalypse (insignificant when compared to the real coming apocalypse), I was downloading programmes that promises file recovery.
And I. Found. One. That. Shows. Up. Almost. Every. File. I. Lost. After. I. Run. A. Scan. With. It.
Wow, right?
Again, I was flabbergasted since I was operating on minimum hope but doggedly Must-At-Least-Try-ness and perhaps I did not expect to actually find a programme that does so much.
Well, I did but it cost about $50 to buy online.
So, I did the practical thing. Don't buy yet, surf around, try to see if there are any other way to get my hands on it without buying.
Then school started and I didn't had the time to pursue all the retrieving business.
But I was commiting my third mistake throughout the week - I continued to use the laptop, I installed programmes I lost, I downloaded songs.
Why was this a mistake?
Because all of that meant that these new files were being written over the fragile, already-formated-once, files I wanted to retrieve.
So the day before, I tried a couple of programmes a new friend lent me, found them not as good as the original one that gave me hope and reassured me, and I decided to buy the original software.
That's when the folly of my ways came back to haunt me.
This has been a long post already. To summarise on my third wrong, basically, even the programme that could once trawl up almost all the lost files could no longer do so.
Some files, it seems, are gone forever.
I can still see the photos of my loved ones at the airport. That is a day that will never again come. Those captured moments were time which time can never reverse for.
So I grieve.
My heart hurts in a numb manner, my grieve stronger because I'm in this situation because I screwed up.
It was my own hands which pulled the plug. Perhaps that's why the pain is so mute but nevertheless painful.
So I think of the one-linear flow of time and how one can never get back what one lost.
Sigh.
That's why I am a walrus.
I wish I can have those pictures back, so I can look at the faces of people I love, so I can remember in physical form a significant day that will never repeat.
I wish.
It was been some time since my photos were torn away from my heart. The resignation is starting to sink in.
I've got one more chance. I'm going to try to recover the photos from the memory card itself. That needs new programmes and a memory card reader and lots of prayer.
The memory card, a CompactFlash, has been overwritten on about three or four times or perhaps even five before.
Be still my soul.
It's strange but I can actually say I have learnt very valuable lessons. I suppose when a lesson is this costly, you learn faster.
And I can give thanks because God - though I don't understand why this happened and if there are reasons - has showed me the right programmes to use and given me people who can aid in the process.
For now, it still hurts but you never know.
Let's try with the memory card.
And to end, today is the first day of Autumn.
Friday, February 27, 2004
Tuesday, February 24, 2004
21:09.
I feel like having honey on toast but I should resist. Will just have it tomorrow morning if I still have the urge :) Eating honey on toast - learnt from my housemate Eliza - makes me feel like a happy Winnie The Pooh. Hah, but I am an Eeyoh at heart.
(Why am I likening myself to a donkey here? Umm.)
We - Hannah, Eliza, Jessica and myself - just had a good dinner [pepper and garlic sausages (Ah! The delight of sausages in real skin) cooked in olive oil with garlic, mushrooms, string beans, parsley, real tomatoes and tomatoes paste; and cai xin with oyster sauce].
At least, I had a good one and they tell me so too. I cooked, haha. Have been doing that a bit these past two weeks. I like it actually and thank God, every thing has been edible so far.
Don't freak out at me or laugh your guts out but last week, after cooking a simple clear veggie soup successfully, I was feeling so contented and happy I felt rather... fulfilled.
And today, yes, I had two classes. My first - as in first class of the semester - class was from 1130 to 1230. I then met a friend (meeting a familiar face on campus is quite an amazing feeling) for lunch and came home so I can return to base and chill a bit for an hour before going back to school for another lecture at 330 to 530.
Now, during that time when I was home, I was just feeling rather nippy for a nap. I almost never take afternoon naps - save for on sunday noons - but I really felt like having one then.
I was in Hannah's room waiting to use the internet and looking at myself in the mirror (I need to focus on something, righhhtt? Besides, we have sliding full length mirrors as wardrobe doors) and we were talking about what to cook for dinner (not me). Out of almost nowhere, I said something like, "Ah, I half wish I can be a housewife and stay home. Then, all I need to do every day is plan the cooking and cook" *half-pout*.
Freaky? Yeah, I know. Especially when I know a homemaker's life is hardly that simple and easy, and very unappreciated, I do add.
I think I also half-whined about "where's my tall, good looking husband who adores me". And then, Hannah and me started a short banter about his (the non-existent husband, figment of my imgination) profession. Like, no doctors since he will never have time to spend with me; writers (royalities could possibly pay well) are welcome.
Umm.
Shhhhhh... bygones.
Nooooooooooooooooo, I'm not a girl who goes for big buckeroos making men or stiff white collared types.
(I go for sensitive poetry and song writing rebels in leather jackets who stand at 1.8metres and above).
No, no, no, seriously, forget you ever read all that. I'm just in a bit of a flopping type mood. Don't ask me what "flopping" is though.
Okay, to embark on a serious note about the first day of school.
I had two lectures: Reading Media Texts [my only compulsory course (subjects are called courses while courses, as in "What course are you taking?" "Media Studies" are called programmes in RMIT), and Popular Music & Society.
The former was an hour while the latter was two.
I'm glad to share that I enjoyed both though I was feeling rather sleepy in the latter.
In both classes, I sat alone at a corner seat but no, I didn't feel lonely. It would have been sweet if I have my good friends there with me like in poly and we could discuss under our breath a certain video or something the lecturer said.
But you know, things, life is never constant and tt's fine. In fact, the unpredictability is what makes the ride interesting going.
Tomorrow, I have my first tutorial. It's for Reading Media Texts. And this will be a more interactive setting. Again, I ask and covet your prayers.
Okie, okie, I got to end this post now. I have got readings to do so till next, love ya :)
I feel like having honey on toast but I should resist. Will just have it tomorrow morning if I still have the urge :) Eating honey on toast - learnt from my housemate Eliza - makes me feel like a happy Winnie The Pooh. Hah, but I am an Eeyoh at heart.
(Why am I likening myself to a donkey here? Umm.)
We - Hannah, Eliza, Jessica and myself - just had a good dinner [pepper and garlic sausages (Ah! The delight of sausages in real skin) cooked in olive oil with garlic, mushrooms, string beans, parsley, real tomatoes and tomatoes paste; and cai xin with oyster sauce].
At least, I had a good one and they tell me so too. I cooked, haha. Have been doing that a bit these past two weeks. I like it actually and thank God, every thing has been edible so far.
Don't freak out at me or laugh your guts out but last week, after cooking a simple clear veggie soup successfully, I was feeling so contented and happy I felt rather... fulfilled.
And today, yes, I had two classes. My first - as in first class of the semester - class was from 1130 to 1230. I then met a friend (meeting a familiar face on campus is quite an amazing feeling) for lunch and came home so I can return to base and chill a bit for an hour before going back to school for another lecture at 330 to 530.
Now, during that time when I was home, I was just feeling rather nippy for a nap. I almost never take afternoon naps - save for on sunday noons - but I really felt like having one then.
I was in Hannah's room waiting to use the internet and looking at myself in the mirror (I need to focus on something, righhhtt? Besides, we have sliding full length mirrors as wardrobe doors) and we were talking about what to cook for dinner (not me). Out of almost nowhere, I said something like, "Ah, I half wish I can be a housewife and stay home. Then, all I need to do every day is plan the cooking and cook" *half-pout*.
Freaky? Yeah, I know. Especially when I know a homemaker's life is hardly that simple and easy, and very unappreciated, I do add.
I think I also half-whined about "where's my tall, good looking husband who adores me". And then, Hannah and me started a short banter about his (the non-existent husband, figment of my imgination) profession. Like, no doctors since he will never have time to spend with me; writers (royalities could possibly pay well) are welcome.
Umm.
Shhhhhh... bygones.
Nooooooooooooooooo, I'm not a girl who goes for big buckeroos making men or stiff white collared types.
(I go for sensitive poetry and song writing rebels in leather jackets who stand at 1.8metres and above).
No, no, no, seriously, forget you ever read all that. I'm just in a bit of a flopping type mood. Don't ask me what "flopping" is though.
Okay, to embark on a serious note about the first day of school.
I had two lectures: Reading Media Texts [my only compulsory course (subjects are called courses while courses, as in "What course are you taking?" "Media Studies" are called programmes in RMIT), and Popular Music & Society.
The former was an hour while the latter was two.
I'm glad to share that I enjoyed both though I was feeling rather sleepy in the latter.
In both classes, I sat alone at a corner seat but no, I didn't feel lonely. It would have been sweet if I have my good friends there with me like in poly and we could discuss under our breath a certain video or something the lecturer said.
But you know, things, life is never constant and tt's fine. In fact, the unpredictability is what makes the ride interesting going.
Tomorrow, I have my first tutorial. It's for Reading Media Texts. And this will be a more interactive setting. Again, I ask and covet your prayers.
Okie, okie, I got to end this post now. I have got readings to do so till next, love ya :)
Monday, February 23, 2004
22:45.
In less than 12 hours, I should be sitted in a lecture theatre for my first class. Perhaps feeling a bit nervous, perhaps hoping to meet a familiar face, or perhaps just feeling strangely detachedly assured.
That last has been a familiar feeling these days, recurring or just turning around to face me and smile a small smile. It's part of me but yet at times it's like a separate entity that goes before me, seemingly.
Hope that didn't sound too weird.
This - studying - is what I came here for, among other things. And honestly, I do feel I want to start lessons now. It has been two weeks. Enrolment, setting up the room, marketing, and exploring the place only took so much time, and could be done in certain doses.
I haven't been bored. In fact, I have been enjoying having time. At time, I didn't even feel like I had enough time to do all the things I want to get done.
It was perhaps, a simple life, though right in the middle of an urban setting. The apartment, right next to Vic Mart, is just on the fringe of the city area.
It was (should I use this tense?) an idyllic time. I was contented but yet, I need more activity, perhaps some routine, and I should be able to find this in school opening... again after two years.
Please keep me in prayer and pray for continued favour, strength, wisdom and love. Love for people and new academics, increased love for God. And for a teachable spirit.
At certain moments, more strongly in the first week, my spilt personalities (working adult and student, and spilt personalities is really not quite accurate) had a few quiet face-offs.
But my heart is (perhaps) getting more quiet.
In church yesterday, I rededicated this year to God. Ok, it's already dedicated a few times but when I made that dedication yesterday during worship, it was more than words or quiet emotions. It was emotions pouring out, it was surrender.
I have two wonderful housemates and they have been amazing. If not for Hannah, it would have been a lot harder for me to ease into this new life, new roads and streets and all.
I have also attended, twice now, Overseas Christian Fellowship (OCF) meetings. Knowing I have family here spiritually is very assuring.
Dear God, you are real to me. And I want You to be even more real to me, in every single aspect of my life, in my head, my mind, my heart and soul.
Two years ago, I wrote for my scriptwriting class a short essay about who I am, what drives me and what I want. I remember writing about gladly giving my life, if I can be consumed by a cause.
I want to be consumed.
In less than 12 hours, I should be sitted in a lecture theatre for my first class. Perhaps feeling a bit nervous, perhaps hoping to meet a familiar face, or perhaps just feeling strangely detachedly assured.
That last has been a familiar feeling these days, recurring or just turning around to face me and smile a small smile. It's part of me but yet at times it's like a separate entity that goes before me, seemingly.
Hope that didn't sound too weird.
This - studying - is what I came here for, among other things. And honestly, I do feel I want to start lessons now. It has been two weeks. Enrolment, setting up the room, marketing, and exploring the place only took so much time, and could be done in certain doses.
I haven't been bored. In fact, I have been enjoying having time. At time, I didn't even feel like I had enough time to do all the things I want to get done.
It was perhaps, a simple life, though right in the middle of an urban setting. The apartment, right next to Vic Mart, is just on the fringe of the city area.
It was (should I use this tense?) an idyllic time. I was contented but yet, I need more activity, perhaps some routine, and I should be able to find this in school opening... again after two years.
Please keep me in prayer and pray for continued favour, strength, wisdom and love. Love for people and new academics, increased love for God. And for a teachable spirit.
At certain moments, more strongly in the first week, my spilt personalities (working adult and student, and spilt personalities is really not quite accurate) had a few quiet face-offs.
But my heart is (perhaps) getting more quiet.
In church yesterday, I rededicated this year to God. Ok, it's already dedicated a few times but when I made that dedication yesterday during worship, it was more than words or quiet emotions. It was emotions pouring out, it was surrender.
I have two wonderful housemates and they have been amazing. If not for Hannah, it would have been a lot harder for me to ease into this new life, new roads and streets and all.
I have also attended, twice now, Overseas Christian Fellowship (OCF) meetings. Knowing I have family here spiritually is very assuring.
Dear God, you are real to me. And I want You to be even more real to me, in every single aspect of my life, in my head, my mind, my heart and soul.
Two years ago, I wrote for my scriptwriting class a short essay about who I am, what drives me and what I want. I remember writing about gladly giving my life, if I can be consumed by a cause.
I want to be consumed.
Wednesday, February 18, 2004
14:14.
Your man is King Aragorn (The rating takes place
below)
Perhaps its because hes so world-weary but Aragorn
is upfront and honest with no time for mind
games. Hes attentive and devoted, as well as
sensitive to your needs.
The last 'WHICH LOTR GUY IS FOR YOU?' quiz you'll ever have to take UPDATED WITH BETTER PICS & RESULTS
brought to you by Quizilla
:)
Your man is King Aragorn (The rating takes place
below)
Perhaps its because hes so world-weary but Aragorn
is upfront and honest with no time for mind
games. Hes attentive and devoted, as well as
sensitive to your needs.
The last 'WHICH LOTR GUY IS FOR YOU?' quiz you'll ever have to take UPDATED WITH BETTER PICS & RESULTS
brought to you by Quizilla
:)
13:54.
You are Form 3, Unicorn: The Innocent.
"And The Unicorn knew she wasn't meant to
go into the Dark Wood. Disregarding the advice
given to her by the spirits, Unicorn went
inside and bled silver blood.. For her
misdeed, the world knew evil."
Some examples of the Unicorn Form are Eve
(Christian) and Pandora (Greek).
The Unicorn is associated with the concept of
innocence, the number 3, and the element of
water.
Her sign is the twilight sun.
As a member of Form 3, you are a curious
individual. You are drawn to new things and
become fascinated with ideas you've never come
in contact with before. Some people may say
you are too nosey, but it's only because you
like getting to the bottom of things and
solving them. Unicorns are the best friends to
have because they are inquisitive.
Which Mythological Form Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla
So. Yes, I'm here taking quizzes instead of blogging or sending any of the other many emails I should but... so.
Apparently, the school gave me a wrong student number. Thus - and plus the fact that it's orientation (I'm not attending of course) today - I cannot log in to my school email account, book my tutorials online or go down to the submit my enrolment variation form (basically, putting in the paperwork to change two courses. My first combo was chosen on the spot a few hours after I landed).
The school is supposed to call me back, "hopefully today". I hope - and pray so too.
I'm feeling bo liao. But school starts next week and I really like to get all the above sorted out first. Wait, correct that, it's not a "like", it's a "must". If I don't get to book my tutorial classes, I won't know where to go when.
Be still my heart.
Waah. Breuph. Pook.
You are Form 3, Unicorn: The Innocent.
"And The Unicorn knew she wasn't meant to
go into the Dark Wood. Disregarding the advice
given to her by the spirits, Unicorn went
inside and bled silver blood.. For her
misdeed, the world knew evil."
Some examples of the Unicorn Form are Eve
(Christian) and Pandora (Greek).
The Unicorn is associated with the concept of
innocence, the number 3, and the element of
water.
Her sign is the twilight sun.
As a member of Form 3, you are a curious
individual. You are drawn to new things and
become fascinated with ideas you've never come
in contact with before. Some people may say
you are too nosey, but it's only because you
like getting to the bottom of things and
solving them. Unicorns are the best friends to
have because they are inquisitive.
Which Mythological Form Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla
So. Yes, I'm here taking quizzes instead of blogging or sending any of the other many emails I should but... so.
Apparently, the school gave me a wrong student number. Thus - and plus the fact that it's orientation (I'm not attending of course) today - I cannot log in to my school email account, book my tutorials online or go down to the submit my enrolment variation form (basically, putting in the paperwork to change two courses. My first combo was chosen on the spot a few hours after I landed).
The school is supposed to call me back, "hopefully today". I hope - and pray so too.
I'm feeling bo liao. But school starts next week and I really like to get all the above sorted out first. Wait, correct that, it's not a "like", it's a "must". If I don't get to book my tutorial classes, I won't know where to go when.
Be still my heart.
Waah. Breuph. Pook.
Tuesday, February 17, 2004
15:26.
Melb time.
The first thing I see in the morning is the ceiling of my room in Singapore. When I open my eyes after blissful slumber, for the slightest fraction of a second, I see that ceiling instead of the one I now wake up to. And then, again for the slightest fraction of a silent second, the sentence "this is not home lah" may roll past in my mind.
I'm not even sure if I see my old room in my mind's eye, with eyes shut, or whether I see it superimposed over reality.
It has been a full week now since I arrived.
I have enrolled and chose my subjects. Am taking:
- Reading Media Texts (compulsory)
- Popular Music & Society
- Asian Modernities
- Race, Ethnicity & Racism
for first semt and:
- Understanding Philosophy: Themes From Popular Culture
- Creative Writing
- Asian Cinema
- Either Culture & Business Practice Japanese or International Approaches To Journalism
for second semt.
I'm inclined to take Japanese since I target to speak five languages by the age of 25 and I'm nowhere near this lofty aim. I also like the language and believe fluency in it will be useful but it is an examinable subject and I prefer not to take any subjects with examinations. None of my other courses require exams.
And Jap is not offered for first semt, which ups the risk factor.
Please pray along with me to make the best choices.
Okay, "work" aside (since studying is now my work of sorts), I am doing well enough. I like my new home, my housemates and I do like the weather.
The price of eating out is disgusting, and the tags on some simple pleasures - $2 for a piece of bak qua - are cut throat but the cool crisp wind - no perspiration! - is very enjoyable.
The days are are long with sunrise at 6-ish and sunset at 8-plus. Since I like evenings and nights, and tend to get work done during this time, seeing the perpetual light was disorientating.
I should or ought to get my internet account in two or so days time. Talk to ya again.
Melb time.
The first thing I see in the morning is the ceiling of my room in Singapore. When I open my eyes after blissful slumber, for the slightest fraction of a second, I see that ceiling instead of the one I now wake up to. And then, again for the slightest fraction of a silent second, the sentence "this is not home lah" may roll past in my mind.
I'm not even sure if I see my old room in my mind's eye, with eyes shut, or whether I see it superimposed over reality.
It has been a full week now since I arrived.
I have enrolled and chose my subjects. Am taking:
- Reading Media Texts (compulsory)
- Popular Music & Society
- Asian Modernities
- Race, Ethnicity & Racism
for first semt and:
- Understanding Philosophy: Themes From Popular Culture
- Creative Writing
- Asian Cinema
- Either Culture & Business Practice Japanese or International Approaches To Journalism
for second semt.
I'm inclined to take Japanese since I target to speak five languages by the age of 25 and I'm nowhere near this lofty aim. I also like the language and believe fluency in it will be useful but it is an examinable subject and I prefer not to take any subjects with examinations. None of my other courses require exams.
And Jap is not offered for first semt, which ups the risk factor.
Please pray along with me to make the best choices.
Okay, "work" aside (since studying is now my work of sorts), I am doing well enough. I like my new home, my housemates and I do like the weather.
The price of eating out is disgusting, and the tags on some simple pleasures - $2 for a piece of bak qua - are cut throat but the cool crisp wind - no perspiration! - is very enjoyable.
The days are are long with sunrise at 6-ish and sunset at 8-plus. Since I like evenings and nights, and tend to get work done during this time, seeing the perpetual light was disorientating.
I should or ought to get my internet account in two or so days time. Talk to ya again.
Friday, February 13, 2004
Monday, February 09, 2004
12:15.
Okay, I'm into my last 24 hours (over the next 10 months or so) here in Singapore. I've been sleeping late the past few days, after 2am every day. Last night - or this morning - packing took me up to 3.30am.
I've exceeded my luggage allowance....
Am now checking on the penalty per kg for that.
I'm about 5 kgs over, for check-in luggage.
Whew. All in all. I'm carrying a load just 10kg lesser than my body weight.
You know how those poor primary school kids with oversized bags look like they could fall over backwards?
Yeah, I feel like that when I carry my bagpack.
Thank God for the bagpack though. I bought it yesterday and it's really useful, It's holding my laptop, various PC periphels, my cameras and lens, my CDs, tape recorder, and many many other knick knacks.
It weighs.... 10 kg.
Yeah, so I'm 3 kg over for hand luggage too but I hope they won't weigh it.
There are books I want to bring but don't have space or weight allowance for. If I had time, I would go to the post office and check out the costs of mailing it all to myself, along with some stuff which I'm now checking in. But I don't think I have time to go to the post office at the central. It's not far but it's not that near either and there's the imminent lunchtime crowd.
Oh well, I'll see what I can do but it looks like I definitely have to freight stuff back when I come back at the end of the year.
This. All these - packing, sweating, sniffing (got a cold) and worrying (do I have everything?) - is quite amazing.
I think I will start missing every one and every thing proper only after I get to Australia. Yes, there's a tingle of "argh" mixed with "aww" at the side of my heart (Those are the sounds I feel when I think about leaving loved ones).
Last night, as I take my routine sip of water before going to bed, I found myself wishing I can take a leisurely goodbye, a leisurely last night with my loved stuff (chair, windows and all included).
Leisure and time - These seems lacking from the last couple of days but it's okay. It's perhaps what I need to gain momentum and not stop and falter. And the lack of it will make my first few days in Melbourne, the days before school starts, better because I will be able to get peace. Get leisure. Hold time.
There's really a lot that I want to blog about. Every moment that passes now exists only in the now and after that, only in the memory. This minute, this minute that you spend reading this post, will never repeat again. Such is the uniqueness and one-way stream of time and life.
I can't capture the time and have not been able to give form to the numerous thoughts in my head over the past few days but I do promise you, dear friend and faithful reader [ :> ] that I will blog and continue to unleash ramble upon you.
Pray for me.
And take care, because you are loved.
Okay, I'm into my last 24 hours (over the next 10 months or so) here in Singapore. I've been sleeping late the past few days, after 2am every day. Last night - or this morning - packing took me up to 3.30am.
I've exceeded my luggage allowance....
Am now checking on the penalty per kg for that.
I'm about 5 kgs over, for check-in luggage.
Whew. All in all. I'm carrying a load just 10kg lesser than my body weight.
You know how those poor primary school kids with oversized bags look like they could fall over backwards?
Yeah, I feel like that when I carry my bagpack.
Thank God for the bagpack though. I bought it yesterday and it's really useful, It's holding my laptop, various PC periphels, my cameras and lens, my CDs, tape recorder, and many many other knick knacks.
It weighs.... 10 kg.
Yeah, so I'm 3 kg over for hand luggage too but I hope they won't weigh it.
There are books I want to bring but don't have space or weight allowance for. If I had time, I would go to the post office and check out the costs of mailing it all to myself, along with some stuff which I'm now checking in. But I don't think I have time to go to the post office at the central. It's not far but it's not that near either and there's the imminent lunchtime crowd.
Oh well, I'll see what I can do but it looks like I definitely have to freight stuff back when I come back at the end of the year.
This. All these - packing, sweating, sniffing (got a cold) and worrying (do I have everything?) - is quite amazing.
I think I will start missing every one and every thing proper only after I get to Australia. Yes, there's a tingle of "argh" mixed with "aww" at the side of my heart (Those are the sounds I feel when I think about leaving loved ones).
Last night, as I take my routine sip of water before going to bed, I found myself wishing I can take a leisurely goodbye, a leisurely last night with my loved stuff (chair, windows and all included).
Leisure and time - These seems lacking from the last couple of days but it's okay. It's perhaps what I need to gain momentum and not stop and falter. And the lack of it will make my first few days in Melbourne, the days before school starts, better because I will be able to get peace. Get leisure. Hold time.
There's really a lot that I want to blog about. Every moment that passes now exists only in the now and after that, only in the memory. This minute, this minute that you spend reading this post, will never repeat again. Such is the uniqueness and one-way stream of time and life.
I can't capture the time and have not been able to give form to the numerous thoughts in my head over the past few days but I do promise you, dear friend and faithful reader [ :> ] that I will blog and continue to unleash ramble upon you.
Pray for me.
And take care, because you are loved.
Thursday, February 05, 2004
19:37.
It feels like I'm packing up my life.
After five days of lunches and dinners with various lovely people, I finally had time to just stay in at home today.
I'ven't even started putting things into my luggage; I'm just packing stuff into neat bags and containers, but I'm already realising I have a lot of things to take along.
Thus the feeling like I'm packing up my entire life. Or at least some.
And I have a lot more packing, organising and some buying to do.
It's Thursday evening.
Monday evening I fly.
Whew. Time sure gallops along.
But thank God, things are falling into place. I finally got my student visa on Tuesday, and I have bought my air tickets.
Thank God I got a PC laptop instead of a Mac. Was installing programmes and configuring stuff just now in the noon, and I was already frustrated enough when I couldn't get some stuff done the way I wanted them to be.
With a Mac - the last time I actively used one was 18 months ago in my first job - I would definitely be more helpless.
Leaving On A Jet Plane has been playing in my head. Tuesday night, I karaoke-d with Qihui, Yi Ling and Shuhui.
Was going to sing that David Gates classic but we ran out of time. Too many David Tao, Jeff Chang - yeah, my choices. It's amazing to me how I've learnt most of the Mandarin songs I know from karaoke - and obscure old English classics.
I think I'll miss karaoke, hehe, though I can always sing out loud at (the other) home in Australia and entertain (...) Hannah and Germaine.
There isn't much time left now.
I realise I have to make a conscious effort to spend time with my family. Considering how much I know I will miss them, I've not been too good with the family quality time effort.
I'll miss Mom's cooking too, especially the soups.
I'll miss my utterly comfortable bed, bloster, support pillow and my stuffed animals.
Yeah, it's the little things that I will miss even as I get used and find new beautiful little things to appreciate.
I'm sure it won't be hard.
The hard part is putting into form - in this case, words - every scene that captures my heart and makes me smile.
There were nights when I would just sigh happily and thank God when I lay down on my bed (it's that comfortable).
And every time past the last two months when I walk home from the MRT and look up at the sky to see twinkling stars I didn't realise were there, I laughed and felt unspeakable joy rush from my heart.
And the moments when I rush into the rain, and two to five seconds later, truly feel the impact of the raindrops go through my clothes and touch my skin, I chuckle as if sharing a private joke with the Spirit.
Coming home hungry after work days to find Mom cooked.
And looking out at the night traffic scene on the road in front of my house.
So, so many little things, too beautiful for me to justify.
I will miss them, but I know they will always be mine.
Wow.
It feels like I'm packing up my life.
After five days of lunches and dinners with various lovely people, I finally had time to just stay in at home today.
I'ven't even started putting things into my luggage; I'm just packing stuff into neat bags and containers, but I'm already realising I have a lot of things to take along.
Thus the feeling like I'm packing up my entire life. Or at least some.
And I have a lot more packing, organising and some buying to do.
It's Thursday evening.
Monday evening I fly.
Whew. Time sure gallops along.
But thank God, things are falling into place. I finally got my student visa on Tuesday, and I have bought my air tickets.
Thank God I got a PC laptop instead of a Mac. Was installing programmes and configuring stuff just now in the noon, and I was already frustrated enough when I couldn't get some stuff done the way I wanted them to be.
With a Mac - the last time I actively used one was 18 months ago in my first job - I would definitely be more helpless.
Leaving On A Jet Plane has been playing in my head. Tuesday night, I karaoke-d with Qihui, Yi Ling and Shuhui.
Was going to sing that David Gates classic but we ran out of time. Too many David Tao, Jeff Chang - yeah, my choices. It's amazing to me how I've learnt most of the Mandarin songs I know from karaoke - and obscure old English classics.
I think I'll miss karaoke, hehe, though I can always sing out loud at (the other) home in Australia and entertain (...) Hannah and Germaine.
There isn't much time left now.
I realise I have to make a conscious effort to spend time with my family. Considering how much I know I will miss them, I've not been too good with the family quality time effort.
I'll miss Mom's cooking too, especially the soups.
I'll miss my utterly comfortable bed, bloster, support pillow and my stuffed animals.
Yeah, it's the little things that I will miss even as I get used and find new beautiful little things to appreciate.
I'm sure it won't be hard.
The hard part is putting into form - in this case, words - every scene that captures my heart and makes me smile.
There were nights when I would just sigh happily and thank God when I lay down on my bed (it's that comfortable).
And every time past the last two months when I walk home from the MRT and look up at the sky to see twinkling stars I didn't realise were there, I laughed and felt unspeakable joy rush from my heart.
And the moments when I rush into the rain, and two to five seconds later, truly feel the impact of the raindrops go through my clothes and touch my skin, I chuckle as if sharing a private joke with the Spirit.
Coming home hungry after work days to find Mom cooked.
And looking out at the night traffic scene on the road in front of my house.
So, so many little things, too beautiful for me to justify.
I will miss them, but I know they will always be mine.
Wow.
Tuesday, February 03, 2004
Saturday, January 31, 2004
10:41.
Yesterday morning, I woke up with my hands around my alarm clock. If it was big enough to be hugged, that would be what I was doing.
The Alarm On button was down, indicating that I must have grabbed it from the left side of the bed, where it sat on my little bedside table, slammed the button down and then turned around - still holding it - to sleep on my right.
But when I woke up, it was earlier than the time I set the alarm for. Which means I couldn't had grabbed that dependable plastic purple clock because it was ringing.
Maybe I dreamt that it did....
If you introduced me to someone today, and that someone asked, "So what do you do?", I wouldn't have been able to say "I'm a journalist".
Rather hard to get used to, this thought.
I'm not used to it yet, but the next week probably will move along so fast I won't have time to feel displaced.
I was at a press conference this afternoon, tagged along with an entertainment colleague who was nice enough to allow me along.
And yes, I did introduce myself as from the ex-paper (new term! copyrighted!).
So I guess tomorrow is our proper first day.
Here's to sweet dreams.
Yesterday morning, I woke up with my hands around my alarm clock. If it was big enough to be hugged, that would be what I was doing.
The Alarm On button was down, indicating that I must have grabbed it from the left side of the bed, where it sat on my little bedside table, slammed the button down and then turned around - still holding it - to sleep on my right.
But when I woke up, it was earlier than the time I set the alarm for. Which means I couldn't had grabbed that dependable plastic purple clock because it was ringing.
Maybe I dreamt that it did....
If you introduced me to someone today, and that someone asked, "So what do you do?", I wouldn't have been able to say "I'm a journalist".
Rather hard to get used to, this thought.
I'm not used to it yet, but the next week probably will move along so fast I won't have time to feel displaced.
I was at a press conference this afternoon, tagged along with an entertainment colleague who was nice enough to allow me along.
And yes, I did introduce myself as from the ex-paper (new term! copyrighted!).
So I guess tomorrow is our proper first day.
Here's to sweet dreams.
Friday, January 30, 2004
20:28.
This is the last post from my office that I will be making for a long time.
Reason's simple - Today's my last day.
So for the last time (till next), from the media conglomerate of Singapore, I blog.
I'm packed up, having progressively taken stuff - CDs, notebooks, magazines, and today, every thing else - home over the last few days.
I've said my goodbyes, sort of, and the truth is that, when I walk out of the news centre, I think I will feel a sense of freedom.
Right now, I'm still feeling the prevailing melancholy that has been at my heart for a few days. I doubt this sense will fade soon but like I shared with a colleague just now, I feel alive.
As I stand here, on my way to a new chapter, it's not fear I feel, but hope. And excitement.
Yes, there's apprehension which flatuates from time to time but generally, I'm feeling... good.
And that's... good.
Hah.
I just deleted all the emails in my Lotus Notes email system.
But I have decided to leave the sign hanging over my desk announcing my name up there where it has hung for a long time.
Maybe it's meant to be a reminder to people that I once sat here. Throughout history, that's what us humans seem to like to do - to leave something behind that tells people that we once were somewhere.
Like vandalising on a tree: So-and-so loves So-and-so, or a scrawl that says XXX was here.
Human nature, building our own empire.
The words are starting to flow again. Being a journalist will never cease to be a part of me.
Here, I feel a slight tinge of sadness, if it is indeed sadness. Maybe it's just the melancholy at work. That's some thing that will always be a part of me too.
It's time to fly, to get off one main track, beat through the forest and find another path, whichever one I'm supposed to be on now.
Physically, I feel a bit of pain in my heart. About to say goodbye. The final one. And it's not that easy.
But not that hard.
This is the last post from my office that I will be making for a long time.
Reason's simple - Today's my last day.
So for the last time (till next), from the media conglomerate of Singapore, I blog.
I'm packed up, having progressively taken stuff - CDs, notebooks, magazines, and today, every thing else - home over the last few days.
I've said my goodbyes, sort of, and the truth is that, when I walk out of the news centre, I think I will feel a sense of freedom.
Right now, I'm still feeling the prevailing melancholy that has been at my heart for a few days. I doubt this sense will fade soon but like I shared with a colleague just now, I feel alive.
As I stand here, on my way to a new chapter, it's not fear I feel, but hope. And excitement.
Yes, there's apprehension which flatuates from time to time but generally, I'm feeling... good.
And that's... good.
Hah.
I just deleted all the emails in my Lotus Notes email system.
But I have decided to leave the sign hanging over my desk announcing my name up there where it has hung for a long time.
Maybe it's meant to be a reminder to people that I once sat here. Throughout history, that's what us humans seem to like to do - to leave something behind that tells people that we once were somewhere.
Like vandalising on a tree: So-and-so loves So-and-so, or a scrawl that says XXX was here.
Human nature, building our own empire.
The words are starting to flow again. Being a journalist will never cease to be a part of me.
Here, I feel a slight tinge of sadness, if it is indeed sadness. Maybe it's just the melancholy at work. That's some thing that will always be a part of me too.
It's time to fly, to get off one main track, beat through the forest and find another path, whichever one I'm supposed to be on now.
Physically, I feel a bit of pain in my heart. About to say goodbye. The final one. And it's not that easy.
But not that hard.
Saturday, January 24, 2004
Friday, January 09, 2004
13:55.
Five minutes to 9pm yesterday, I sat down at my beige upright piano, removed the red velvet cloth covering its black and white keys, and loved the feeling of creating music.
I didn't intend to play popular music but the first chord I hit sounded like a certain song so I started trying to locate its name as it flowed from the instrument.
The song was In My Life, by The Beatles. Lovely. I looked for its chords, I had the song sheet - downloaded from the internet - somewhere and I played a slow slow version. Then I started singing. Tried This Boy, also by the Beatles then Stay (Faraway, So Close) by U2. And it went on and on.
I always wished and prayed to be able to sing better. I'm an inconsistent singer. I can sing along to most songs when the records are playing, but when I need to pitch on my own, I tend to sing a restrained pitch lower. Since my range is not that wide, when I do that, I effectively sabotage myself.
On the piano, it's different. I can naturally pitch (On the guitar, I can't. Argh).
So we did an acoustic version of Stay, and Coldplay's The Scientist, both of which translated very well with bare acoustic backing.
Then, hehe, we stumbled across this stack of Beatles chords I have photocopied. And it was so fun! I Want To Hold Your Hand, Get Back, Hard Day's Night, Let It Be, a messy version of Helter Skelter.
As I played, I was aware of how I will miss the freedom of being able to get onto a piano to play and sing, with chords and sheets avail (I don't do impromptu very well).
But last night, we - piano, God and me - rocked.
Dear Lord, You rock.
Five minutes to 9pm yesterday, I sat down at my beige upright piano, removed the red velvet cloth covering its black and white keys, and loved the feeling of creating music.
I didn't intend to play popular music but the first chord I hit sounded like a certain song so I started trying to locate its name as it flowed from the instrument.
The song was In My Life, by The Beatles. Lovely. I looked for its chords, I had the song sheet - downloaded from the internet - somewhere and I played a slow slow version. Then I started singing. Tried This Boy, also by the Beatles then Stay (Faraway, So Close) by U2. And it went on and on.
I always wished and prayed to be able to sing better. I'm an inconsistent singer. I can sing along to most songs when the records are playing, but when I need to pitch on my own, I tend to sing a restrained pitch lower. Since my range is not that wide, when I do that, I effectively sabotage myself.
On the piano, it's different. I can naturally pitch (On the guitar, I can't. Argh).
So we did an acoustic version of Stay, and Coldplay's The Scientist, both of which translated very well with bare acoustic backing.
Then, hehe, we stumbled across this stack of Beatles chords I have photocopied. And it was so fun! I Want To Hold Your Hand, Get Back, Hard Day's Night, Let It Be, a messy version of Helter Skelter.
As I played, I was aware of how I will miss the freedom of being able to get onto a piano to play and sing, with chords and sheets avail (I don't do impromptu very well).
But last night, we - piano, God and me - rocked.
Dear Lord, You rock.
Thursday, January 08, 2004
00:00.
On Tuesday, I wore a pink blouse. It was in a sweet shade of pink, and cut in a peasant style, with a simple gather at the bottom, detail at sleeves end and... a strip of lace along the neckline. Its saving grace was its cut, specifically the collar cut in what I think is described as empire cut. Think boat neck with acute angles.
Ok, description over.
I don't wear lace or pink. Or at least not that shade of pink. While I recognise the potential and flattering nature of the colour, I have shunned pink stuff generally because it represented - to me, and on me only, mind you - vulnerability and weakness. A certain helplessness.
I'm big on symbolic meanings and I prefer other less loaded colours, or colours loaded with descriptions that fit me better.
So why did I wear that blouse, a gift from an aunty? I think I was taking the mickey out of myself and telling myself, oh sod the rules, you cow, you.
After all, it's no shame to admit I'm Not As Strong As I Think I Am [One ofRich Mullins' songs title].
So, at the stroke of midnight on the new year, I was walking along a road near Ang Mo Kio central, on my way to a friend's place after church ended at 11.30-ish.
I think one thing God has been working on inside of me is teaching me to face all of me. To be honest, and to dare to show myself vulnerable to people. I've a fair share of control freakiness in me. And despite loving sleep and quietness, I'm impatient when it comes to the unfuring of my life - scope, plan and eventuality.
I'm increasingly breaking the pop culture rules I held for so long. And I'm feeling like it's fine. Whatever.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Monday, I started it feeling decent and top of the world but two new colleagues reminded me how dispensible everyone is. So I was milling about in the dumps for a while. But you know, if the now me is the me fresh from poly, swallowing that I am not indispensible would have been a very jagged, darn bitter pill.
So yeah, soon the pictures at my desk will be down. My neat files in my PC be deleted (I'm a geek, geek, geek) and maybe I will take down that little sign hanging above my desk that declares my name to all and sundry.
I will delete every sign that I used to be there.
It's easier to move on then.
We all move on.
I'm glad I won't be seeing someone move into my space.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
About 20 hours ago, somewhere during the night, I dreamt of my favourite band U2. I was at a concert and I was trying to get backstage. I remember excitement and know I was there not just as a fan, but as a media. I remember being nervous.
A few hours ago, I walked back home (from the Woodlands MRT lah) instead of taking the usual feeder bus.
The stars were out.
I have not seen so many stars in our night sky for so long.
And the full moon was illuminating everything. And I saw three stars lined up in a straight row.
I felt like lying on a field and staring at them till I get caught up in eternity.
I'm glad to be alive.
I love you, Lord.
On Tuesday, I wore a pink blouse. It was in a sweet shade of pink, and cut in a peasant style, with a simple gather at the bottom, detail at sleeves end and... a strip of lace along the neckline. Its saving grace was its cut, specifically the collar cut in what I think is described as empire cut. Think boat neck with acute angles.
Ok, description over.
I don't wear lace or pink. Or at least not that shade of pink. While I recognise the potential and flattering nature of the colour, I have shunned pink stuff generally because it represented - to me, and on me only, mind you - vulnerability and weakness. A certain helplessness.
I'm big on symbolic meanings and I prefer other less loaded colours, or colours loaded with descriptions that fit me better.
So why did I wear that blouse, a gift from an aunty? I think I was taking the mickey out of myself and telling myself, oh sod the rules, you cow, you.
After all, it's no shame to admit I'm Not As Strong As I Think I Am [One ofRich Mullins' songs title].
So, at the stroke of midnight on the new year, I was walking along a road near Ang Mo Kio central, on my way to a friend's place after church ended at 11.30-ish.
I think one thing God has been working on inside of me is teaching me to face all of me. To be honest, and to dare to show myself vulnerable to people. I've a fair share of control freakiness in me. And despite loving sleep and quietness, I'm impatient when it comes to the unfuring of my life - scope, plan and eventuality.
I'm increasingly breaking the pop culture rules I held for so long. And I'm feeling like it's fine. Whatever.
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Monday, I started it feeling decent and top of the world but two new colleagues reminded me how dispensible everyone is. So I was milling about in the dumps for a while. But you know, if the now me is the me fresh from poly, swallowing that I am not indispensible would have been a very jagged, darn bitter pill.
So yeah, soon the pictures at my desk will be down. My neat files in my PC be deleted (I'm a geek, geek, geek) and maybe I will take down that little sign hanging above my desk that declares my name to all and sundry.
I will delete every sign that I used to be there.
It's easier to move on then.
We all move on.
I'm glad I won't be seeing someone move into my space.
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About 20 hours ago, somewhere during the night, I dreamt of my favourite band U2. I was at a concert and I was trying to get backstage. I remember excitement and know I was there not just as a fan, but as a media. I remember being nervous.
A few hours ago, I walked back home (from the Woodlands MRT lah) instead of taking the usual feeder bus.
The stars were out.
I have not seen so many stars in our night sky for so long.
And the full moon was illuminating everything. And I saw three stars lined up in a straight row.
I felt like lying on a field and staring at them till I get caught up in eternity.
I'm glad to be alive.
I love you, Lord.
Tuesday, January 06, 2004
15:28.
I think I felt a connection when reading the article below. I'm not deciding that I agree with everything it says or that I disagree. You may know I have always felt like an oddity, a weirdo, and though at the end of the day, I'm proud of all my strangeness, there have been times when it hurted.
The article is from here.
Odd and alien, that's the Christian way
By BRYAN PATTERSON
16nov03
"You shall know the truth . . . and the truth shall make you odd" - Flannery O'Connor
AMERICAN writer Mike Yaconelli, who died in a car accident this month, said that what characterised Christianity in the modern world was its "oddness".
"Christianity is home for people who are out of step, unfashionable, unconventional and counter-cultural," he wrote.
Is that why the chattering classes -- the ones who proclaim tolerance, free-thinking and peace -- seem to share a prejudice against Christians?
How many times have you heard a well-off, supposedly educated dinner party philosopher accuse all Christians of being fundamentalist, anti-feminist, anti-gay and anti-intellectual bigots, who are led by child abusers and unthinking autocrats?
In the minds of the rabid persecutors, Christian belief is akin to searching in a dark cellar at midnight for a black cat that isn't there.
Yet the same accusers would not dare publicly mock Buddhists, Muslims or Jews.
Christianity grates on some people because, at the core, it is much more than a set of morality rules. It is downright subversive, and threatens conventional lifestyles.
It teaches that there are definite rights and wrongs; truths and untruths. Rather a stretch for a pluralistic world in which everyone's view is supposedly as valid as everyone else's.
Christianity challenges the concept of unfettered personal freedom, warns against being too rich or too pretty, and demands its followers practise social justice and brotherhood, even to those who lampoon the faith.
And then there's the real problem. Christians don't really fit comfortably into categories. They may agree on the Big Issue -- that God's spirit can direct us -- but then differ greatly on the little themes.
They are more often odd types than stereotypes.
Ralph Waldo Emerson said a man must consider what a rich realm he abdicates when he becomes a conformist.
And even that old atheist Friedrich Nietzsche said the surest way to corrupt a youth was to instruct him to hold in higher esteem those who think alike than those who think differently.
Christianity, home of the odd, proclaims that it has spiritual answers for everyone, while recognising that all are different.
Yaconelli, who believed "cultural sameness" was a virus, was a pastor at "one of the slowest growing churches" in the US.
"We're about as far as you can get from a 'user friendly' church, not because our congregation is unfriendly, but because our services are unpredictable, unpolished and inconsistent," he said.
"We're an odd-friendly church, attracting unique and different followers of Christ who make every service a surprise. We refuse to edit oddness and incompetence from our services. We believe our oddness matters."
Yaconelli wrote of a service where a church member began describing the critical illness of her father. Her request for prayer was frequently interrupted by tears.
Seated in the front row was Sadie, a young woman with Down syndrome. Sadie stood and walked up the aisle until she saw the woman in the middle of her row. Stepping over the feet of other people, Sadie reached the woman, bent down on her knees, laid her head on the woman's lap, and cried with her.
"Sadie inconvenienced an entire row of people, stepped on their shoes, and forced them to make room for her, but none of us will ever forget that moment," Yaconelli said. "Sadie is still teaching the rest of us what the odd compassion of Christ's church looks like."
IN Yaconelli's mind, oddness is important because it's the quality that adds colour, texture, variety, and beauty to the human condition.
"Christ doesn't make us the same. What He does is affirm our differentness," he said.
"Sameness is the result of sin. Sin does much more than infect us with lust and greed; it flattens the human race, franchises us, attempts to make us all homogenous. Sameness is the cemetery where our distinctiveness dies. In a sea of sameness, no one has an identity.
"But Christians are the odd ones, the strange ones, the aliens, the misfits, the outsiders, the incompatibles. Oddness is a gift of God that sits dormant until God's spirit gives it life and shape. Oddness is the consequence of following the One who made us unique, different and in His image."
I think I felt a connection when reading the article below. I'm not deciding that I agree with everything it says or that I disagree. You may know I have always felt like an oddity, a weirdo, and though at the end of the day, I'm proud of all my strangeness, there have been times when it hurted.
The article is from here.
Odd and alien, that's the Christian way
By BRYAN PATTERSON
16nov03
"You shall know the truth . . . and the truth shall make you odd" - Flannery O'Connor
AMERICAN writer Mike Yaconelli, who died in a car accident this month, said that what characterised Christianity in the modern world was its "oddness".
"Christianity is home for people who are out of step, unfashionable, unconventional and counter-cultural," he wrote.
Is that why the chattering classes -- the ones who proclaim tolerance, free-thinking and peace -- seem to share a prejudice against Christians?
How many times have you heard a well-off, supposedly educated dinner party philosopher accuse all Christians of being fundamentalist, anti-feminist, anti-gay and anti-intellectual bigots, who are led by child abusers and unthinking autocrats?
In the minds of the rabid persecutors, Christian belief is akin to searching in a dark cellar at midnight for a black cat that isn't there.
Yet the same accusers would not dare publicly mock Buddhists, Muslims or Jews.
Christianity grates on some people because, at the core, it is much more than a set of morality rules. It is downright subversive, and threatens conventional lifestyles.
It teaches that there are definite rights and wrongs; truths and untruths. Rather a stretch for a pluralistic world in which everyone's view is supposedly as valid as everyone else's.
Christianity challenges the concept of unfettered personal freedom, warns against being too rich or too pretty, and demands its followers practise social justice and brotherhood, even to those who lampoon the faith.
And then there's the real problem. Christians don't really fit comfortably into categories. They may agree on the Big Issue -- that God's spirit can direct us -- but then differ greatly on the little themes.
They are more often odd types than stereotypes.
Ralph Waldo Emerson said a man must consider what a rich realm he abdicates when he becomes a conformist.
And even that old atheist Friedrich Nietzsche said the surest way to corrupt a youth was to instruct him to hold in higher esteem those who think alike than those who think differently.
Christianity, home of the odd, proclaims that it has spiritual answers for everyone, while recognising that all are different.
Yaconelli, who believed "cultural sameness" was a virus, was a pastor at "one of the slowest growing churches" in the US.
"We're about as far as you can get from a 'user friendly' church, not because our congregation is unfriendly, but because our services are unpredictable, unpolished and inconsistent," he said.
"We're an odd-friendly church, attracting unique and different followers of Christ who make every service a surprise. We refuse to edit oddness and incompetence from our services. We believe our oddness matters."
Yaconelli wrote of a service where a church member began describing the critical illness of her father. Her request for prayer was frequently interrupted by tears.
Seated in the front row was Sadie, a young woman with Down syndrome. Sadie stood and walked up the aisle until she saw the woman in the middle of her row. Stepping over the feet of other people, Sadie reached the woman, bent down on her knees, laid her head on the woman's lap, and cried with her.
"Sadie inconvenienced an entire row of people, stepped on their shoes, and forced them to make room for her, but none of us will ever forget that moment," Yaconelli said. "Sadie is still teaching the rest of us what the odd compassion of Christ's church looks like."
IN Yaconelli's mind, oddness is important because it's the quality that adds colour, texture, variety, and beauty to the human condition.
"Christ doesn't make us the same. What He does is affirm our differentness," he said.
"Sameness is the result of sin. Sin does much more than infect us with lust and greed; it flattens the human race, franchises us, attempts to make us all homogenous. Sameness is the cemetery where our distinctiveness dies. In a sea of sameness, no one has an identity.
"But Christians are the odd ones, the strange ones, the aliens, the misfits, the outsiders, the incompatibles. Oddness is a gift of God that sits dormant until God's spirit gives it life and shape. Oddness is the consequence of following the One who made us unique, different and in His image."
Sunday, January 04, 2004
21:56.
Sometimes, you work your butt off at some thing and it doesn't come out quite the way it should. So you sigh, make a mental note to be wary and to send a message to some people tomorrow, and move on.
In my year as a working adult, I have learnt to do that.
The first post of a new year should be more than this, eh?
Yeah, but I am not done yet with my personal reflections upon time past and aspirations for time to come.
I resort again, thus, to borrowed verses and songs. (And thanks to DW for going through the trouble to send me the studio version of this song)
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Worlds Apart - Jars of Clay
I am the only one to blame for this
Somehow it all adds up the same
Soaring on the wings of selfish pride
I flew too high and like Icarus I collide
With a world I try so hard to leave behind
To rid myself of all but love
to give and die
To turn away and not become
Another nail to pierce the skin of one who loves
more deeply than the oceans,
more abundant than the tear
Of a world embracing every heartache
Can I be the one to sacrifice
Or grip the spear and watch the blood and water flow
To love you - take my world apart
To need you - I am on my knees
To love you - take my world apart
To need you - broken on my knees
All said and done I stand alone
Amongst remains of a life I should not own
It takes all I am to believe
In the mercy that covers me
Did you really have to die for me?
All I am for all you are
Because what I need and what I believe are worlds apart
I look beyond the empty cross
forgetting what my life has cost
and wipe away the crimson stains
and dull the nails that still remain
More and more I need you now,
I owe you more each passing hour
the battle between grace and pride
I gave up not so long ago
So steal my heart and take the pain
and wash the feet and cleanse my pride
take the selfish, take the weak,
and all the things I cannot hide
take the beauty, take my tears
the sin-soaked heart and make it yours
take my world all apart
take it now, take it now
and serve the ones that I despise
speak the words I can't deny
watch the world I used to love
fall to dust and thrown away
I look beyond the empty cross
forgetting what my life has cost
so wipe away the crimson stains
and dull the nails that still remain
so steal my heart and take the pain
take the selfish, take the weak
and all the things I cannot hide
take the beauty, take my tears
take my world apart, take my world apart
I pray, I pray, I pray
take my world apart
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
They say loving someone means losing yourself. 2003, I somehow lost myself and yet in the process, felt that I am coming to know who I am meant to be more. For now, we see from behind a veil but one day, we will see everything in Light.
And what a day that will be.
Lord Jesus, I'm yours.
Sometimes, you work your butt off at some thing and it doesn't come out quite the way it should. So you sigh, make a mental note to be wary and to send a message to some people tomorrow, and move on.
In my year as a working adult, I have learnt to do that.
The first post of a new year should be more than this, eh?
Yeah, but I am not done yet with my personal reflections upon time past and aspirations for time to come.
I resort again, thus, to borrowed verses and songs. (And thanks to DW for going through the trouble to send me the studio version of this song)
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Worlds Apart - Jars of Clay
I am the only one to blame for this
Somehow it all adds up the same
Soaring on the wings of selfish pride
I flew too high and like Icarus I collide
With a world I try so hard to leave behind
To rid myself of all but love
to give and die
To turn away and not become
Another nail to pierce the skin of one who loves
more deeply than the oceans,
more abundant than the tear
Of a world embracing every heartache
Can I be the one to sacrifice
Or grip the spear and watch the blood and water flow
To love you - take my world apart
To need you - I am on my knees
To love you - take my world apart
To need you - broken on my knees
All said and done I stand alone
Amongst remains of a life I should not own
It takes all I am to believe
In the mercy that covers me
Did you really have to die for me?
All I am for all you are
Because what I need and what I believe are worlds apart
I look beyond the empty cross
forgetting what my life has cost
and wipe away the crimson stains
and dull the nails that still remain
More and more I need you now,
I owe you more each passing hour
the battle between grace and pride
I gave up not so long ago
So steal my heart and take the pain
and wash the feet and cleanse my pride
take the selfish, take the weak,
and all the things I cannot hide
take the beauty, take my tears
the sin-soaked heart and make it yours
take my world all apart
take it now, take it now
and serve the ones that I despise
speak the words I can't deny
watch the world I used to love
fall to dust and thrown away
I look beyond the empty cross
forgetting what my life has cost
so wipe away the crimson stains
and dull the nails that still remain
so steal my heart and take the pain
take the selfish, take the weak
and all the things I cannot hide
take the beauty, take my tears
take my world apart, take my world apart
I pray, I pray, I pray
take my world apart
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
They say loving someone means losing yourself. 2003, I somehow lost myself and yet in the process, felt that I am coming to know who I am meant to be more. For now, we see from behind a veil but one day, we will see everything in Light.
And what a day that will be.
Lord Jesus, I'm yours.
