15:47.

29th last month, last year, I called home for the first time since the tsunami struck. Two aunties were in the woodlands home and the happy sounds of conversation and television were carried over the lines as I talked to my Dad. He sounded happy, happy to hear my voice, and happy in the company that was there, happy after a visit to Sheng Siong, a hypermarket my mom and him love going to.

We talked about the tsunami, I made sure that nobody we know or he knows were involved and he passed the phone to my mom, who was - accompanied by splashing tap water - doing cooking prep; and my aunties whose voices I have not heard for 10 months now.

My aunties told me how they are sure that God will make the way straight for me in these crossroads, my mom talked to me about my pastor - who lost his brother and new sister-in-law this month, and pushed by a sudden spurt of emotions, I asked to talk to my brother.

Told him I loved him, am very glad he is my brother and that I am proud of him.

The normalcy of every thing - even him being his non-responsive with emotions self - somehow made me more emotional.

I felt driven to my knees with thanksgiving.

And felt some sort of guilt that I seemed to be benefiting from the tsunami disaster, because its horror made personal affairs more clear to me.

The next day, I was at St Kilda's beach. When the waters came into view, my steps slowed and I had to exert effort to push myself forward. Every thing was so beautiful, so normal... my world and the company I was keeping with was good, and less than half the world away, every thing once normal and beautiful have been robbed.

The beauty before my eyes, the waves and the horizon had a terrifying aspect. I don't think I would be able to touch sea water for a good while.

New Year's Eve was spent with two very good friends. A time of jamming after dinner turned into worship and we gladly, very gladly decided to spend the new year's eve in a contemplative, quiet manner. Went over to Bouverie Close nine minutes before midnight, since its rooftop boosts a better view of the fireworks that were slated for appearance all around Melb.

The fireworks' beauty seemed weak, weak perhaps because they could not elevate suffering perhaps, or weak because at the moment they went off, we are all aware of the suffering still ongoing on the immense scale in Asia and Africa.

I could only give a crooked smile in response to the revellers' oohs and aahs, though it was sweet hearing happiness. In quietness, I thought fleetingly about how humans are always drawn to things that are bright and again fleetingly, I note that the briefness of the fireworks' illumination and the briefness of existence.

I am not sure why but we - or at least, I know I - spent a minute staring at the spot where the fireworks appeared after the last ones faded away. Then, it was hugs, happy new years and a brief stop at a friend's apt in the same building before we adjourned to another in the same building.

Then, it was something like two-and-a-half hours of prayer where everyone present - the Spirit too - wept.

On the first day of this new year, I hurted with the hurting and stood in awe of God and what He chooses to do.

Dec 30, 31 2004, Jan 1, Jan 2 2005 - They seemed melted together in a languidly alive recollection, where tears and laughter co-existed perfectly while this year ahead was shaped. And I realised half a day after the first half hour of the year, that those five shots were the symbolic mourning for my - and the world's - grief before I could move.

I have clarity in feelings words cannot express.

And I am thankful.