14:14.

Some part of me, some times, want to somehow grab all of these and perserve it some way. All of these that I look upon when sitting by the window in the most beautiful day that has been for quite a while in a cold winter (I'm in a tee and berms, like whoa). The Saturday Vic Mkt crowd with their trolleys and boxes and bags, crossing the roads that make up the junction in front of the house; the blues skies and clouds straight out of The Simpsons; the trees in their various incarnations which are for now bare and brown almost elegantly. And in this world, the life that I have been able to lead - the quiet days; the time to just sit with God and myself, to feel; the company of the friends I have made. Going to church and enjoying it so much; being in the company of people who loves God so much and also hanging with every one else.

It's like everywhere I go, I see God, like how that Rich Mullins song goes.

Dearly love my family I do, but yet living apart from family is enjoyable.

Those bubbles of joy that wells up inside and burst, manifesting in uncontrollable laughter at times accompanied by jumping around, are oft and embracing.

It's so easy to want all of these to last. To want this life to last and continue. But I don't want to reach out and frantically try to clutch this bliss, surely its very nature will dissolve in my hands and elude my attempts. And if any thing, inside of me, I do know well that there is a time for every chapter, and to stay somewhere or do something beyond its time would be ruinous.

I realise how every thing that has been before in my 23 years seem so far away. School, Mass Comm, even journalism, all those stuff, bylines, photos, career, the life I led at every stage before, they all seem so long ago.

Many uni students in their final academic year ponder over stepping into the working world proper for the first time but no one speaks of the strangeness of being in industry, then uni academia, and facing anew the cliff, the crossroad, the junction.

I'm 23. Honestly, I don't truly know what that is supposed to be about. I don't quite care about the usual conventional expectations of age here, and I do not think 23 has to mean the usual corporate aspirations or supposedly grown up habits.

But 23... I'm flabbergasted. Yesterdays seem far away, yes, but yet again, I think of a passed milestone and wonder if it was that many years ago. This is when my being go into and just is in a place and moment, feeling a still something I have no words for.

I think I feel the rat race reaching out to me and I feel as if I should be striving like I did when I was in poly, striving to get freelance jobs, to gain experience in the art of writing. And perhaps I feel slightly disturbed by this feeling.

Aware, I just feel very much so aware that I have a life in Singapore, and I have a life here. Both are me. There really isn't a choosing between the two. It's not even these are, but this is.

And thus I live.

02:22.

Drummed for the first time this semester - the fourth or three-and-a-half time so far since May - just now. My arms are tired, there's really something wonderful, liberating and so very enjoyable about being able to smash cymbals and hit skins loudly, probably almost as loud as I can.

If you know your Christian songs, check out the song list:

Every Day, Hillsong
Big, Planet Shakers
This Is How We Overcome, Hillsong
Lift Up Your Eyes, Planet Shakers
Forever, Hillsong
How I Love You, Planet Shakers
Worship Forevermore, Planet Shakers 

Nope, not an easy set at all. Very fun songs to play though... if you know your stuff. There's a 6/8 song in there too, and I only ever drummed one 6/8 song before ever, and that was in July Camp.

It's hard to say whether it went well or not 'cause I can't really judge, I suppose. And when I play, I'm caught up enough that I don't quite notice every thing or have spare mental facilities (um) to detach and evaluate myself and people. Not that intensely any way.

But I'm happy. Very tired, about to crash, sleep, zzz, in about five minutes.

Nights, people.

23:10.

I want to re-read The Little Prince. Darn, I can't remember much of it at all.


You are the fox.

Saint Exupery's 'The Little Prince' Quiz.
brought to you by

20:43.

Article on City Church in Herald Sun.

22:15.

Over at the photoblog - some photos from July Camp. Here.

12:08.

It's hard to love the weather when you are down with a fever, sore throat and the sniffles. Plus a tummy that's acting up major. This must be the fourth time I'm falling sick here and with basically the same symptons. So instead of being at my philo tute, I'm nursing a mug of barley here, along with a heavy head and a grumpy disposition with the question, should I go for my next one-hour tutorial?

I hate being sick. Hate.

22:35.
 
*boggled mind*
 
A random search on Google turned up this. It's some forum thing where pros and cons of academic courses are discussed... scroll down, and you will find the poly I came from and my name (?!!) cited - along with other properly famous folks who went through the same school - to back up the prospects of the course.
 
?!!

19:59.
 
Don't quite know what to make of this.

18:19.

Zombie PCs.

*shudder*

12:01.

School starts today. And I'm officially due at my first lecture of the semester (Understanding Philo: Themes from Pop Culture) in about 90 minutes time.

Full results for last semester is out:

Popular Music & Society - Distinction
Race Ethnicity & Racism - Distinction
Reading Media Texts - Distinction
Asian Modernities - Higher Distinction

I'm trying to close my gaping mouth. Thank you, God.

22:35.

My firstfruits, the thing that is most precious to me, I give it to You, the Keeper of my faith, the Lord of my life, the All Consuming Fire.

Even this, even this, this desire for full-time, the tears I cry and all I feel, even this, I give to You.

Sanctify it, Lord. Sanctify me. Never let it be that I take a good thing and wrong it with my self. Never let it be that I dishonour Your Name that way. Take my heart, take all of it, use me Lord.

In whatever way. My dreams are yours. And as I lay them on the altar and Holy Spirit, You do your work in me and with these, I trust You will ignite in me Your will, You will give me big dreams, You will return to me, speak into my life, put into my heart purified things of You.

Amen.

22:06.

Just came back a while ago from City Church's 1830 service. For the past couple of weeks, partly due to the lull of holidays, I have been attending Church Of Christ on Swanston Street at 11am, then going to City Church - more commonly known as the Planet Shakers church - in the evening.

July Camp's speaker Matt Fielder is from this church too, except he is at the Adeleide's youth ministry Universe.

This was my fourth or fifth time I attended City Church, but yeah, details like that you don't quite need to know.

I guess I wanted to share how that, even now as I sit and type this, I feel something pulling at my heartstrings, how I almost feel like crying. Church is not about the songs, not about the style of praise and worship, not about denomination and such. But singing with a crowd of people "You are all that I want, You are all that I need, You are all that I live for in this world" to the only Person I really ever need in all of life, my best friend, Jesus Christ, was phenomenal.

No, it's not unusual or uncommon to be in such a setting... I could go into a ramble here but I will stop. I suppose I'm just awed, awed by how real God is. How real and how close the Creator of the universe is to us, His children. And when I sung just now, I half-shouted and at times, did shout out the lyrics. And when the pastor asked the congregation to kneel down as and if we feel like we want to surrender our lives over to God, I think I am just immensely touched at the knees that bowed. My stomach kind of crunched - I'm describing this terribly - but sometimes when I'm in the presence of God, my hands shake (and they shook), I tremble as my earthly body makes contact with the supernatural Lord of the universe, and inside of where my tummy is, I kind of constrict.

On a lighter note, I don't think I ever jumped up and down in three-inch knee high boots before.

Jesus, Jesus, how I love You.

And Lord? I love these people here. I don't know them well. They don't know me well but I love them and I want to serve them. Help me be Jesus to them. Let me be your instrument of love and power, peace and joy.

I'm in love with God and I never want this to end.

01:45.

I want to dance with God and never let go. Waltz and lindy hop, ballroom slow dance, holding You close and being held close. I want to love You, be in love with You, always adore You. I want to be beautiful for You. I want to see You. I want to know my Maker as I am known.

I want to know You.

23:55.

Five minutes and I move into a new year. 22. 22. 22. 22. 22. 23.

Am sitting here doing something I've done regularly thus far this year, nursing a cuppa black tea at the kitchen table, laptop facing me, fingers moving to construct the sentences in my head.

I've absolutely no idea what I will be doing on my birthday and whatever it is - even if it's nothing - it's quite fine by me. But instead of getting ahead of time, let me chronicle instead the day that is even now, in the passing.

During July Camp, the Ocfers celebrated some of the July birthdays. Three to be precise, one being mine. Just now, it was July Camp testimonies and sharing session. When the time came for stuff to be wrapped up and the last testimony to be shared, some folks started chanting my name. After a period of looking half-mortified, I got up to share. At the end of what I had to say, as I got up to get back to my spot in the corner, one of the sisters rushed up to stop me. Lights went out, and a birthday cake with four candles appeared as people broke into a chorus of Happy Birthday.

These are sweet folks. And like I told them in my sharing, they are my family.

One of the greatest things about being a Christian is that Christians never say goodbye. Not literally, I mean of course we use the word goodbye like everyone else but we never really say goodbye. I may meet a fellow believer at the other end of the world for a day, and never see the person again but I know I will see him or her one day - when I stand in the presence of Almighty God, with the angels crying Holy Holy Holy, when every tear is wiped dry and every thing is finally perfect.

I never understood the depth of the words "Lord Jesus come" until I stood at a place where I felt God's heartbeat for the lost and glimpse the state of the world and how much we, how much I need God so.

It's 12.20am now. Happy birthday, S k y e T a n.

And that's the first time I type my name in this blog since I moved to this space.

What is this post about?

After the session just now, I was actually thinking I wanted to try to articulate somewhat the experience of July Camp. I did so for Easter Camp and somehow, every thing was really clear then. It's not so for July Camp. There was a night when I walked out to the edge of the forest, look into the trees and up at the sky and silently screamed "Why"; a time when I walked to the ladies after a sermon and in the enclosure of a cubicle, allowed tears to fall as I trembled from emotions welling up from inside of me; when I went to sleep tired physically by the emotions spent in the day.

Then there was the peace that came on me the last day. The indescribable peace of the Almighty, covering me. An assurance - maybe not an answer - was given in the ministry of the Holy Spirit.

The three guidelines I went into camp with were fulfilled in some capacity - I served, I learnt to love, I was humbled.

Every praise and worship session, God's presence was real. So extremely real. And I felt so very much that that was where I belong. This - in the presence of God - is where I belong. My knees bent, doing so as if before I even made a conscious decision to, tears flowed, I can't describe what my heart felt. How I felt. Except that I was surrendered, and that was where I belong. Where I always want to be. Whether praying for others, on the floor, knelt down tears wetting the floor which I was burying my face into, worshipping, listening to the sermon, or observing how God moved among my sisters and brothers.

It was good. Good stuff.

I, we met God.

Spiritually, I felt that I was set on fire in the heavenlies. Fire consecrates, cleanses, prepares the way for a new crop and harvest. Fire burns away the old and unlovely, the things that have cease to bear good fruit, the dead. In the single-digit temperature of Adekate Camp, I was warm. Physically.

And I was empowered and affirmed spiritually. Though I lack the words to tell you what happened or how I know these.

But here's something else I do have more words to employ with. I have never as clearly wrestled with my calling with myself and God. And in this new year, this is what I seek to know - my calling to ministry.

I won't blog now about how I had always felt a call to full-time ministry. But I would say for a while, specifically after I entered into the media industry, it had been hard for me to see it. For the period I was in the paper, I knew that God had called me there at that time. And I know still that the media needs Christians to shine their light in the industry and using the industry as a mean, shine out of the industry too.

To cut a long story short - and cut short the rambles which I am extremely capable of rendering - I have laid down the desire for full-time at the cross.

I do not mean I am giving up my desire to serve full-time. What I mean is that I'm surrendering this to God, to be sanctified and dealt with as He pleases and if He then wills, He will affirm it in me with a fire.

See, I want to be in God's perfect will.

I'm serious. So I will lay bare my heart and lay down my desires. And even in a good thing like wanting to be in full-time, I will say Lord, Your will and not mine be done because at this point, I cannot be sure how much of me and how much of God makes up my previous conviction and (still) current desire for full-time ministry.

Whether I venture back into the "secular" world or I do full-time, it will be hard and easy in almost the same measure. I have desire and love for both. But while I laid down journalism after a short struggle, I know laying down my desire for full-time ministry requires more. But I have made the choice to do so. And I have done so. And unless You convict me otherwise, I won't push for it. But whatever it is, I want to know my calling. And whatever it is, I will serve You.

I'm 23 years old.

I want to know my Maker as I'm known.

Sunset, 1st day at Adekate Camp (June 30th).
copyright.skye.t/

Sunset, 1st day at Adekate Camp (June 30th).
copyright.skye.t/

18:49.

I baked an apple crumble today, cut it into eight pieces and um, finished five pieces already. And I enjoyed the process of baking so much I'm looking forward to baking the next one.

Besides such tales of my domesticated ways, I have been enjoying having the house to myself. G's at Sg, H's at Sydney and me, I enjoy the nice change of having the whole place to myself, no offence to the housemates of course.

I spend a lot of time sitting by the window, legs propped up on another chair, drinking a hot drink, reading my Bible, or just staring outside and talking to God or thinking, sometimes singing a song to the Lover Of My Soul, Jesus Christ.

July Camp was rather amazing. Some of your probably wonder what I mean when I speak of the presence of God. The presence of God was so real at July Camp that my hands were heavy, my arms were heavy, the air was thick with the Holy Spirit. When I moved my hands, the air was heavy with the Glory of the Almighty.

We sung of Consuming Fire and I felt physically warm despite being in under-10 degrees winter country weather.

God is real. Jesus Christ is real. The Holy Spirit is real. And He wants to be involved in your life.

17:32.

Practice today definitely went better than yesterday. I'm thankful. I'm still not smooth or "steady" enough and there are two places where I have no idea how to follow the original recording's fills. But am continuing to just trust and pray.

Early next morning, Hannah and I would have to cross the road and get to the meeting place which is just across the street. Joy. Then it's a drive to Adekate Camp where we would stay till Sat.

Went to school just now, got an overall Distinction for one subject, or so the lecturer informed me as I picked up my work. I'm glad, not delirious but glad enough. Paid about a third of my school fees instead of the whole sum. Think the bank imposed a daily credit limit though I requested for it to be lifted before I came here but well, it shouldn't be a problem paying the rest.

"The world is empty, pale and poor
compared to knowing You my Lord
Lead me on, I will run after You
Lead me on, I will run after You"
- One Pure and Holy Passion

22:03.

Now I know more than ever I am not as strong as I think I am. As I thought I was. I acknowledge too that I'm dependent, not just on God alone but in certain areas, I need people. So, I face the fact I was loathe to acknowledge - I am not an island, whatever my namesake alludes to. The question now then - after admitting that even I can't always be content and at peace with being alone - is what next? Do I learn to reach that higher level of independence, a place where there is only God and me? Or do I learn to be dependent on people too, while always placing God first and as my cornerstone? That former sounds lofty, doesn't it? Its detachness alien from the Christ I serve, the God who came as Jesus Christ, left his divine powers, got involved in this messy humanness... for our sake and salvation.

Maybe I'm just learning to love. I'm not too sure who I am showing to the world but I'm trying not to be overly conscious and not to walk away.

22:50. Drumming on Fri night went all right. In fact, I really enjoyed the whole night - backup singing, drumming, nerves and an enroaching cramp in my right leg before I started drumming, encouraging band members and well, the music and the target of our affections - God.

I don't think I ever even dared try drumming Did You Feel The Mountains Tremble in the safety of times when nobody but me was in church with the drum set. There was an improvement from the last time and I wasn't besieged by the nerves, fears and worries of the first time too. Thank you for your prayers, those of your who prayed.

It seems like most of my posts recently have been about music, drumming and what God has been doing in these areas of my life and in me. Well, they are my current focuses, somehow.

Next Wed to Sat, I will be away for July Camp. I just signed up today. As with Easter Camp, I took forever to decide whether to go or not, yes. Last week, a brother asked if I could drum for his session during July Camp. It took some to-ing and fro-ing in my heart and mind, but I agreed to play. It's not exactly because I'm more confident, I'm not really though I did see an improvement in my drumming and endeavour to keep at it. But an email he forwarded me about the aim of the camp and the aim of the session prompted me to keep stepping out. The basic gist of the content that pushed me was about using whatever we have to glorify God. I may not have much but I know that I have to use them and give them.

It will be my third time drumming for OCF and it still unnerves me so. Will be playing on the Thursday night session. Do pray for me, folks.

Only listened to the songlist today and realised one of the songs - a slow one so one might think it should be easier - has triplets going on on the hats. Less than a month ago, I didn't even know what triplets are. Tomorrow, I should practise and see if I can get it. Be still my heart, be still my heart.

I love you, Lord.

11:30.

In our living room, there is now a drum set, an electric guitar and its amp, a keyboard with a gorgeous sound, bongos and percussion, and my acoustic guitar.

It brings a smile to my face just listing out the items and their current temporary dwelling.

Had band practice just now. Since it's something called Celebratory Night - or it could be Celebration, I'm not that sure - there's extended praise and worship. We have two drummers, two keyboardists and two worship leaders, all swopping places after the first three songs.

No whatever musician pride or ego here, I'm just glad I'm taking the slower songs because I'm not confident of the fast ones.

The first time I drummed, when the first song started, I realised an uncomfortable warmth on the back of my neck spreading upwards (not to my whole face thankfully), that was how the frog in my throat and butterflies in my stomach decided to manifest.

Again today, it happened with the first song I drummed. I can only hope I did not turn red. I think rehearsal got better as it progressed, perhaps away from the first mid-tempo track to what we normally term "worship" songs.

I am excited, and eager to practise further before the next rehearsal at 3pm tomorrow. I also really really want to make a sound on an electric guitar for the first time in my life (!!!) and indulge in worship on the keyboards. I half can't believe this blessing.

Oh and yes, I was really enjoying it when the guys started jamming at the end of the rehearsal. Hearing the opening rifts to Smells Like Teen Spirit made me jump up of my chair and scream. Which was embarassing but I was really well, excited somehow and hopping with gladness, not that I hopped too. That would be even more embarassing. And they did Come As You Are too. Why they and not me? 'cause I can't just play songs out of the air like that.

Wheeeeee.... :>

22:14.

Photo blog.
It would be updated whenever there is reason to.

12:03.

So, I said yes. And yes, this sounds rather like some working out of a marriage proposal but it is not. I said yes to drumming next week. Probably when I wrote the last post, the decision was made in my head somewhere in deeper recesses just that it was not vocalised.

Every thing I posted about the rawness of drumming as a fledgling and the grating effects on the heart stand true still now. But something has happened in this same heart, I'm not sure when and how exactly but something has happened. The shift in focus from me to Jesus in this area of service feels real now. It is no longer a struggle where I continuously have to shove Me away, wharp myself on the head and say, look at Him, you toot! It feels like something solid has shifted in, in my heart. And pride, previously just bloodied and cut down, seemed to have taken a different place. A place where, musically, it doesn't interfer with faith.

Which is why when an unusual arrangement was proposed - that the worship leader, who's a drummer, drums the first few fast songs while I go to back-up vocals and the keyboardist take lead vocals - I was perfectly okay with it.

No wounded would-be musician pride or any thing, I was aware that whatever the arrangement and even if I do not play, I'm okay with it as long as God is lifted up high. And well, whatever's best, whatever would make the session work better, be more conduive for the fellowship is highest priority.

The Me in the equation doesn't need to be there. I don't matter, and I'm not saying this is any spirit but one of honesty and without woe-be-me-liness or bitterness or ashes-and-sackcloth-spirit. I may like to drum but it doesn't mean I have to, because it's not about me.

I'm recounciled. Not too sure exactly recounciled between what and what but it feels that way. And I can honestly say I - "I" as in me pride and as a musician, not me as an existential whole - don't matter in this greater scheme of things.

Last night was... interesting. And I have to stop falling back on the word when I'm lost for descriptions.

Somewhere during worship after the sermon, I think, I realised something. And I believe God was speaking to me. My heart hurt physically then for some moments, facing this realisation - that I have never worked at what I have been given. Writing, music, certain capacity for theology and questioning from that innate curiousity and need to understand... all these I have never seeked to develop properly but had always functioned with them on whatever undemanding level I could exercise them at. In a parallel to the parable of the talents, I feel like I have been the servant who buried his talent, except that in my case, it was not in fear that I would lose it in ventures but sadly because I have been too indisciplined, lazy, slothful.

And it hurts because I do want to serve God and use all I have for His Glory and Kingdom and I believe I am all and who I am because He does have a purpose for my life encompassing all these traits and abilities He has graciously given to me. But me, I have not sought to advance or use them. It's like I reach a wall on the path I tread and instead of seeking to get over it, I just either stand there or knock my head against it. Because they are easier courses of action. With music, with words, with burning questions which answers could benefit the fellowship, I had failed to be a good steward.

(That last area was further hammered into my heart during supper time, when the visiting pastor was introducing theological concepts to our table of dear brothers and sisters who were mostly unexposed as yet to those concepts, the same concepts that drove me slightly crazy a few years ago.)

Well now that I'm aware, I want to change circumstances. I will work at my music, I will absorb the classics and refine my craft of wordsmithery, I will read and follow through arguments and theological labyrinths.

I will accept His Word and store up His commands within me, turn my ear to wisdom, apply my heart to understanding. I will call out for insight, I will cry aloud for understanding, I will look for it as for silver and search for it as for hidden treasures, and thus I will understand the fear of the Lord and find the knowledge of God (paraphrase Proverbs 2:1-5).

I seek now.

16:50.

Seems like I blog rather often when I'm here, sitted by the living room window, perched on our Ikea foldaway wooden chair at the Ikea wooden table with a hot drink between my laptop and me.

Am having a cuppa black tea and two shortcake cookies before Hannah and me go across the road for OCF meeting.

It has been a good day. Really lazy, but good. Woke up, or rather lounged in my futon for a long time before I got up at noon. Had a lamington and the two remaining hardened (tragic, ain't it? Only spotted a Best Before... label on the box yesterday) choco chip cookies with tea for breakfast/ lunch. Took a long shower, played drums, then retreated to the room while Hannah's co-cell leader dropped by. Tried different combos of layering tops (hah), did make-up, devotion and hey, whaddaya know, it was already 4pm. The days here end about 6pm or even earlier now, as sunshine becomes a sporadic occurance that even when appearing, gives way without a fight as 5.30pm reaches.

Somehow, I like it. For now, any way... these short days.

:)

I'm finally rid of the essays tension that lingered on all along after the 9th, when I handed up my last assignments ahead of schedule. I breathe easy now, and as the days become short and tire-less, I have adopted a two-meal diet and since we are not sharing cooking now that Germie is back in the Sg, simple meals are the order of the day. And I enjoy the lifestyle of such.

It's 5.32pm now and it's dark outside already. We lost some time on this blog just now when the Ocf guys came to transport some speakers, the drumset and varied equipment stored at our place. Was very tickled by the sight of four dudes carrying various parts of a drumset and crossing the street. Heh.

Hmm, I have been asked to drum again next week by the same worship leader who chose me the first time. Even if I don't say yes, I'm thankful for the encouragement of being asked to play again. Yes, and I'm not heeding the tinny voice by my ear that says it's because we are short of drummers. Hah. Have got to give my answer later on and I'm still not that sure what to say. But you know something?

I enjoyed playing the last time around. I really did. Even though I screwed up the bridge section of one song very obviously and I had to be paced by the bassist, who's also a drummer, during the slow songs, there was a moment - or even a few moments - when I mentally stopped and realised how I enjoy the feeling of playing again. And playing songs that has always intimidated me as a musician. And playing in a good band, a privilege I would say I never had.

Sure, the whole episode had so many tortuous moments and pride and ego were bashed and murdered again and again. Nerves overtook me like they never had for years and years, and I was truly feeling helpless and inadequate.

Here's something from a blog dated April 19:

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

That was exactly what happened. And it was painful and trying even though somewhere at the back of my head and heart, I was very aware of how good the experience is for me - in reducing pride, in making me to be humble, in learning as a fledging musician. But that doesn't mean it didn't hurt like heck, because in the process the musician part of myself was cut down and up, and even as I was glad to be made aware of my bad habits, a part of me felt handicapped and utterly torn down. "I suck, I suck, I suck" was hard to keep away.

So... yeah. Back to the present.

I do like to play again but I'm aware that my bad habit in my default beat has not been totally righted, and I see it surface when I play songs instead of just rhythms. I also really don't want to think "oh the second time will be easier" in case I depend on myself instead of God. And God knows me depending on my half-baked skills is a recipe for diasaster. I would also acknowledge that there is an element of pain to play when one is aware of one's vulnerabilities. Because you are laid bare, and you are stripped of whatever you can take pride in, but yes, that's why playing is good, it's such an exercise in faith and trust.

Trust me to wax lyrical and make something seemingly simple so convoluted. Yeah, sometimes I drive me crazy.

The drum set has been kept here for about two or three weeks now and I'm praying it will come back to my apartment after tonight's meeting too.

One night somewhere between the first rehearsal and the Friday I was playing, as I laid down in bed, in a bolt of clarity coated not without frustration, I told God and myself I would work at my drumming. I would be serious this time and not do the mere musical doodles and undisciplined laziness loafer bit. If I say I want to serve Him through music, then I should work at it. I should try to be as best as I can be. I should run, endeavour, seek, pursue excellence. It's the easiest and most tempting thing to do to walk away when you can't do something well but I don't want to do that. Not now.

Two nights back, as I was spending quality/ quiet time with God, I suddenly laughed out loud. In my head, I had seen images of drummers I have seen in my church and I laughed because I realised how almost every drummer I've seen here is better than those of us at church back home.

It was not a mean laugh, or malicious or any thing. I was amused somehow, probably rather in awe too at how God has showed me a new standard possible in these drummers here at Melbourne. How just by watching and being exposed to them, I'm shown new things I can learn and the standard I'm aware of is raised. I think my laughter was half wry, knowing that I have a long long way to go but glad that I'm aware of greater heights now. I smile now as I write this and I'm not doing a happy face symbol because there have already been too many in this post, yuppers.

Hm. If I say yes later, I would be fighting against similar fears, worries and anxieties. Can you pray for me then?

*muack*

*grins*

This is the good life, innit.

20:36.

The shift of global economic power.

18:35.

It has been a cold cold day. Brrr. The weather reports says it's 10 degrees, feeling like 7 degrees but darn if it doesn't feel even colder. I'm properly cold, in capris, socks, two T-shirts and a sweater. If this goes on, I'm going to be keeping the heater on.

Hope the roommate is enjoying the 32 degrees weather of Singapore. Gak.

Hah.

20:50.

I want a reason to dance, to sing, to jump and scream. I want a reason to live. And I know with all I am that I do have this reason. It's just that sometimes, knowing and living exists on different planes. And they don't meet.

17:52.

My last two deadlines for the semester are tomorrow, 5pm but thank God, I have finished both on Tuesday about 5pm and handed them up yesterday about 2pm. So for the first time in a while, my brain has nothing urgent to tackle. What stress there was has melted away, and violent tendencies have disappeared. Yeah, violent tendencies. They were rather real when I had PMS and deadlines all together. Spilt personalities... most of them (like the violent me) have disappeared or are lying dormant.

Though I feel finally... uncoiled, and it is a darn goood feeling, my brain seemed to have entered into Sleep mode. Either that, or it is in shock, stunted by the idea that there are no schoolwork for a month.

Yesterday, Germaine and I went to our respective schools to hand up our assignments. Then all three of us, our entire household went to Brunswick, then from there back home to deposit our shopping, before going to Crown and then to Lygon for beloved roche and rum and raisin gelati which by the way, is one of the best things about Melbourne. It never fails to make me happy, Roche gelati.

And now I lay me down. Just for a rest.

22:36.

Say a prayer.

Today's sunset.
copyright.skye.t's

Yesterday's sunset.
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13:33.

This is the good life, I know it's true. Nevermind the thistles along this road I tread, this is the good life. Woke up at 11am, had breakfast, devotion, showered, and now I'm gearing up to further tackle my essay. I look out of my room window and see the gorgeous blue sky and the upstairs neighbour's plants on her balcony flapping in the wind. There's sunshine today and a lightness in my heart. Life is too beautiful, thorns, petals, bee stings and all.

12:02.

When I first reach consciousness after a night of slumber, my mind has a far-reaching capacity. Literally so, I can feel my mind move up from where I still lie and then out, manoveuring through the distance between the room door and me and then out of the door. And I can somehow see a picture of what lies beyond my sight through my mind.

Yesterday morning and today's too, my mind went on its usual check-out-what-lies-beyond ritual and what it saw seemed to transport me elsewhere. What I know and what was projected was different. I know that once out of my room door, the kitchen is to the right but, my mind was seeing it to the left. I was disoriented for a moment, trying to get a grab on my surroundings for a while before I realised what was happening.

In my mind, I was home. Home in Woodlands, in Singapore. And my mind somehow chose to navigate those familiar settings instead of Vic St's. I heard the microwave door shut. In my mind, I saw Mom doing the action but I knew it was that... all in the mind.

And yet, yet, as I lay there, I knew I would miss this place and everything it has been to me and shown me thus far when I leave. Whenever that is. A friend called my almost-anxious predisposition towards my future "final-year syndromes". That's as accurate a description as any, I reckon, but one thing, this is my first-year too.

*shrugs*

Have a good day, folks. An essay is calling my name.

15:02.

News:

Death of a President.

Unborn Baby Snatchers.

Sigh.

15:02.

I keep writing and stopping, saving posts as drafts and logging out these days. Somehow, I just don't have the words to use though my mind is a minefield of explosive and dormant thoughts and random weirdness. The perpetual work has had a part to do with all these I suppose, cuminating in me changing my Msn nick to mymindleftmew/opermission. Yeah, that's another thing, all these Msn chats are probably making my world all the more hyperreal.

My mind seems to be detached from my body, my heart has a will of its own and my general being just feel rather lost and unusual. I laugh too hard, my head whirls too fast, and I keep going to fantasyland when what I need to do is concentrate and get my last essay started.

I'm distracted. Very. By too many things. And in the midst of the flurry, I tell myself to be still, to be still and know He is God but my mind refuses to obey. Too many issues have been haunting me these days, or if not haunting, demanding my attention and making me start, ununusual are their nature.

I'm kind of tired and I find myself wanting to burrow into the sheets, pull my duvet over my head and get away from the world.

I doubt myself, my pride is shattered, my mask torn. I've been shown I am weaker, even weaker than I knew myself to be, and I'm seeing cracks not just in me but in what's around me too.

And I'm not dealing with the worries of finances and future as well as I should be. Sigh. Come on, girl, let's get this essay out of the way and maybe we will get back in order again.

Taken from our balcony.
copyright.skye.t's

How can the diminishing of life be so beautiful?
copyright.skye.t's

13:39.

First day of winter. My first winter in a country with four seasons.

12:50.

This time last year, I was in the old news building at Genting Lane, sent there with a small passel of colleagues in some Sars contingency plan. Rotating or fluctuating between a-change-of-environment-is-good and argh-i-have-been-banished-and-will-never-get-confirmed-this-way.

Then, in between then and now, I've lived my journalist childhood ambition, dealt with politics, spent the year as an economically independent adult, enjoyed a truly good year actually, and then followed as God opened the way to come here. To leave behind the material world I have embraced and come here. To be a student again and to rest. And live in a different manner, to find and see and learn new things.

What a difference every year brings. And have I not yearned for this difference? Seeked for changes? Thirst for more?

Then this is what I want. This scared-to-death-but-I-will-step-out-of-the-boat feeling, this start-breathing-my-heart-is-beating-too-fast-while-my-hands-are-cold nerves. If people can jump out of an airplane for thrill, if people can do every thing they do for self-gratification, then I can do this for God.

Come on girl, get your act together. God is made stronger in your weakness, nothing can get you down if the ALMIGHTY is with you. As I've desired, so You have provided. As You have promised, I will deliver.

I love you, Lord.

More than life.

I really do.

20:47.

I will lay bare my heart.

Or at least I want to, or think I want to, I'm not too sure where I am and what I really feel, what of what I feel belong to me and what don't. I like to share my struggles, that the last two weeks have been trying, trying as I fight spirits of discouragement, fear, worry, anxiety. I want to tell you how God sent two people to tell me I can do it, and that He has confidence in me. I will also admit how I slid down the porcelain pipe and all I wanted was to pull the covers over my head and not face the world. And that even now, I have to fight to stay up. I like to share with you how I hit a low last night, and felt like I have no one to call because it seems like I have or am or am expected to be the strong one in my friendships. How I started tearing once I heard my Mom's voice over the line. How I sobbed silently when she prayed for me and sporadically teared throughout the conversation, so reassuring and wonderful her voice and herself is, how I could hear home in that voice and in the background. How God used Msn Msger to bring me comfort as I chatted with faithful friends. How I was truly desperate, truly weak, and how it required all of me to struggle against the enemy.

Over a drumming session. A service unto God. An act of worship I wanted to commit myself to. And yes, do still want despite my faltering feet and trembling legs. Over this one-hour praise and worship to be held tomorrow at 7pm, Aust time, I stand - or really kneel or lay - in the center of a struggle, a going-on in the heavenlies of such flurry I can't really comprehend the reason for.

I'm weak beyond words can describe just like my Jesus Christ's strength, love and faithfulness are more certain and real than my feeble lips can utter.

I will be transparent.

Who is Skye t? But a jar of clay.

Use me, Lord, fill me, heal me, work through me, use me.

And you, whoever you are, pray for me. Whether you think me dramatic, think me disturbed or think me weak, just pray for me. You can think whatever you want of me. Just pray for me. To my Lord Jesus Christ.

Greater is He who is in me than he who is in the world. Greater. My God is greater than all these, than all of me, and any thing that could possibly be or is. My God is big.

fading flames.
copyright.skye.t's

... in flaky shots of reamless colours.
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watercolour skies from my bedroom picture window.
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as the world ends, the fading sun reaches out one last time. for the day anyway.
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shadows of a pink sunset. it peeks through blinds.
copyright.skye.t's

20:37.

Now and then, I wonder how it is like at home. I still call my, our HDB flat in Woodlands home even though I refer to 5*/2*2 Victoria Street as home too in conversation and in my daily life here.

When I pick up the phone to call across the seven-hour plane journey between my family and me, I see them - in my mind's eye - at their various places in the living room, kitchen and rooms. I see the phone ring, I see Dad, sitting at his comfy chair next to the phone reading his newspapers for the day, picking up the ringing apparatus or Mom, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel and rushing out of the kitchen to get the phone. I can hear the radio playing 95.8FM, Dad's favourite channel, or sometimes, it's the television that's on, on Channel U, 8 or Cable Channel 49, 55 or 56. Or Discovery Channel, which Dad loves. I can see them all in some distant mirage-like real manner in my head. Playing like a mind reel of the home I lived in for five years. With the family I've had for 22 years, 10 months and some.

The people I love most in the world.

You can call this egoistic, I don't think it is, I just think it channelled-introspection. I do wonder how they live without me. If they stop some time and look into my room and miss me for a moment the way I miss them. If they sometimes just stop or wake up feeling like they want me home because I do feel this way regarding them.

Two or three mornings ago when I finally woke up properly - it was one of those cold mornings where it's very hard to get out of a warm duvet and futon - I turned around and hugged my pillow. And I thought, "Mom". Then "Home". For a moment, spanning the half-second I pressed my eyes shut, I found myself wishing myself home.

I guess even a 50-year-old would miss his/ her mom, dad and family. Age doesn't really matter, does it? Or maturity? *shrugs* I want to hug Mom and Dad.

23:25.

But a jar of clay
Shattered into pieces I can’t find
No man could put me back again
Except the One with the divine touch

Broken alabaster jar
Good for things earthly eyes can’t see
I’m feeling my scattered pain
Oh Lord won’t you come and work in me

Beauty for ashes
Gold for toil
Undeserved kindness
From the King who saved my soul

When all I can see is the dust I’ve fallen in
And I’m caught up, in myself and me
Break me Lord out of who I am
To be who You called me to be

When in silly sorrows I bury my name
Refuse my birthright
Bring shame to your Name
Forgive me, Abba, and clothe me again

I’m sorry.

13:32.

Today was the first day I woke up on time for my morning lessons so far. Lest you think me decadent, sleepyhead and lazy, the last two notes may be true but it's actually just two lectures I missed since I don't have classes on Mondays.

Today is also the day I got my first Credit for the semester. Sigh. I know it's okay to not get straight Distinctions and Higher Distinctions and really any how, I have never been a Straight-As student (unless you factor in sporadic moments in primary school and then selected subjects only across the ages but consistency has never been with me somehow) but it seriously doesn't feel good. Feels rather bad really and it makes me edgy now I'm facing two essays, two presentations (next Wed, both) and two journals. Just have to work harder and keep plugging away. Pray for me please. There's a lot of work to get done.

After class, I went to print out an essay, submitted it, meandered to a music instruments store to look at drum sticks, walked a long way to the post office in North Melb to retrieve a package to find out it was a unauthorised repeated internet purchase that I should not be getting, walked the 20minutes home, lift was not working, climbed five flights of stairs, discovered one of the lens on my shades was missing a screw.

Whew, eh? As I walked the stairs, I was wondering if it is going to be one of those days and dialoguing wryly with Dad.

Then, my day received a ray of sunshine.

Ahem, ahem, I cooked Char Kway Teow *beams*. Tasted quite good and authentic, if I may say so myself, though it didn't have clams (not going to go hunt for them and deshell them) and lard (never been a fan any how).

*beams more*

*grins*

*chuckles*

*rolls eyes at myself*

But back to serious matters... do pray for me.

Next Friday, I'm drumming for OCF. It would be my first time drumming and until last night, I didn't know another center will be joining us. It's also one of those nights when we have a speaker instead of spliting into bible study groups like we usually do. This I didn't know until last night too.

Regular readers of this blog will know how much I miss playing for God. How much I miss drumming, my piano and playing in the worship team. And I am immensely thankful that I was asked to play next Friday. I have to be honest though that I am also nervous. Sometimes even very nervous. And it doesn't help that the song list is entirely unfamiliar to me. No, the Mandarin congregation I was at the last seven years didn't play fast Hillsong or Planet Shakers songs which makes up next Friday's song list.

Yes, I need a lot, a lot of prayer.

Dear Lord, hold me close and hold my hands.

20:42.

Interesting....

22:57.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thanks.

21:32.

History class today was about The Stolen Generation.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

When wrong is commit in the name of right.

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

Not shame at being a Christian.

Not shame at being part of the body of Christ.

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

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

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

I'm sorry.

21:29.

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

13:34.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Peace.

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

Umm....

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

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

11:05.

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

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

13:33.

Sigh. Wake up, wake up, wake up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

2157.

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

....

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

14:56.

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

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

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

13:23.

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah, sick humour. I know.

09:53.

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

23:32.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Do I sound desperate? These are withdrawal symptons.

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

16:30.

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

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

I wanted to worship.

I wanted to give.

I wanted to make real connections with people.

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

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

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

Something has changed.

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

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

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

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

Any how, back to Psalm 84:6.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Like I said, the dam has been broken.

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

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

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

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

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

I still want to worship.

I still want to give.

I still want to make real connections with people.

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

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

And hey, Christians never say goodbye.

11:59.

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


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

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


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

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


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

2000 years ago

18:28.

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

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

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

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

13:30.

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

13:11.

Have you ever felt the limitation of your body?

Felt the restriction of your skin?

Longed to jump out of this earthly tent?

I have.

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

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

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

I think I lost myself in worship.

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

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

I, was in rapture.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Love ya.

12:05.

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

Or did he?

Sigh.

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

18:49.

I want to lose myself in worship forever.

17:30.

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

I have a picture of a fish in my mind.

Specifically, a grouper.

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

I miss Mom's cooking.

Sigh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I do not dislike these feelings.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*squirms in my seat*

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

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

God has been speaking to my heart.

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

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

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

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

....

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

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

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

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

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

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

11:56.

Yawnn.

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

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

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

Yeah, I decided to go for Easter Camp.

Took me forever to make the decision, I know.

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

*Groan*

Does being indecisive come with age or something?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Laters.

21:13.

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

Me: "What language is that?"

Him: "Ooops, wrong language. Japanese."

Me: *amused look*

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

Me: *jumps in* Singapore

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

Me: We speak English predominantly actually.

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

Interesting, all these.

20:56.

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

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

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

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

Ummm.