17:45.

Anne Rice turns to God.

Sec 3, history class, me.

Sat at the 2nd row of the 2nd row, an Anne Rice novel tucked in the little enclave beneath the desktop, me unable to put down the book even as the History teacher paced around excitedly telling us about the turn in events historically.

I eventually got caught and was asked to stop. He didn't ask me to stop reading. He was specific - "Stop reading that Anne Rice novel".

It was hard.

I had written essays about vampires, read many books about them and given this subject more attention than the average person, I reckon.

What drawn me into the Anne Rice books were simple - That existential angst and thrist for life, the idea of an eternity (though fairly tormented) to consume every knowledge, art and information I could about history, arts and so on. The idea of being on the outside looking in resonated too.

1997 - After one of the days of Joshua 21 conference (a youth conference focused on missions), I came home, went to my room, gathered the Anne Rice novels, went out to the living room, unlocked the front gate and went to dump the books down the chute.

The main content I object to in the Rice novels remain these - lust, and perhaps the notion of playing God (which is one accusation against the characters).

But see, I was very drawn to the searching. That same searching the characters were depicted to have.

Thank God - For me, I have redemption, I have salvation, I have answers. It is not my (or anyone's) lot to live a life damned for the non existence of a answer and saviour.

Give that a second of that - it is hell. Hell beyond my imagination. Hell so painful it is impossible to live and yet death offers no consolation.

But I read that article to the link up there and was glad.

Came across it accidentally while searching for a work related article. Got pleasantly diverted and distracted.

I reserve comments about the book though. I have not read it, and won't know whether I will buy it. I do reckon I will pick it up at the bookstore to have a browse through before I decide though.

Any how, just thought you all may like to read that piece too :)

18:05.

Pill culture? Interesting article.

17:28.

A colleague's playing Madonna's new album on his desktop; some record label folks are nearby at another desk chatting; a trio of sec school students are at another corner - here on a shadowing programme to observe and learn; the eds are at their evening meeting at the conference table, deciding and briefing each other on stories avail for tomw's edition.

I read this yesterday and was struck by the coherence. It's just a blog that acted as a journal, a requirement for a course I took last year, and though entries are merely thoughts, something about them talked to me about structure and coherence.

That last is not always very evident in my mind processes now and then, on days like today, I guess. *shrugs* *smiles* That will pass though, I do need to get more reading material to keep the grey matter satisfied though.

And oh man, Madonna's new album really sounds bad to me.

I really don't like dance music.

Because I live in a concrete jungle....

15:09.

"Long, long time ago, I can still remember
how that music used to make me smile.
And I knew if I had my chance,
I could make those people dance
and maybe they'll be happy for a while.
But February made me shiver
with every paper I delivered
Bad news on the door step,
I couldn't take one more step.
I can't remember if I cried
when I read about his widowed bride...
but something touched me deep inside
the day the music died."

- American Pie, Don McLean

24 years. It has been a while since I first cried.

We are mid-ankle and deeper into another November now. On quiet days like these, blessed loneness in the home, you just want to sit and feel time move by. They kind of dance sometimes, one of those graceful fairy type of boho whirl, as they keep moving on.

You sit there, knee deep in thoughts, enjoying the comfort of life and focus not on any one thing running around in your head or heart.

24 years is a long time.

More than 10 years after the existential bug struck, a quiet little tall girl has grown up. Everything physical have caught up to the mental exercises and thought trains long used to choo choo-ing through the convoluted mind of that girl-next-door.

"My, how you have grown. It's been a... little while."

- In a Little While, U2

Numerous things still confound me. And then, there are the things that drive me crazy. Things like stupid prejudice, like racisim, like ignorance, like bigots, like those who actually really believe the world exists to serve them, stupid social classes, stupid things the very institution and existence of money causes, games people play, how twisted society can be and have become in many aspects, how I partake too sometimes. Stupid system. Stupid insecurity that makes people act like baboons on speed. Doofus.

I would like to protect everyone I love from every thing wrong I see, every thing vile and crude and evil, that harms and spoils and destroys.

Not that I can, and not that that stops me trying or wishing sometimes. Yet, God is in charge and what I can't, I know He can. Thank God....

Thank God for Him. Thank God for saving me from the miry clay. Thank God for loving me and making me right with Almighty.

"Where would I be if You have not been by my side?
How could I rise to meet the morning of the day?"
- Don Moen

What to say? There's a keen sense of the existential in the air surrounding me. A keen awareness I am in something bigger than I know and I am not in control. I wait, I pray, I wait some more.

What has happened this past year?

The sweet miracle of ray and me.

The rejoining the journo world.

The bitchiness, slamming, ego matches played out alongside the gorgeousness of music reporting plus the unexpected shift to being more a lifestyle journo instead of news these days.

The maturing... man, I grew older this year, didn't I? Learnt so much.

I sat down with my journal and chronicled what I've learnt. The points just increased and increased as I filled the pages and picked up the pen again and again when the Word reminded me of yet another blessing, another lesson, another revelation.

Am going to post some up one day, methinks, not now 'cause the reflection is ongoing but it has been awesome.

Are we already at the end of 2005?

*breathes out*

:)

I love You, Lord.

14:43.

Ruminations
(while on the final lap)

Like a woman with child, we have faith that every symptom we feel now points to a birth that is on its way. We put up with nausea, dizzy spells, swollen feet, bloated faces, water rentention, loss and gain of appetite, hormonal changes, how our actual body morphs... because we believe that we are carrying something that's growing and coming to completion within. That within the concave of our being (or if in keeping with the parable of the pregnant woman, her belly), we believe there's the fruit of what's to come. When it's due.

So like the pregnant woman in the Bible who forgets the pain of the childbirth when she holds her newborn in her arms, Dad, we fully expect that the coming fruit we see and receive will be so awe inspiring that the pain of getting there becomes insignificant.

A woman with child doesn't doubt that she carries a new life within and that it is a new life that will be born forth when it comes to the end of her term.

So it is. With every part of our beings, this feels the same.

Our time has to come. At the end of the term of wrestling and struggling, the beginning of a new life, of the fruit of what we have sown... is coming.

It's irrefutable.

Dad, You got to come through for us.

We trust You, love You and honour You.

You rock.

16:27.





50





That's how many days till I see the best guy in the known galaxy again.

Feel free to fill in the blanks with your own boyfriend's/ spouse's/ crush's name, fair 'nuff.

But *grin* as for me, I meant my man, r a y c h u a h.

heh.

143 days since we became a couple. over 4 and a half months. when we finally meet again on Christmas eve, it would be over 6 months since a formal "us" existed.

I can't wait.

How we run the race now will affect how we enter into our next lap, our next chapter, the next phase. We are being prepared to take a land. This last lap, I want to sprint, I want to speed, I want to run harder than even how I have so far. I want us to give it our best shot.

'cause you deserve the best.

'cause I deserve the best.

'cause our God is so mind blowingly amazing we want to give all we have for Him.

50.

It's the second last month of 2005.

So much has happened, wow, there's a deja vu when I think back to this time last year.

Were we not boo-ing at the end of Urban Life 2005 too? Was I not telling Dad to take me whichever country He will, the same way your heartcry was and is? We were going to God as individuals about how we feel for each other. Now, we tell Him and each other how we are in love every day :)

This November, we will prepare, we will tie up any loose ends we need to at our sides of the world and in our lives, we will hold on, we will sprint.

And 50 days later, we will be together again.

1210. sg time.

" Make my life a prayer to You
I wanna do what you want me to
No empty words
and no white lies
No token prayers
no compromise

I wanna shine the light You gave
Thru Your Son You sent to save us
From ourselves and our despair
It comforts me to know You're really there

Well I wanna thank you now for being patient with me
Oh it's so hard to see when my eyes are on me
I guess I'll have to trust and just believe what You say
Oh you're coming again
Coming to take me away

I wanna die and let You give
Your life to me so I might live
And share the hope You gave me
The love that set me free

I wanna tell the world out there
You're not some fable or fairy tale
That I've made up inside my head
You're God the Son and You've risen from the dead! "

- Make My Life A Prayer To You, Keith Green

17:08.

me:

Why do artists paint, writers write, photographers shoot?

We seek to immortalise someone else's beauty which in one rare moment was unveiled. Humbled to be privy, enraptured by the echos of eden, we capture it.

We capture it because it's in our very soul's essence to do so. We capture it because it is our revolt against all that is wrong in the world, our protest against how linear time sweeps such beauty away from us. We capture it because it is good.

And with it, we hope to show our fellow sojourners the goodness that still exist in our living.

'cause we see very clearly too, like you do, no doubt, that the world is quite screwed up. and we, like you, no doubt, see too that the world still possesses great beauty of the Divine.

So in this cosmic time frame the world walks a one-way street in, we create, we press the "stop" button when the good passes so we can look at it again when everything else seems grey, wrong and stinking bad.

We are watchmen on the towers, history keepers, scribes. Largely forgotten, sometimes despised and labelled as voyeurs, almost never money-ed and probably scorning such categorised rewards with inarticulate understanding.

Why do artists paint, writers write, photographers shoot?

Because it is what we are meant to do.

16:57.

A re-post, from two years back in this blog, an article written a dozen years ago. Some bit cynical, whimsical and even among such traits, probably guilty of romanticising.


Published 1993 Sept 24
Author: A sad Lat if

SINGAPORE takes pride in its food. I do not mean the confluence of so many culinary cultures here, though that is important. I am talking about the way people eat.

I used to visit a restaurant - "eating-place" is more accurate - in Kerbau Road, off Serangoon Road. There, at peak hours, would gather a congregation of the hungry, appetites sharpened into devotion by long hours of toil. Some
moulded stone and mortar into the houses and roads of Singapore. One wrote about Singapore on computer screens.

Those who had just arrived would sit back in grateful expectation after ordering their food. I joined them.

As the food arrived, we dipped our fingers slowly into the rice, feeling its heat. We spread it out as if to increase its yield, spicing its taste with salivary waiting. The vegetables and spices were mixed in, slowly, calmly. We mixed them in a little more, the pace increasing.

And then, in the abandon of delicious freedom, we began eating. Rice, avial, sambar, papad, more, pickles, meat, egg or fish, we ate it all, great, shameless quantities of it all. Ours was a gusto which, if watched by the merest of artists, would have turned his canvas into a masterpiece.

The food swept into us, strengthening our limbs and gratifying our hearts, uniting a ragtag band of devotees into seamless, undistracted impatience.

It cost $3 for the chicken-meal, $2.50 for the fish-meal. The rice and vegetables were unlimited. The pieces of meat or fish were fixed. But the gravy was unlimited.

The restaurant has since moved, leaving no address behind.

THE closure of the restaurant meant the destruction of a community, for me, anyway. For it was there I learnt that a community is a group of people united by a common purpose though they may follow different paths, rarely agree with
each other and often have little to do with each other as individuals.

Which brings me to the market.

If you go to a market quite late in the day, when prices are likely to be lower than during peak hours, you will see old women scanning the remaining fish. They smile with a kind of sheepish greed that is meant to disarm the vendor but actually irritates him. Though the fish themselves are becoming second-rate, the vendor can be quite rough with these second-rate customers.

That attitude becomes doubly irksome if he happens to be nice to you, a proper customer who is late because he did not have the time - not because he did not have the money - to come earlier.

And when the old lady smiles at you because you are trying to make things a little better for her by smiling, you know that the only thing you can do is write.

I AM sometimes tempted to divide the world into three groups: states, unreal people and real people.

The state we know about. Unreal people are the kakis of the state.

They owe their livelihood indirectly to the state as a source of power. Conservatives, democrats, situational democrats, anarchists, armchair anarchists, intellectuals, economists, staid senior leader/feature writers (Selfews), Contentious news reporters (Connerps) snapping at the Selfews' ideological heels - all are hangers-on of the state, pretenders to imaginary thrones, parasites feeding on suspect lineages, unreal people all.

Those at the receiving end of their actions are real. Children, housewives, students, teachers, hawkers, entrepreneurs, engineers, doctors, lovers stealing a kiss in the dark, rubbish-cleaners, dreamers - these are the real people of the world.

Unreal people speak: Real people are spoken about. Unreal people write: Real people are written about. Real people love or at least make love: Unreal people make money by writing about love.

Now, mark me, I do not have anything against the state. I do not understand those who are railing forever against "the state", as if there was a viable alternative to it. Nor am I saying that real people are "good" and unreal people "bad". Life is hardly as uncomplicated as that, and roles do overlap.

The loan-shark is a real person, but I doubt that you would want him as your friendly next-door neighbour. No one but journalists (if even they) likes journalists, but imagine a world without (unreal) journalism.

Which brings me to my point. Journalism is perhaps the only unreal profession which exists only because there are real people around. Democrats could chant passages from De Tocqueville and economists could continue to disagree with each other, but only journalists are privileged to enter the lives of real people without knocking. They are suffered, as all intruders are, but they are suffered on trust. And it is that trust they need to keep when they write.

I HOPE that the thoughts on food and markets are some small proof of this, even though I am a Selfew who was once a Connerp. Though this is not always possible, I feel that it is better to try and describe things well than to explain them, for most explanations debase the thing being explained.

"To discover the various uses of things is the work of history," Marx wrote, on the first page of the first volume of Das Kapital. He himself lived up to that challenge quite well; as someone said recently: "No other writer gives more vivid, intense accounts of modern 'things'. No one has better described the ambience of a great textile mill or the misery of a brickfield or the enigmatic nature of commodities."

Unlike his successors, Marx was not a Marxist; unlike them, the early Marx at least understood how important it was to allow things to speak for themselves instead of getting polemic to speak for them. It is not surprising that Marx was once a practising journalist; so was Dickens.

SO IT is that real people create real situations, and that journalists must write about them.

I was travelling by bus last week. At a stop, I was looking around idly, when my eyes fell on two teenage schoolgirls. One of them was waving at a student who had entered the bus and saying something; the other was giggling, her right hand cupped lightly over her mouth.

What a sight. I do not have a sister, but if I did, and if she at 16 had giggled like that, my brother's-heart would have awakened from its slumber and soared on the wings of her laughter. Dear girl, hold on to your laughter; keep your giggling youth as long as you can. For one day you will be as old as I am. You will not only have to think before you speak, but think before you laugh.

But, then, as a journalist, you will have the freedom to capture your captivity and turn it into words.

16:48.

Sort out my head
Someone
up above
Please

Sort out my heart
You
up above
please

Too stretched to do anything else but cling

cling
cling

when consciousness hardly seems like a gift
and though eyes closed the pain refuses to sleep

i cling

again, Lord, it seems all too much for me

i look to You
i look to You

i cling.

15:36.

"And I know it's not the first time
and it will not be the last...
when You find me here on my knees
praying for the storm to pass"

- How Do I Love Her, Steven Curtis Chapman

Feels like it has been forever since I have been in the house alone on an afternoon.

I think it's going to storm in an hour or so, I hear distant rumblings, it's a Thursday afternoon.

Today marks the first time I ever experience co-payment medical fees. Under the benefits as a full-time staff, I pay 10 % of the total bill when I visit the clinics affiliated to the designated medical company for my company.

It is pretty cool when the nurse warns you that one of the medication is pretty expensive and then charges you a whopping... $3.

I reckon that made the 35 minute walk I took to find that place worthwhile.

And not that any one who doesn't know woodlands well will understand this but why on earth is block 883 so far away from block 888? Where got 20-minute walk to find somewhere which is supposed to be 5 blocks away loh.

I think I properly broke in the mint green havianas r a y sent me traipsing around the neighbourhood.

I had to change two feeder buses to get back home.

Whinge (and weird acting stomach) aside, it has been a nice day.

I was sitting at the kitchen table just now, reporter's notebook out and reporter's mind planning workflow for a story, deciding whether to call a newsmaker for a short interview and whether to call my ed to brief and debrief so I can arrange for an intw on sat.

Then, it hit me - you know, girl, you can do this tomorrow. really. Shoved the workaholic to the back seat and decided to enjoy the day.

Sg has been stormy the past week, and I reckon I love it. Makes the walk to the clinic not as warm and heaps more enjoyable. Makes the mood more mellow.

October seems to be really taking its time to move along.

But we are going to make it.

Dad's got our back.

*lops off to take it easy, and journal some*

Peace out.

16:35.

Yet will I praise You.

"I'll sing for joy at the works of Your hands
Forever I'll love You
Forever I'll stand
Nothing compares to the promise I have in You"
- Shout To The Lord

14:10.

The past few days, probably the whole past week really, were started in the same style - I woke up slightly earlier or immediately at my alarm with uncharacteristic total mental "awakeness", body aching but mind completely unerringly up. Makes me get out of bed faster than I usually do.

Today, I didn't, choosing to snuggle my face into the pillow and will myself to return to sleep for a chance to dream.

I was dreaming that I was on a familiar street - Elizabeth, coming down from the hospital's side, that round about bit, past the yellow and blue building and the various shops flanking the roads.

Was on a bus with church friends, the same folks who just came back from a China mission trip. Was chatting with them before looking up and suddenly realising I am in Melbourne, that home is just two hundred metres away on the right.

I got up from my seat, tried to make my way to the front, the rickety bus swaying me from side to side. And I was quiet and half in shock at how I am almost home, how I unexpectedly just turned up here (weren't we supposed to be in rural China? the bus sure felt like it's supposed to be er, rustic), and I was talking loudly over the din, telling whoever would listen that I live here, trying to direct the unseen driver to drive to the left so I could stop outside of CCBC.

Then the alarm rang.

I woke up, thought to myself "maybe they (bosses at work) are sending me for a junket soon or something" then burrowed in to try to get back home.

It's exactly 60 days till I see you again.

And I wish the days will disappear, fast forward straight to the fourth week of December.

20:29.

Say what?

It has been a good day, good week, good month. Yes, the politicking, wrestling, continuous (not continual) pushing on seem to had cast a general dreary hue over the landscape of the past month. But yet, despite everything, it has been good.

I'm blessed. Beyond any thing, I am.

The big social, hierarchy of human contrasts and behaviour is filled with way too many layers and way too convoluted for me to understand.

Yes, so I am built such that I still try.

But I am thankful.

I am thankful for that. Thankful that I can sit here and type a post about what's in my head.

So I may fight learned behaviour in faith and life but I am free. I am free to think what I want, I am free to make arguments, I am free to decide and live.

I am thankful... very.

Despite everything that You shown me, Dad, everything about the world, the not very good stuff right down to the what-the-heck-is-going-on-bits... I am thankful that I am not sheltered from such. Not hid from the cynism and pain.

I want every bit that life has to offer. I want every thing You have for me. I want to fulfil my calling completely totally absolutely without the hums and huhs.

I am not afraid to still say I am not satisfied. I am contented but I am not satisfied. There is way more than this and way way more than what I can even imagine or comprehend.

And even if the folks around me don't get it and think me insane or deluded, oh Dad, I believe.

You made me, me.

Such simple words, duh words even, kids in sunday school could give you that textbook perfect answer yet I am in awe.

I accept myself. I know myself. I love myself.

Because I am more than worthy now that You have set me free.

I don't want to fight myself any more. I fight men, I wrestle with You, I do my share of bouts and spats. I am not fighting me anymore because I am because You are.

And You know every thing - all the things I don't get and may never truly get, all the things I feel that makes me cringe up and cry in the secret place, all the thoughts in my mind that sometimes give me headaches, tangled are their knots and intense are emotions.

You know. And I know this - that Lord You are good and Your mercies endure forever.

Clear the way, Lord. As I prepare the way for You, make a way for me.

For You are good. You are good. You are good.

And for eternity and with all that I am and have and ever hope to be, I love You most.

Lead us this week, Dad, lead us this week.

Shine in us, on us and out of us. For Your Name and Your Glory.

Amen.

And we are saying alrightokuhhuhamen.

15:56.

"You love me, Lord
stronger than any thing
You love me, Lord
more than my heart could sing
You love me, Lord
more than I love myself

You love me, Lord
You love me, Lord
You love me, Lord"

13:47.

My day started at 7.25am; someone else's days ended forever a few hours earlier.

Was woken up by a call from the office. A hotline caller had just called them - Someone jumped down at an apartment block near where I stay. The police spokesperson was uncontactable, could I just go down and check it out?

Sure, no prob.

Brushed teeth, washed face, pulled on jeans, tee, and lugged my bag - notebook, press pass, pens, camera - over my right shoulder and I was out of the door in less than five minutes.

I walked.

My ears open for any wailing or sirens, my eyes skimming what's ahead, looking for any thing to confirm the news or debunk it as the work of a prankster.

I walked past old folks doing taiji, kindergartens whose walls could not contain the children's glee at some nursery rhyme.

I walked.

And I found them.

Not the body, but people in shock and grief. A group of about eight young 20-somethings huddled near some benches, another two older men some distance away hosing down a spot on the ground.

Instinct is right at these stuff, found out later that was where the body was.

Approaching people who just probably heard or seen a friend or family jump to his death is not something any one fancies, I reckon. And less so when you are there on work, having to identify yourself as a reporter and trying to get info.

A girl, eyes rimmed red, shot me a look and waved me away. I tried again, this is my job, I try, that's what I always have to do. No go. I walked to the two men hosing down the ground, no blood could be seen, whatever cells that spilled out were washed away. They talk a bit, before shutting up.

I called the office, they drove off, I climbed stairs to knock on doors to ask for eyewitnesses.

The world is so normal though one just voluntarily chose death a while ago.

I did my job, I tried, I left and walked home when told I can drop it, we don't have enough to write a piece.

I returned to my home, sat down at my dining table, started eating the noodles Dad bought me. I wondered how the deceased's family will ever do something as simple as this again. I wondered if they will sit at the dining table and be remembered of their loss, I wondered if they will bear to walk along the same corridor their loved one jumped down at, I thought the family members must had left earlier with the body and left the friends behind. I wondered what happened.

On my way back, I had accidentally stepped on that big puddle of water and I flinched. Flinched because that was water that washed away someone's remains. In a while, that ground would be dry, nothing left to tell a story with.

Kids will skip over it, aunties, uncles, everyone will walk over it. No one will cast a second glance at it except for those who know.

And I wonder how they would ever live there again.

Suicide is a real deal to me but thankfully, not as real as it is to those folks.

There is nothing more to say.

14:50.

Ok, to avoid aggravating my former roommate :P, the ticketholder pictured holds a Sg-Melb-Sg return air ticket for myself.

Lots of stuff have been happening these past two weeks.

I'm a full-time staff now, God faithfully pulled things through, and so with the intangibles that comes with full-time (confirmation only comes after I pass the compulsory shorthand course), I now have annual leave.

Since it's pro-rated, the 21 days become 19 days.

And the Grace of God saw my editors approving my ahem, pretty long leave. From 27th Dec to 24th Jan. Thank God for the many Public Holidays during the period which stretched out the hol for me.

I fly on the night of the 23th, arrive on Christmas Eve and leave on Jan 18 thereafter Ray and I will decide whether to spend time in Sg or KL first.

Was told by colleagues such long leaves are not often approved, so thank God again.

Was warned that taking such a long leave is not a good idea when I'm awaiting confirmation but I said I will make sure I work extra hard now.

In fact, I will work super duper hard (someone kick me if I slack off, yeah) so I can perhaps take Off - In - Lieus (which you get when you work on a rest day) on Jan 25, 26 and 27 (Wed to Fri). Then, Ray and I can have more time in each other's homelands before Chinese New Year descends on the 29th (a sunday).

So that's about 71 days till I see my love again.

Until then, I will w.o.r.k sooooper hard.

:)

*takes a breath*
copyright/amadeo

22:23.

people r strange.

Creative press kits do bring smiles to the days.
copyright/amadeo

The packet is to promote some show on cable.
copyright/amadeo

Spread The Word, Not Disease, a surgical mask. The tagline sounds biblical, no?
copyright/amadeo

Wipeout The Unknown, some tissue wipe thing
copyright/amadeo

Kill The Invisible, some sort of cleaning liquid

copyright/amadeo

Why I love Dilbert strips: Of power hungry dogs, cubicle workers and humour, both of the dry wit variety and the corn sort.
copyright/amadeo

hehehehehehhehehehhehehehehheehehhehehhee. *much amused* =)
copyright/amadeo

16:12.

Hey, there's a SG-PJ lux coach route :)

11:56.

Franz Ferdinand, Simply Red, Switchfoot, The Cardigans, Sugababes, The Bravery and others I cannot remember....

To all the bands I could had interviewed if not for the fact I'm no longer doing Entertainment, maybe one day.

Perchance.

23:02.

18:13.

Got tagged by the casschew :)

Seven things that scare me
- Waking up one day and realising I have not fulfilled/ am not fulfilling my calling; Lizards; Irrational hatred and prejudice; My loved ones suffering; Not being able to help those I love; Losing my loved ones; Becoming someone I won't like

Seven random facts about me
- In my dreams, I can always drive; I wanted to be a novelist before I wanted to be a journalist; I wrote a mini "novel" when I was 14; I don't put sugar into my beverages; I would like to visit a castle one day; I'm wearing my black Havianas now... at work; I have 3 guitars, 1 piano, 1 keyboard, 1 tambourine and 1 harmonica (hey, that's 7 things!)

Seven things I hope to do before I die
- Get married; Work in a Christian org full-time; have my own column; See an obvious, undeniable miracle; Interview U2; Live (not just exist) fully; Master (not just play) an instrument

Seven things I can do
- Love; Er, bitch. I don't but I know I can do it too well; Be random; Skateboard; Multi-task effectively; Write; Not cry because of physical pain

Seven people who should fill this out
. R a y :)
. Aggie
. Vonnie
. Ketiak
. Jen
. DW
. Hannah

15:05.




It's international rabbit day on Sat. Heh =)

19:28.

Yesterday, Pastor J read out a copy of the senior pastor's letter to the church about his decision to step down. Pastor Thomas has debated long and hard and decided that his family and himself will be moving to Perth next year to study three years in bible school.

Pastor Tho was one of God's servants I admired and respected. He's 40, wasn't the best of kids when he was younger, studied till his 'O's before taking on the world not expecting that God will take on a rebellious kid like him and change his life. He used to be the children's pastor, he taught himself to play the keys and guitar, 5 years ago, he took on the senior pastor position.

The church has been through a lot since its inception. In the chinese church, I'm no doubt sheltered from the problems the main congregation go through but he's not.

He always had a contagious smile on his face, he would smile to greet you even when you could tell his weariness from the lines on his face, what with, God knows best. During worship, he is the only one constantly right in front, jumping, raising his hands, passionate for God even when the congregation seems humdrum. Three weeks ago, I visited the main congregation since I wasn't playing that week. As I got caught up in praise and jumped, I was suddenly aware that some folks were staring and I was aware that in the whole hall, there's only me in the back and Pastor Tho right in front who were jumping up and down.

Not that jumps are accurate measures of faith level, mind you. I was just struck by the image.

I don't know how hard it is to pastor a church where faith level generally seems complacent. I don't know how my pastors do it week after week, day after day, faithfully, surely and constantly.

Pastor Tho once told me that people ask him how he always have that joy in him expressing in that easy laughter, ready smile, welcoming demeanour. And his answer was that he know who he is and who he has been called to be.

I'm excited for him. Excited for him and his wife and three young kids about to take this leap of faith. It's not easy, and it has got to be hard leaving, not just because you are walking away from your comfort zone but because you have got an ailing mother here in Sg. Even while knowing the church needs prayer now as it seems like we have to seek outside pastoral employment for the first time in 14 years, the involuntary reaction is to feel glad. Feel glad for him. For his family. Smile at how a brother is obeying the call of God. Be thankful for this pastor who led by example.

Godspeed, Pastor Thom and God bless.

18:57.

It is a Monday evening on the 269th day of AD2005. I sit on the 7th floor of a 11-storey HDB flat; in 1 of the 6 apartments that are located on this landing. It has been 7 years since we move here; I'm 24 years old, 1.7metres tall and 51 kgs heavy. I'm 1 of 4 who lives in this 4-room flat - There's mom and dad, 58 years old, and brother, 26 years old. I live on an island that 's 697 sq km big with a population of 3.5million and growing. We moved from 3rd world to 1st within less than the 40 years since we declared independence.

I used to study in a PAP (People's Action Party, the ruling party) kindergarten school like most kids did; then I studied six years at H o n g Dao Primary, sadly now defunct; and 4 years at M a y f l o w e r Secondary School; 3 years at N g e e Ann Polytechnic and 1 year in R M I T, Melbourne.

I work at a media conglomeration, which owns most except one of Singapore's various languaged newspapers. I first entered their doors when I was 19.

That was as an intern in year 2000.

My lecturer told me I was probably the third student in the history of my faculty to get an internship "despite" being from a polytechnic.

I resumed journo duties in 2002, left in 2004, returned in 2005.

All in all, I've clocked over 2 years of work with this company.

I have roots, I have memories, I have treasures in this job, in this company, in this home, in this land, in this family. Familiar scents, familiar faces, familiar sounds, familiar way of life, familiar loved ones. Familiar feelings familiar objects bring on.

And yet Melbourne calls still.

Even before Melbourne, that call inside to put aside everything, burn the oxen, chop up their yoke (rem Elisha's call?) and move on has been there.

I'm counting the cost more than I ever had and the price is clearer to me more than ever. Yet, surely whatever it takes, the cost is lesser than the cost of disobedience to the call.

One life to give. 24 years already gone.

Dad, when?

What? All. All of me for all of You.

How? By faith and through providence.

Who? You, you, the flock on Your heart.

Where?

16:15.

Yes, kind of inspired by Aggie's shoes post :)






















Satin bubble dress, tube dress, lovely lovely. Yet another item I fancy but would not buy for the price. I fancy the Samantha dress and the Dorothy dress too. Link here.

15:12.

From here.


















That's an almost 61-metre long bunny.

I am not going to be in Italy any time soon, at least, not that I know of. And yes, even if I am, there's no guarantee that I will spend time climbing a mountain and then the bunny. But oooh, how I fancy the idea of bouncing on that bunny's tummy. And someone, tell me, how on earth are the folks who thought up the idea going to keep the soft toy non-gross after the rain and stuff get to it?

Um.

19:44.

Wrestling God


In Genesis 32:24 to 29, Jacob's overnight wrestle with God was chronicled and we read that God blessed Jacob and named him Israel because he had "struggled with God and with men and have overcome".

The meaning of "Israel" is he struggles with God.
The meaning of "Jacob" is he grasps the heel, alluding to Jacob's reputation as a deceiver.

But prior to Jacob's meeting God, first... "that night, Jacob got up and took his two wives, his two maidservants and his eleven sons and crossed the ford of the Jabbok. After he had sent them across the stream, he sent over all his possessions. So Jacob was left alone..." (v. 22 to 24a).

He sent across his loved ones and possessions. He was alone.

Hold on, don't start reading into the story now. Let's go back a bit further to the events before Jacob even reached the shores of the ford and what awaits him across it.

In chapter 31, Jacob has just lied to his father-in-law Laban and took his two wives, many children and many many livestock and possessions and fled.

One wife, Rachel has even stolen her father's household gods, which gave Laban a pretext to pursue Jacob's camp.

Laban chased Jacob for seven days and caught up, confronted his son-in-law and asked him why he ran off instead of declaring his intentions to travel to his ancestor's land. And why did you steal my gods, Laban asked, and raided Jacob's camp to find them.

Rachel thwarted her own dad by hiding the idols, Jacob and Laban had a verbal showdown and Jacob finally told Laban flatly he had enough of the older man's attempts to rip him off over the years.

Things ended peacefully, Jacob even saw angels as he proceeded.

Still, I'd had found that confrontation emotionally draining and be probably pretty exasperated with the wife (it seems reasonable that Rachel would had told Jacob about it after Laban left) I love most for stealing, of all things, idols when the Lord has commanded us to go back to the land of my fathers.

But that wasn't the last of it.

Potential trouble continued in Chapter 32, as Jacob's convey to Esau (whose land lies after the ford of Jabbok) returned to say that Esau and 400 men were coming to meet them. Upon hearing this, Jacob was in "great fear and distress".

He spilt up his camp into a few groups and despatched them with gifts ahead of him, in hope of appeasing Esau, whose birthright Jacob stole many years ago. An Israelite's birthright is one of the most important things in the culture, and along with the birthright comes blessings. Jacob stole Esau's blessings and there is no hiding the obvious blessings in his life (wives, kids, many possessions). How was Esau to react when he sees Jacob and the many with him?

That was the situation before we reach Chapter 32: 22, earlier quoted, where Jacob sent across the last group to go before him - a camp made of his loved ones (2 wives, 11 sons, two maidservants who had borne him sons on behalf of their mistresses) and all his possessions.

Jacob was alone.

Alone at night, facing what could be a diastrous meeting in a few hours, about to face the exact person he had ran away decades ago (read Chapt27:43, Jacob first went to Laban's to flee Esau's murderous rage about his stolen birthright).

When we talk about wrestling with God, we often only mention the act and the blessings but see, Jacob was fighting for his blessing before he even wrestled that stranger in the night.

Then the man said, "Your name will no longer be Jacob, but Israel, because you have struggled with God and with men and have overcome."(v. 28)

Before Jacob struggled with God, he had to be completely alone.

Before Jacob was alone, he struggled with men. Again and again, with Esau, with Laban, he struggled for decades.

"I will not let go until You bless me!"

Say that not only when you are wrestling with the Almighty Himself but see that even when you are fighting the world of men - the politicking, the disapproval, the accusations, the mundane threatening to drown purpose, see that amidst these, you are actually fighting too. Wrestling for your blessing.

The path to get your new name is not that fast and easy, not a one-step.

It doesn't happen in one night.

Wrestling with God is a solitary affair, without your loved ones' obvious support, away from the rest of your family. Often it is when you are in a place where you know you can't go backwards and yet feel the strain of continuing forward. Often, it is when you are in a spot where you are in between your recently emerged struggles and yet another coming battle.

When God comes down and wrestle with you, you will have already wrestled with men too. You may be barely holding on, but you will be surprised at the tenacity of your grip when you know desperation, the desperation that comes from knowing there is only One Way to get through everything now - When you get hold of Him.

But when you have fought, when you have held on and wrestled (holding on limply to someone is no wrestling), when you have undergone the trial of lone-ness, of battle with men, and held on tightly to the Almighty, you will receive your blessing.

You will receive your blessing.

And you will be forever changed, with a new name, even if you walk with a limp and gathered scars in the process.

Dad, I'm not letting go until You bless me.

I. Am. Not. Letting. Go.

So come on.

14:03.

Flashback to Thurs: Ambling from office to ladies', still unawake from an early morning and two late work nights (left at 11.10pm on Wed) previously. Craving for something sweet for an energy boost and then, like an italicised scrolling text through my mind, I realised I was craving for a Safeways chocolate cookie. Not that there was a chance of getting my tired fingers on any of them at that time, so I shrugged and walked on, and dully marvelled at how one single mundane craving sums up so much.

As I type this, Grace should be in Melbourne. I smile at the thought. There's a girl who knows how the missing goes in Sg, and how when family responsibilites and personal desires clash, you just bite your lip and walk on and do the right thing.

There are perhaps three dreams I have had throughout my life - To write, to serve full-time in the ministry, and another which after my conversion, I realised was not worth the trying.

That third is chaff on the wind, the first, I've been doing and am doing still, the second still tries me, drives me, wears me, sometimes, it seems, teases me.

I'm getting so acquainted of Roms 4:8, the years have brought more situations where you are squashed like a pretzel and have no options but to walk on or lay down and die.

That last reminded me of Job's wife's words to her beleagued husband at the receiving end of a cosmic wager - curse God and lay down and die, she told her husband.

But no. Never let it be that we forsake You. Never let it be that we have any other God besides You. Ever let it be that we will seek Your Face.

And despite being a writer, it would seem I'm cursed with a mute's lot when grappling with destiny.

Dad, what would I look like by the time we get through this?

How many scars to wear, how contrasting the battle marks and the proud chin held high and back held straight.

What is the purpose of man?

I still ask questions which I do not hold capacity to understand in totality.

But this is how You made me.

And that is one of the lessons You are teaching me - to know me. To know me in You.

17:54.

Ray, It has been three months.

Three months exact to today - Sept 15 2005, since we became a couple.

92 days.

And about 94 days since the first time you told me you love me? :)

Oops, now everyone knows. Heh. Well, baby, I love you too.

20 months since I first knew of your existence, when I saw you sitted cross-legged on Ching's living room floor while I, a first-timer to O C F, sat on her couch about 45 degrees to the right of you. Don't ask me how I remember, you know I always remember the smallest, most random details but I can still see you in that white shirt with a mouth print.

I noticed the shirt. And I knew who you were because Hannah pointed out to me the media students and the other R M I T students. We never talked. Never anything, really, not until you added me to your Msn list (you got the info off the O C F contact list) because you wanted to ask me to drum for you in May.

And so we started.

The Msn chats that went on for hours, till 5am even, always platonic, funny, encouraging. We laughed at each other, quoted scriptures at each other, made random jokes, egged each other to have indomee and unhealthy snacks in the wee hours of the mornings.

We grew to share dreams and aspirations; the first time I saved one of our Msn convo was when I shared that I wanted to go to Bible School after my O levels and did do some courses and you shared the same. I never met someone else who had the same experience.

Except you.

You.

See, dear, I could always (or for a long time) understand the gloriousness or love and what it could be but too many things were in place to hold me still, reluctant to jump.

"When I fall in love, it would be forever", yes, despite my chagrin at the horrors of quoting a Celine D i o n song, my convictions echoed that.

I never felt inspired to jump and make that leap of faith until you.

It has been eight months since we had our nerve wracking convo about our feelings, after all the struggle we had to go through with God and ourselves.

Three months since we are a couple.

The year is 3/4 past and we have spent only about 6 weeks together in the same physical space in this time. I won't pretend it is easy. Even as the distance teach me lessons and we are stronger and more in love amidst this constant training, dear, in the same way you are the only one who inspired me to jump, you are still the one who makes me laugh harder, love harder and also cry.

I've teared while telling God I miss you, while praying up a storm about us, I've teared while we spoke on the phone, our every night phone calls which always make the day better. Like you, I've battled with that feeling of "separated-ness". Like you, I have wrestled with God and myself. Like you, me, I miss you so much and my capacity to miss you is widened and deepened every day.

Dearest R a y Chuah, how I love you.

It is three months, my boyfriend, the best man in the entire flippin' universe.

And the best is yet to come.

I love you.

17:09.

My latest purchase, from the office's c h a t line, a forum where people buy/ sell and talk miscellaneous. And it happened that the lady was selling the green one. New Trek thumb drive mini with swivel cap, 256MB for... $37 :)

Good buy?

16:34.

:/
- Latest news flash: Severed head left in O r c h a r d underpass.

:(
- Three dark-skinned workers on the open back of a lorry on the expressway... while it is raining.
- Their expressions
- Politicking
- How power make some people stupid
- Malicious irrational gossiping
- Feels like a slight flu is trying to rear its head. again.

:)
- Church, last Sunday, drumming after service, working on a new 16-beat thang. Mission full-time staff came up unnoticed. Commented and asked if I'm still with the paper. Upon my affirmation, he said he wanted to a journo before. I went, "Really? I rather be in full time!" He went, "Reallyy?" Me: "Yeah, just waiting for God's timing." It's nice to be able to talk of such things.
- Call a Melb friend from the company yest (work related query involved too, yes) and having a nice catch-up chat
- S p a review on Wed to sort out my bones and shoulders
- Many mooncakes for the eating in the office
- Being able to buy bak kwa as snacks
- Nice colleagues and lovely folks in my life
- I'm free
- My Beloved is mine and I am His. His banner over me is love.
- 4-pg spread tomw, 3-pg spread on Sun. It's good to see your work out.
- GOD loves me and totally has my back.
- R a y loves me and does his best to let me know that :)
- Mom is going on Kunming mission trip on Sunday
- The best is yet to come
- It's Friday

22:39.

S k y e in SG, Part II over at the photo blog.

I forget what they are called but an array of placards you hang on your doorknobs were hung up on the MRT for the taking. They were to raise awareness for the Yellow Ribbon Project, which aims to help ex-convicts integrate back into society, and demolish the prejudice society has against them.
copyright/amadeo

Don't discriminate against ex-convicts. They have paid their dues. Don't lock them in a "second prison".
copyright/amadeo

19:40.

Another later night in the office. Intw at 830. Have got an early day tomw too with a 9am shoot, after which I will come in immediately to file tonight's intw.

New photos at the photo blog. When my home wireless works again, I'll post pictures with actually myself in them.

Boo!

16:42.

I sometimes wish I still see rainbows
but that's ok
'cause the thing is you get to see rainbows
also for another day

u seen it once
the call is done
now you live
to carry it out

and learn we do
about a rainbow's weight
pittle pattle we endure
just like we live after the rainbow's day

18:13.

Sometimes, you can believe in violence begats violence and yet want to return an eye for an eye. The oppression against women in Guatemala is beyond comprehension. And yet their abusers continue.

Read this.

19:28.

Journo in office.

Calls/ types/ calls/ emails/ interviews/ meeting/ calls/ interviews/ emails/ scribble/ scribble/ scrawl.

Song in head: United Live song where the lyrics goes "How many times have I broken Your heart/ still You forgave if only I come" swopping with Matt Redman's song where lyrics go "Jesus I'm so in love with you".

Missing: r a y :)

Hungry.

Things on mind: Er, 153? I don't know. Many. More.

Ballerina flats, grey/black pleated skirt that looks like the bottom half of tulip dresses, black wristband, black top, green bag with black scarf tied for prettyment. a heart in praise and feet about to go home.

whee.

17:55.

"Forget the former things;
do not dwell on the past.
See, I am doing a new thing!
Now, it springs up; do you not perceive it?
I am making a way in the desert
and streams in the
wasteland."
- Isaiah 43: 18

16:52.

A pile of used tissues were next to my laptop by the time Planet Shaker's Evermore dvd finished playing last night (and a shout of "I love you!" to r a y for sending it to me).

There was me and You. And that is more than enough reason to give it up: Sing out Loud, jump around, raise my hands, fall on my knees in worship with tears creating a little puddle on the white tiled floor.

It's about You. It's all about Jesus.

"When my world is falling down, in You I will be found"

We all reach and go through places when the world indeed falls apart. Don't take what you have now in your world for granted and remember, it's a.l.l about Him.

Meet Him in the secret place in Australia, Singapore, Malaysia, Indonesia, US, any and every where. Meet Him when you have the best church and spiritual support you ever have ever and when you have none of these. Meet Him.

Mohammed Ali said the fights were won before he even entered the ring, before that in the locker room away from the crowds and cheers and expectations.

Aggie quoted Mel Fletcher saying the road to recognition passes by obscurity.

GOD says Seek first the kingdom of God and all these things will be added unto you as well.

Know whose you are, and then you will know who you are, Chad shared with R a y.

Know GOD, know yourself. Knowledge of the Almighty and your identity in GOD will make you unshakable.

So much so that when the world around you (not you) shakes, you will still be found in Him.

Yet will I praise You is a powerful thing.

I have no idea what's going to happen next year.

Yup, fundamentally, the truth is that none of us can claim to know any bit of the future, even what's going to happen a second from now, but you know what I mean.

I have no idea what's going to happen next year. Do pray alongside r a y and myself as we are midway through a fast for direction (yup, there's the geographical matter) and us.

I have no idea what's going to happen next month, when my contract ends.

I have no idea what's going to happen in this life; I hold on only to His Word, that He will bring me from glory to glory and He is giving me hope and a future, that I have been called for such a time as this, that I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me and all things work together for the good of those who love God.

There is one thing that I know for sure - How much I love YOU yet YOU love me more!

I have but one life and the deed to it is not mine. The blank cheque has been cross signed and given to the Author and Finisher of my faith and life, and again and again, our convenent has been renewed. I'm Yours.

So whatever it takes.

From the Amplified version of the Bible, Hebrews 13:5:
"He [God] Himself has said, I will not in any way fail you nor give you up nor leave you without support. [I will] not, [I will] not, [I will] not in any degree leave you helpless nor forsake nor let [you] down (relax My hold on you)! [Assuredly not!]"

Let us remember and live out the songs we sung.

16:19.

Three news events have been unceasingly in the local spotlight these days. They defied the usual shelf life of news, gripped Singapore and inspired countless coverage and words, whether printed or spoken or unspoken by the professionally involved or the non.

There's that Project S u p e r star (I can't find a good article that summarised recent developments but here's some background, some mid-way drama for the Idol-esque programme which is down to the final two participants, and here) ... the only positive news item in stark contrast to the two murder cases of two little girls.

H u a n g Na case (Here's the most current print article, click on the pdf file to read), where the accused, a Malaysian veg packer in a wholesale market was sentenced to death yesterday...

and S i n d e e case... (Here's the latest report of the last session in court, trial resumes on Monday)

It seems wrong to put the first one alongside these two, so different are they and so positive is the first one that it almost seems like scorning the murdered. But, ah, in cosmic irony, death alongside life, hope alongside despair, happiness alongside uncomprehendable pain... all the co-existence of conflicting emotions make meaning in life.

It is not my intention to do any reporting here, take these as jumbled thoughts to the already wide pool of opinions and feelings spread across the island over these three cases.

The first article our paper ran on Project S u p e r s t a r (hereafter referred to as Proj S because scrambling words to avoid search engines is troublesome) was reported by myself. I went down to the studios during the first trials, saw the myraid hopefuls in various garbs and shapes and sizes, everyone adding to the hope and fear tangible in the atmosphere.

People getting guided here and there to the proper audition room, shown out, yada yada. Some folks loners and looking focus and trying to look not out of place; others, yakking away with new found friends. Guys and girls, crying after rejection, coming out of audition rooms shell shocked at the failure or success, having cameras always on them and the pesky reporter (me) hovering quietly on the edges and pouncing on folks I decide are interesting enough for my story.

*shrugs*

I felt for them, even as I dispend my duties the way it is second nature to. Feeling for them is not meant to be second nature though for journos but I did.

Not sympathy or whatever elitist vague thought, just that I understand that kind of drive, I know the hope and fear, and I see both the woods as well as the trees.

Called a couple of them when I got back to the office that Saturday to write it up. Listening to the self-recorded demos they have on their voice mail, the twinge in my heart for them and the fulfillment of what they feared - the dashing of hope, more.

But what's positive about this whole singing contest/ reality programme thing is how it has come out thus far. I caught one episode the week before while my parents were watching and I was glad when the underdog in the men's category came up tops.

If you read the links, yup, the guy's a blind busker. 24 years old, and honestly blessed with great pipes. The camera panned to his parents when his win was announced and my heart swelled on their behalf too. They were a normal family, typical, pretty much like mine. I looked at the Mom's face, she looked somewhat dazed though happy and proud.

Imagine how she felt - The son she worried about all his life (he was born blind) was standing on stage, cheered by hundreds, going to release a single then singing at the 11,000 capacity Indoor Stadium next Saturday (I think) to compete with the winner from the female category for that 50/ 50 chance to win that record deal, that contract, that fame and career.

He's getting his shot to live life out of the box society and himself might had drawn for him all his life. Every thing that happened before his break through now is like, moot. He had dared to dream, and wow, now, he's at a place maybe nobody could 100% believe he ever could be before.

I'm not ashamed to say I had tears in my eyes those few moments.

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

H u a n g Na's mother was here from China to work for a better life, so was her convicted killer, T o o k, only 23, who left his wife and 2-year-old son to come here from Penang.

S i n d e e was the only daughter of a local karung guni man and his Thai wife, who left her country and family to stick by her man here, despite his infidelities throughout their marriage. She died five days after falling many storeys down the highrise flat her home was at, allegedly thrown down after the ex-air stewardess, allegedly with a history of mental conditions, her own father was having an affair with grabbed her from her bed one night, where she was sleeping in between her mom and dad.

She was 4. H u a n g Na was 9.

Could any thing they have done justify their deaths? No. They were pawns who fell.

These stories disturb me. I scorned at S i n d e e's father who was unfaithful so many times to his wife; felt for the wife who broke down in court screaming at her daughter's alleged killer why did you have to kill my daughter, who had to have the man she loves' betrayal known to the whole darn world; found the alleged killer a contradiction, bitter, confused and not very happy or in control herself either.

Who's to blame? Even if I am in the position to judge, I can't say. So many tragedies, tragic lives and wrong decisions, all wound up now in the murder case everyone reads about, which court kaypohs attend court for just to catch glimpses of them in real life, as if they are some reality star and their flicking tragic tales are just some sad sob on the soap.

It's the same for H u a n g Na's case. Of course you feel for the mother, who returned to China after the accident but returned for the trials. Does she have to live with guilt, knowing if she had not left her daughter alone at her workplace like she often did, the girl may be alive today? Is her heart and mind mixed with some unusual gladness that sympathetic members of the public have given her enough money that she now has a proper house in her homeland? Does she hate herself for that inexplicable thankfulness for the windfall, which is understandable for everyone who ever been so poor they had to leave their country, work at some menial job overseas where you receive your fair share of stereotyped labels and behaviour?

But T o o k, that 23-year-old Msian... those who seen him or read about him and cared enough to try to formulate a grasp of his character are divided. Some think him madman because he smile in court and act nonchalent, never guilt-strickened. Some think him simply a country bumpkin with a lower IQ who doesn't understand what's going on in the English-speaking court even though he has a translator, and who honestly reacted way wrongly and badly when (he claimed) his victim hit her head and started foaming at the mouth while they played hide and seek and he panicked that others would think he was responsible and subsequently lost touch of his actions. Some believe that he is indeed schizophrenic and didn't really know what he was doing when he then throttled the little girl, stomped on her and assaulted her sexually.

He didn't react when the whole court stood and the judge read the verdict to "hang him until he is dead".

His parents, wife and siblings, those who painstakingly been taking a bus up and down from Penang to here and back throughout the trial, did.

Everything changes.

Everything changes for all these people who might not have directly been involved in the actual act.

I don't know how people can joke or discuss the murder cases over meals or around the watercooler without feeling affected.

I fall back on stolen words - "For whom the bell tolls, it tolls for me."

And I haven't even mentioned the honeymooning Singaporean couple (the wife, pregnant) who died in a car crash in Perth this month.

Jesus, come again. Please.

14:12.

LOL!




:D

Or...



Just some fun I got off Germie's LJ. And because I'm so amused, I ran my first name through it too.



*chuckles chuckles chuckles*

16:57.

There is something about 5 o clock that I really like.

Maybe it draws back to the five years (three years of afternoon sessions in primary school, then two in secondary school) of getting off from school around 5pm.

Everytime I am outside in the open at 5pm-ish, nostagia wraps itself around me automatically. And whether consciously or not, almost casually, images of that much younger me with schoolbag on, school uniform, white shoes and socks making my way home in Ang Mo Kio floats to a heightened awareness.

5 o clock - I remember the paths home, remember lopping home chatting to other kids sharing the same path home, remember walking past the shops I do during the secondary days, remember the record store, the store with the catch-a-soft-toy machine I spent too much money on, the other store which stood apart from the rest out of the line where I parted with too much money from my posb account on those (groan) celebrity cards dispensers.

The evening sun, an orange glow which turned so gloriously beautifully blue if I lingered till past 6.30pm and 7pm is when the sun goes out.

I remember the walks home.

Seems like walks home are always special to my heart and head.

There's a magic at 5pm which I feel, even when all I did five minutes ago was to stand at the window next to the lift landing and stare out at the world outside.

See the 5pm sights - day slowing down to a close, people going home, the air becomes languid as does the heart.

Homebound is a great trip to be on.

So very precious.

*muack* to GOD.

I'm so very glad so many of us are on the same journey home.

16:49.

there are moments in life - you know them if you ever tried to live honestly and see - when your head and heart wars. they both hurt, even as they both strive for understanding beyond what is possible. if the mind and heart have hands, they would had been stretched out wide to the max. gripping any thing they can reach in hope of some relief.

some days, i fancy my non existent mental and heart tentacles could indeed be and in my mind's eye, i see them stretch, spread, enfold... like some scene from x-men of enroaching storms... the room i am in, the building, geography wider than the eye can see.

fancy that.

i could lift the top off this roof so i can see the sky again. and if it's dark, to see orien's belt, which has eluded my eyes for quite a while, though i seek it almost every time i walk home in the dark.

i suppose there are many manifold reasons why i am a comics fan.

but even on paper, the story doesn't end when you close the page. the emotions linger, the pain lasts, the surrealness of overlapping worlds exist in the minds and hearts of those who choose to allow the touch.

sometimes, i can see myself from outside of myself. like just now, during lunch hour, when i sought quietness and refuge at a corner where some of us in the office go to pray on wednesdays. for a while, it was as if my eyes disentangled and travelled and i could look at where me where i sat, in that corner, next to the floor to ceiling window wall.

at those moments where nothing makes sense, i stop and feel like the world stops with me. w h auden protested at the contrast of reality during those moments. i share those protests but yet feel increasingly the world come to a period when i do. like a 2d comic page, where i stand at the edge of a battered cliff, painted in hues tinged with blue and grey, overcast skies, soundless wind blowing not that i can feel it, head bowed and mind and heart ruptured at what i can't understand. still.

still can't understand.

and still, is the girl known by this name.

at those moments.

when your head's not right
and your heart's on fire
when understanding's a lie
and everything's a fight
all i know
all i know
is i find rest in You

17:48.

Worship was awesome today. We broke out of what was practised a few times and I'm glad. Can't bop from behind the keys 'cause I always use the pedal but it was a great celebration and declaration. And mom decided to go for the China mission trip :> And I got to drum too for the last song after the sermon since the drummer returned to the English congregation.

I. had. fun.

And it's my turn at drums next week.

Come on.

G O D is omipotent, omniscient and omnipresent. As real in Antarctic as in Melbourne as in Singapore. As able to touch and heal and deliver no matter the church communicates in English, Mandarin, dialects, Eskimo.

I refuse to live my life always with only as much of YOU in my life right now as in the future. More than there must be more than this, I KNOW there is more than this.

I refuse to settle for second best.

I refuse to bow down.

Grrrrrr.

17:10.

Rain down on me
Wash away
The tears I cry
for another day

Drip drop
smish a flop
Understanding entirety
Exercise in fulity?

Brother amah
sista jem
talk to the hand
hdb block's jammed

of the world in motion
and your head's not right
of all the world's a stage
and you turned out the lights

boo to the postman
squash the time zones
let me have the button
forward, backwards, go or hold

my G O D is bigger than who i am
i detach my head
lay it down
now, burn.

17:44.

"I'm woman, hear me roar"

That's the tagline on the pink T-shirts Women Make a Difference (WMD) is selling to, well, make a difference. Click here for more info about WMD.

Singaporeans take note and do your part? :)

The tees are on sale at 77th Street.

According to the website, net proceeds go to the "National Committee for UNIFEM, Singapore to fund shelters that rescue and restore women and children trafficked for sex".

They are aiming to sell 900 Tees and it seems tees are not moving as fast as they should. It's really for a good cause and the tee's cute. Do help.

Cheers.

:)

12:24.

Christianity Today: Excerpt with Bono from a new book.

Thanks to Hannah for the alert.

16:14.

It is way overdue but pictures from the Sydney trip are up at here.

19:37.

Pretty long entry, transcript from my journal, appearing here because while writing it in the early hours of the morning, I was seized with a feeling of revelation and clarity, scribbling everything furiously. Without ego or self pride, I am convicted there are God stuff here that is worth something good. Thus hey ;) it is worth a read. Cheers.

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

Sharing with Ray just now about something that struck me and stayed in my mind’s eye from my June Melb trip till now.

Sat night then, at leadership with Glen Berteau, Ps Russell was launching into an almost tirade on stage, which eventually had the whole church clapping. But before anyone else started clapping, before the people showed their vocal agreement yet, Ps Sam – sat right at the front, about directly in front of her husband on the small stage – stood up.

She leapt to her feet and clapped and cheered. I couldn’t hear her from where I sat, about seven metres away a few seats away from being directly behind hers, but like her body language, I’m sure her words were of affirmation and encouragement (like “Come on” “Yeah, that’s right”) and her actions, words and the spirit of them prompted other people to clap and stand up till the whole theatre was cheering our senior pastor on.

What stayed with me was that stark image of her jumping to her feet, clapping, cheering. A fluid move which with its subsequent actions all together exemplified “not ashamed”.

It said – “I’m not ashamed to cheer for my man”

”I’m not ashamed to show appreciation, affirmation and encouragement to my man in front of so many people”

”I’m not ashamed of our love and how we feel, how proud I am of him, how I think he got it right”

And as a woman, the scene spoke to me on one more level…

”I’m not ashamed… of other people seeing me and thinking I’m a ‘yes’ woman or thinking I’m pandering to my man’s ego or that I’m sadly subservient”

[Men and women, that’s knowing who you are in Christ instead of falling to the fear of gender type judgement]

I told Ray this – I want that. I see myself and want to see myself being “not ashamed” of him or our love that way. Not ashamed to be… a cheerleader for my man.

By cheerleader, I don’t mean any of the fluff or the ra-ra stuff. I mean I want to cheer him on. I want to spur him on. I want to be there for him and affirm him and encourage him and say “come on”, believing in his God given potential and the things he can do for God through the greatness of Christ who lives in him.

Not ashamed to show I’m proud of him.

You know how out of politeness, people generally – perhaps Asians more so – tend to downplay our loved ones. Heck, but if someone makes a comment about my man, that I think it’s true like “he’s doing a great job in urban life” or even “he’s quite cute” :P well, I want to nod and say “yeahhhh, he is” (delivered in varied tones in answer to the two questions of course). I don’t want to be like, “hahaha, no lah, so-and-so is doing better” or “oh, you are being nice”.

Like no way. Don’t want. Lord help us not have that kind of attitude.

Iron sharpens Iron – That was something we were talking about even when he told me – and I, him – that I motivate him and inspire him. Well, he – Ray Chuah, that awesome man of God – motivates and inspires me.

[Disclaimer: Please rem and be assured that God is first in all things with us. That’s what we seek and have built our foundations on so far. Ultimately, God is the motivation and inspiration for us :) ]

Iron sharpens Iron.

We are called in this family in Christ to spur each other on, to love and exhort, to hold up and run with, sometimes to carry or be carried in times of need.

This is family. This is love. We are called to love. And in a romantic relationship, all these should be as alive as or even more alive in your intensity and devotion surely.

Iron sharpens Iron.

If I’m in a relationship where I call someone my boyfriend and he calls me his girlfriend but I’m not making any positive impact in his life then that’s totally wrong. It’s not meant to be that way! No!

Iron sharpens Iron.

When you take time and seek God’s heart for you before committing, you get iron to match your own. The scriptures say don’t be yoked with an unbeliever. The maximum of the potential of the wonders and good a relationship can do comes through in its right environment and setting when you are both on the same grounds – both on fire, both in love most with God, both not looking at a relationship because of casual need, both saying and asking oneself “how do I be the best for him/ her?” “God, am I the best for him/ her? Can I be?”.

That is love.

L. O. V. E

And I’m going to say it again – I love R a y m o n d C h u a h.

he is amazing :)

12.49am
08/08/05

12:35.

"Majesty, Majesty
Your Grace has found me just as I am
Empty handed but alive in Your Hands

Majesty
Majesty
Forever I am changed by Your Love
In the beauty of Your Majesty"

- Delirious

Come on, Jesus. Rock our minds. We LOVE You.

:)

16:47.

Esther.

One of two women of the bible to have a book named after her life, her deeds, her name, her legacy.

Admittedly, oft, I don't really know how to cite inspiration from the books of Ruth and Esther. I found it easier to cite Debra as an example of courage and leadership, or Rahab as a inspiration of pure faith, or Mary or Mary Madagalene or the unnamed Samaritan woman by the well... for their various deeds and the characters unveiled.

But Esther... I didn't really know what to say. Her act of standing up for her people was lauded, definitely and deservingly so, but her life before that defining deed were wordless for me.

See, Esther was common.

Except for one thing - Her beauty.

Now, that is not a trait that you note alongside godly traits like faith and courage.

Esther's elevation from commoner to queen seemed chiefly through her beauty.

And come on, be honest now, though we admire celebrity for their beauty, we never accord the same courtesy to those among our ranks who leave our shared status quo through their looks.

Very probably, young Esther got snide remarks for her accension. Maybe the young women who used to know her were catty and scornful about their once upon friend or neighbour now new found richness. Also possible, her fellow Jews might had viewed her poorly for her marriage to a pagan king.

She lived her life like all of us commoners did, except in more luxurious surroundings, but see, Esther was like us.

Like you, like me.

Look at her, the queen in the palace. When admired, you can be sure it's not for her godliness or stellar character.

Not like the pastor or the preacher or prophet.

She was a girl, her fame was her looks (phiff), she lived in the system.

Like the journalist, like the designer, like the accountant, like the student. She lived in a role that wasn't directly linked to the ministry.

Maybe she wondered many times why she was in the palace. She certainly didn't seem to be a character who was rejoicing in her lavish surroundings and delighting in ordering many roasted er birds (?) (well, pigs were considered vile to the Jews) for feasts with dancing boys present.

Maybe she felt helpless and dejected at times, even despised her own good looks since all it got was a marriage to a pagan king (did she had to leave dreams of happily ever after in love, not arranged marriage behind? or someone she liked? ). Doesn't seem like that kind of glided life has much purpose.

Let me tell you something you probably already know or may find out soon.

When you are stuck in the rut of rountine in a lifestyle that doesn't seem connected very much to God and the higher purpose you want to fulfill with your days, it sucks to live sometimes.

And with every mundane day that goes by, it gets hard to hold on to the belief that you are where you are for a purpose.

*shrugs*

We could ask her one day but I'm guessing Esther had bouts of that.

But she was faithful, she pressed on, and held on enough to her faith and guarded her heart from becoming hard... well enough that when the time came for her to rise up, when her time came, she stood up for God.

All the mundane greyness of previous days, all the laid down dreams and dictated lifestyle change, all the personal battles that nobody else sees she had to fight with her faith... all that came to a stop.

And Purpose was unveiled.

The day I saw Esther as a fellow fighter in the system who held on and run the race well was the day she was transformed for me. We all live in the system, not all of us make it. We all live in the system, many of us get weary and tired and lose some faith. She made it.

Before she stood up for the Jews, she fought many battles alone.

Battles we never read or see.

That's the tale of all our heroes. We see their defining moments, we don't see the processes that made them the people with nuff character to become heroes.

But they all had to deal with the mire and muck. They all have to fight the mundane and rountine. They all, we all have to live within the system to change the world.

She won. She held out. She remained true to her calling.

It's so fascinating how even in the told stories, there are untold stories.

Dad, I want to make it too. I want to hold on and fight on. Rest in Your shadow, soar on Your Wings. I want to believe - always - in the conviction that there is more than this, that I have purpose in the system and process.

Dearest Jesus, sweetest Holy Ghost, make me the stuff of legends. Mould me the character of heroes. I have but one life to live and I want to live it one way - Your way.

Amen.

And this is beyond late but these are what he sent me for my birthday :)
- A vinyl of Miles Davis' My Funny Valentine with his own design (with messages) pasted over the vinyl. He has a copy of the vinyl himself too so one day, we can actually play it when we have a turn table.
- Songbird, an Eva Cassidy CD which was playing during one of our milestones ;)
- A Quick Brown Fox bag which we saw on our shopping trip on June 16 :)
- Photos we took together in Melb, which doubled up as cards he wrote on.
- A sweeeet card
- A red nose. hehe. From Red Nose Day. I mentioned I wasn't out on the streets during Red Nose Day last year and never saw people wearing it, but how hilariously creative I think the idea is.
- Cookies N Creme black tea, tied up with a green ribbon too. Heh.

R a y m o n d Chuah really rocks big time :)

You have to be someone close to me to know what appeals to me and my man got everything totally right.

15:20.

Drizzly Wed noon. At home. Singapore.

Am on the last day of my 2-day MC. After resisting a trip the doc's for over five days, I finally made a stop yesterday and realised oh, this must be worse than I thought when she went, "Oh my dearrr, this is very bad" after looking at my swollen tonsils.

But bygones on that. It will pass any way.

It was Ray's :) birthday on Sunday and when he told me about how Matt announced his birthday on stage and the whole congregation sung him happy birthday, I was so gleeful I amuse myself. But see, dearest, it's very important to me that you have a happy birthday. Very :)

We tell each other that the next time our birthdays come around, we would spend it with each other.

Till we are back in the same country again, hey, we will hold on tight to Dad and each other. Things will work out. They always do. God watches over us, and watches our backs. We are covered.

En route to take a land (re: Joshua 1), and thus we are fighting, thus we are in the waiting, thus we go through every thing we do. Because we are not going to carelessly settle on a land to be in, because the land we are going in to take has to be part of our calling. When we go there, when we enter together, we want to be sure it's in God's plan A and we are meant to be there. 'cause as for us and our households, we are going to serve the Lord.

I'ven't blogged in a while. Work has been busy, and I was even reluctant to see the Doc 'cause I want to stay on top of stuff and keep working but I know this break does me good. I've slept so many hours over the last two days their combined number probably make up what I get over a usual three-day period.

A recent article I did caused some cyber waves. I suppose me, the journalist is used to such stuff. But yes, me as a person gets bothered. Not very, but I guess I sigh and wish they understand how the industry works.

The local media's deflectors are oft schooled in the prejudice of S T = hallowed broadsheet, T N P = scum of the earth tabloid.

Sadly, not many have examined both papers to test this stereotype that the system has impinged on our general mindsets. Those who do might find to their surprise that the content differs not in the expected way. And that the tabloid - free of the responsiblilites of a national broadsheet - employs its freedom to not only resist acting as the g o v mouthpiece (it doesn't report on every announcement and when it does report on the official stuff it deems important enough, the tabloid offers alternative coverage to the straight coverage of the broadsheet), but goes out on its limb to push the envelope to bring you the heavy news you whinge that our local media should report.

(Btw, the tabloid's reporters has made their ways to war zones and crisis areas very promptly, in recent events, even faster than the broadsheet)

Of course, we do take liberties with headlines and photographs to draw you in but again, examine the broadsheet. They have used far more graphic photographs than we have.

There is too, of course the irony known to industry people who have worked on both publications - that the tabloid's newsroom is the family friendly one, where editors protest over content being too salicious, where the style of socially responsible journalism is preached and practised.

Not many people bothered to notice but it's official - the broadsheet is changing its writing style to mirror the tabloid's. But since size matters, it's more acceptable for the broadsheet to employ a similiar breezy style of telling the news.

I don't really want to get into work stuff on this blog but prejudice does puzzle me at times. Sometimes, more than others.

I accept gladly that the journo belongs to the public in so many ways. After all, the highest ideal of this craft is to serve the public, to get the news for the readers so our society can be educated with the power that information and knowledge can bring. So, I am cool with criticism and such.

The reporter gets the crap, it's understood. Hey, it's your byline on the report, even though very often, the photos and headlines are the choice of the sub-eds who lay out the pages. And there are so many stages the rep's raw copy goes through and so many factors that determine whether it gets touched much that sometimes, reps don't see it that right or fair that we carry the blame.

But it's cool by me, really 'cause I know the cost and I made the choice. And I still enjoy this job immensely and believe in it too.

But I guess at the end of the day, I am a person fighting on to carry out the ideals of this craft and when you fight your editors for your story's integrity (and the eds are only doing what they should when they question) and the many stages a story goes through before it gets printed, when you defend your newsmaker (in the situations when you are convinced it's worthwhile), it does seem rather well, sad that readers who don't see the whole process and who don't understand it, ends up slamming you. You end up fighting both sides when you are trying to do the right thing. That's not the most fun.

Any how, I am not fighting both sides. A few arrows come my way is no big deal.

This is still far off from a lynch. Guess it's all good prep for when folks actually come after my head for my writing one day.

Bygones.

It is a humid Wed noon and my cuppa black tea with honey is finished.

Yesterday, I read through my journal started in the last few days of last year.

*shakes head*

Has it been that long?

And: Dearest Lord, You have really brought me - and us - so far.

It is 1619 my time and 1819 Melb time. I remain: thankful.

Cherish the days, folks.